I cannot think of another way to begin: Machu Picchu. Even this is not satisfactory for a beginning, but it will have to do. As I write, I sit on one of the higher raised fields, and the view is unreal. small wispy cloud is below between the mountains. This must be the closest I'll ever get to flying. The paper I am writing on is soaked.
Where to begin? It is difficult to describe the last three days since leaving Iowa. The last time I wrote was on the plane from Iowa to Dallas. However, it did not save on my ipod. From now on entries will occur on paper first. I was curious about the stories of the people around me, but there was not much space in my ind for much of anything. There was a man seated diagonal to me in the flight. I noticed his passport from El Salvador before boarding the flight. We held each others eyes for a split moment- we heard our cacophony of emotion. When our wheels left the runway, I was crying, but I was also laughing.
I had to take a break from writing to let the rain pass and to take a nap. I only slept for 20 minutes, but waking up here made it more real. It was time to begin investigating and thinking again.
El subia (climb) up the mountain began at 11:45am. Investigating the route and purchasing another day's admission delayed me from my original 9:20am start down the path. When I reached the base of the mountain, the guard sent me away. The walk back seemed much shorter once I knew the way. Wandering a bit in Aguas Calientes, also known as Macu Picchu pueblo, I encountered the Plaza de Armas and the Machu Piccu ticket office. Purchasing another admission- about $25 USD or 60 s/.- made me think twice, but only briefly. Regret is not a result of this expenditure. I equipped myself with two bottles of water, a small plantain, and a granola bar of quinoa and corn. My stomach had been sending me small pains on my left side on my way from the base of the mountain back to Aguas Calientes. I hoped this was hunger or dehydration, not altitude sickness. Regardless, I began.
On la camina from Aguas Calientes to the base of the mountain, there were two porters accompanying a group of middle aged US hikers (based on their accent, but easily could have been of any European descent), presumably hikers from the Inca Trail. The two young Peruvian men bend under the cargo of the hikers and from the correct angle, only their mountain goat thin but strong legs betrayed how the bags moved. The oven on the right turned to half-smile to his friend- already many of his teeth were missing. Becoming a custom for this start of my trip, a sudden punch of emotion manifested. Here is where I begin to ask myself, what's wrong with this relationship? Is there indeed something wrong? This recalled my first venture into the countryside around Cusco. Our taxi hair pinned around the mountain, navigated people, dogs, and trucks among breathtaking mountain views. Homes made of long grass thatch caught my eyes along with a plastic wrapping emblazoned: USAUD. My travel companion Rocio outlined the projects of CIP (el Centro Internacional de la Papa), some with development and orange flesh sweet potato (camote). She told me there are many problems in the rural areas of Peru- water quality, education, health, and food security. Illiteracy and poverty in Peru is high-anywhere from 20% to 30% depending upon the type of poverty evaluation. Someone told me, "people even die of cold in the winter here. Things here represent to me more how things used to be." This begged the question in my mind, if this is the reality for people today, isn't this just a comforting thought, not a truth?
Seeing these young men and my conversation with Rocio made me question harshly the depth of my cultural exchanges thus far. In IAAS and with Rocio and Nataly, I've been interacting with a specific sector of the population: young, educated, and middle to upper class. How much am I stretching myself by repeating this? Another part of me says, one step at a time, Genna. One step at a time. Nonetheless, I hope I can work on the weekends or evenings in some type of volunteer project or organization. I have many precautions about these types of projects as well, but first hand experience will be the best mode of evaluation.
What detail a camera cannot catch. Upon looking up from my post at writing, I notice a cloud rolled into the interior around the centeral tree that facinates me. The clouds can be seen as clustered of vapor particles, carried on convection currents of countless layers and shapes that call to mind the mysterious: souls of the deal, hands of Incan dios, Gandalf's pipe.
At this point, I got kicked out of the park. I stayed until 5pm, which was an hour longer than I should have stayed. Upon disembarking, I realized darkness would fall more quickly than the time in which I could descend from the mountain. When I realized this, I picked up my pace quite a bit...
May 16th
As I write, the scenery passes at a calm rate. Traveling by train as romantic as I imagined. Mountains house beauty of humbling height. Ademas, the vegitative biodiversity is visible, overwhelming, and beautiful beyond description, even by photograph. You need the panorama, the movement of grazing cows, pigs, and llamas in teh fields, the feel smell, mood of the air. The vegetation is dry-subtropical with rapeseed, prickly pear, agave, trees speckling the coat of the land. Then the farms: mixtures of wheat, maize, potato, lima bean, and many I cannot recognize. Houses are made of sod, clay, open windows, and laundry hanging in the open air. Fires burn, mothers tend to children, children run after livestock, adults rest and converse. Observing the strong current of the river, it's green tint and foamy tops. I wonder at how quickly its cold strong arms would carry my body away. The train rocks to and fro over the tracks, and the sound of the train is passing and syncopated: cha-cha, cha-cha- cha-cha, cha-cha-
No comments:
Post a Comment