Day 6: Peru, Cusco: Free Time

After attacking the breakfast buffet, our group headed out to Three Monkeys, internationally ranked as the 26th best coffee shop Greg told us about. That was ironic, because Greg was off on an adventure exploring Rainbow Mountain while we were inside this starkly clean, modern coffee shop.

As a non-coffee drinker I was prepared to get coffee because, well, when in Rome and all, but when I asked the server what to get, she highly recommended the hot chocolate. She was not wrong.

When we think of Three Monkeys we almost taste the mustard our neighbor Dan used to make ("sweet and spicy and oh so nicey") before he sold his company. A search on this blog reminded me of seeing the original three monkeys of "see no evil, hear no evil, say no evil" fame in Japan.

Don's stomach was feeling off, so we parted from our clique. They went to do some shopping in the markets, and Don and I walked to another one of my wish list hikes: the Mirador de San Cristobal.

Though not as high as Cristo Blanco, nor did it include any off road trails, the walk was straight up hill. 

I'm surprised I did not trip
over any of the low
fire hydrants

The views were stunning. What was not so enjoyable was being asked over and over again if we wanted to go in a van with a local to visit Saqsayhuman, an indigenous community near Cristo Blanco. "Non, gracias" was interpreted as repeating the question every couple of minutes and showing us a book, and explaining how if we went with him we would only have to make a donation of any amount, not pay the toll that is charged to everyone not involved with the community. With Don not feeling well, there was no way we were getting in a car with a stranger. Not to say if he was feeling better we would have.

Plaza des Armes looking much quieter than yesterday

The non-local to local ratio was not high, which meant there were very few people to take over for us when we tired of answering "non, gracias". After snapping a few pictures, and answering a text from Ashley about the blizzard back home, we started the descent. Again, I wish we had spent a few more minutes, enough to enter the church.

We met a couple traveling from London. They were halfway through their six month South American adventures. To put that into perspective, we were in London more recently than they were.

We realized the only way we would be able to have a conversation was to walk away. We headed downhill until we reached the San Blas Market. The place is meant for locals to do their food shopping, though tourists have also discovered it. I returned later to buy chocolate when I realized it was half the price of the chichi shop in the tourist district. The vegetables were so eye catching. Purple corn. Enormous squashes. A wide variety of the 4,000 types of potatoes we had been told about. More time. More acclimation to their water. A kitchen. Obstacles were in place that prevented me from doing more than taking pictures.

I felt brave enough to sit at a counter and order the corn soup. I had no idea what to expect. Later Ruth told me she and Bill sat at a similar counter and just had food put in front of them without bothering to order anything. In both our cases, the food was fresh, delicious, and cheaper than we could ever imagine. Now that I'm writing this from my family room I am kicking myself for not being more courageous with trying the local cuisine. Though with Don's stomach doing flip flops, it was the prudent course of action.

At this point Don and I parted for a couple of hours. He walked back to the room to take a quick nap. I continued to walk through the streets. I was cognizant of standing out as a non-local. Often in Europe I can at least not stand out. Here no matter what I did, I looked like a tourist. I'm a 5'8" tall white woman. Enough said. Bill pointed out I was likely the tallest woman they saw that day. I find that hard to believe, but point well taken. I wore my Chaco sandals, Eddie Bauer t-shirt, sweater, and capris, and carried a string bag. I was just going to roll with it and be comfortable, while still making sure my shoulders were respectfully covered when we entered a religious site.

I double backed to the market to buy local chocolate. The shop keeper opened a fishing tackle type of box with samples. So not sanitary. I ate them anyway and bought two bars of dark chocolate for about $3 each.

I continued with my trek to do something I didn't think would happen: I bought a postage stamp for Bialashu's passport. Ashley's stuffed panda bear stayed home, but for the first time in a few trips I added a stamp to her collection.

I wanted to sit in the Plaza de Armes and write in my notebook. Sit quietly, and soak up the scene. The locals had another idea. One by one they came up to me asking me to buy their wares. The most persistent was an artist by the name of Michael Jordan (he showed me his name engraved in the leather portfolio so I would remember it. The man looked to be anywhere from late 20s to 50. Parts of him seemed youthful, other parts seemed worn down by life. If I did buy from anyone, it would have been him. I tried explaining my daughter is an artist and our home is filled with her art. He suggested buying a piece for her. He showed me his entire portfolio. One by one. At least 40 pieces in a variety of styles. I suspect everyone's leather portfolio looked similar. He said he painted a couple of them. Some took a long time because of the technique of scraping away. His English was decent. I asked him how long he has been selling. He said he started at the age of 11 selling food at the stadium. He'll give me a good deal. Almost free. Of that I have no doubt. He even had tubes to carry the artwork. The first sale of his day (it was mid-afternoon) always brings him energy for the day. I still said no, knowing a yes would only bring more people to me. In fact, the no acted as a better repellent than any of my "non gracias" responses had. A return trip would have me buying artwork I don't need, nor do I want. As a fairly well-travelled Westerner, I do realize that is beside the point. They count on our tourist dollars in order to feed their families.

Though I left messages with the front desk and with yesterday's guide (Yacky, which she pronounced as Jackie for us), I did not receive a message about the start of the day's tour. I had the guides' number, but I could not remember Jose's name in my altitude hazy brain. With Don going back, I knew he would tell me where to meet.

I'll pick up with our tour of the Cathedral and Sun Temple.