“Holy $#%!” Sam’s words were a rather restrained cacophony of expletives unlike him but not without reason. The soft, billowing clouds had given way to a fractured landscape of mountain tops our plane plummented in a nose-dive toward the high altitude landing strip that is fashionably called an international airport in Cuzco, Peru.
Billy did a Jackie-O over his sunglasses, letting them slide just a fraction down his nose, before he stopped them with a grimace and said, “Isn’t this where they filmed ‘Alive’ where the plane full of people crashed into the side of the Andes and the survivors had to resort to cannibalism?”
“That was Bolivia” I remarked. ”This is Cusco. Cusco, Peru.” He shrugged and disappeared back behind his sunglasses.
The city of Cusco is a beautiful place layered with history. During 13th century, the surrounding lords of the Andean valleys fell to the Incas Viracocha, Huascar, and Pachacutec consolidating power in the royal temples and palaces of Cusco. The Spanish leveled the Inca palaces and remade the city into a colonial outpost of striking brutality and treasure looting. Terrorism in the 1980s and 1990s, quieted the third largest city of Peru temporarily as its residents sought to avoid the power struggle between the Shining Path and the Fuijimori government. And, now, with the fastest growing economy in South America, and an ascending tourist industry, we found the streets were filled with small women in tiny high heel shoes spider-stepping on the cobblestone toward every tourist with the greeting of “Inka Massage” or back-lit white signs offering “Inka Cola” or “Inka Tours.”
We had come to Peru for a month to trek. And trekking is what we did. Our big group (Kristen, Frank, Maddie, Isabel, Sam, Bill, Jim, and me) was trekking the Inka Trail from Kilometer 82 to Machu Picchu later that week. A four-day, three-night journey both backward and forward in time. Later in the trip, a smaller group was set to tackle a 90-mile trek and ascent of the Cordillera Huayhuash. But for now we were marveling in the gentle chaos of the city.
“What do you think is involved in an Inka Massage?” Sam asked before I pushed the card out of his hand and we moved on to the center of town.
