Hot Tea in an Old City: Sarah O'Leary
We stepped off the plane in Cusco, Peru with more than a tinge of trepidation. Seasoned travelers had warned us of the headaches, dizziness and nausea we could expect from the abrupt change in altitude when we arrived in this ancient city perched at well above 10,000 feet. As we wended our way through the airport, we were serenaded by panpipes played by Indians clad in the colorful traditional attire of the Incas -white shirts, black brimmed hats, multi-colored serapes and skirts. I thought to myself, this isn’t so bad, I feel fine. But by the time we disengaged ourselves from the tiny taxi we’d all crammed into and staggered into the hotel courtyard, my head was spinning. As we sat in the low-ceilinged dining room, sipping hot coca leaf tea provided by our host, my husband gave me a wobbly smile remarking, “I feel like I’m in a fun house.” Indeed at that moment his face seemed all stretched out like in one of those funny warped mirrors. I took another sip of the mildly bitter brew and wondered how I was going to make it up the narrow rickety steps that led to our room.
My family and I were on the second leg of our vacation in Peru. My husband, Tim, our 13-year-old daughter, Rosie, and I had all flown into Lima and met up with daughter Ciel, 20, who had been living in South America for the last year. She’d spent several months in Cusco, so she was our leader that day when we first arrived in the city. After a short nap, heads still reeling, we ventured out into the cold drizzle, following Ciel’s purposeful figure up the narrow streets, through long rock walled passageways towards the center of town. My eyes were fixed on my daughter way up ahead when I suddenly I slammed into something soft yet solid. Oof! I raised my eyes to see that I’d bumped into an Indian woman carrying a large bundle on her back wrapped up in a multi-colored blanket. Oh my god, I thought to myself, did I just bump into her baby? “Oh, Pardon!” I exclaimed as I met her eyes, dark and burning into mine with a ferocious contempt. She stood tall with a regal bearing, black hair piled on her head, clad in traditional Indian garb. With a surge of relief I realized the bundle was definitely not a baby. I smiled and shrugged in my friendly American way. She continued to stare at me, unsmiling. “Pardon,” I mumbled again, feeling about an inch tall, as I hurried up the alley to catch up with my family.
One reason we had made our way high into the Peruvian Andes was to see the famous Lost City of the Incas, Machu Picchu, known for it’s mystical energy and breathtaking views. I had hoped get there by hiking the famous Inca Trail for three days, just as Ciel had done the year before. But to my disappointment I realized that traveling with a thirteen-year-old, and the relative shortness of our vacation, turned that aspiration into a pipe dream. I resigned myself to the train ride to the famous ruins. The day after our arrival in Cusco, we found ourselves sleepily threading our way through the crowds at the train station at 6:30 in the morning. Even before our taxi pulled up to the building we could see the ubiquitous vendors and hear their calls. Old women held up cheap plastic rain ponchos and young boys waved packages of Kodak film. Others held out boxes of candy bars – Hershey’s, Nestle’s, Mars - mixed in with foreign chocolates with Spanish names. Women and girls prowled the crowd with baskets of sandwiches. The cacophony filled our ears as we stood with the other tourists, Japanese, Swedish, American, all of us in a long line that snaked up the concrete steps, towards the entrance of the building. I thought to myself, these entrepreneurs must make their entire daily income before the 7 a.m. Gringo Train takes off for Machu Picchu each morning.
As the train wound its way up the mountains, we passed farm animals grazing on the emerald hillsides and we could see people emerging from their thatched huts into the early morning air. As we approached they paused to watch the daily spectacle of the big blue train full of tourists chugging by. Small dark skinned children broke into smiles as they saw us, and waved furiously. A young raven haired woman stepped into the sunlight carrying a baby, waving too. We continued to climb as the farms and people faded behind us, then turning a corner, the train began the sharp descent into the valley. All the while the magnificent Andes, green and craggy, towered into the clouds.
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