My arrival to Cuzco in November of 2005 was like being born again: complete and utter torture! It was 4:30 a.m. and my bus had been on the road for ten plus hours. The ascending climb from the southern Peruvian city of Arequipa was frigid and visually condensed, for all I could see were the people in the immediate area in the interior of the bus. As we traveled, in survival blanket bundles due to the extreme cold, I prayed for a quick and safe arrival to my dreamt of destination, the former capital of the Incas. My birth process finally culminated with our pre-dawn arrival at the bus station in Cuzco.
Right away, everything was fast and loud. Owing mostly to the lack of sleep I had gotten in the last couple of days (originating while on my bus to Arequipa via Lima, the Peruvian capital city) and to my quaking nervousness given the impending unknown on my horizon, I fetched my bags from under the one of many Peruvian companies' buses.
Amongst a sea of plaid, in the form of colored burlap bags carried by locals, I made my way as a strong minority in the tide of Serranos (people from the sierras, or mountains) that almost consumed me. I shuffled through the indigenous masses with the will of a drowning man finally locating the surface when I found the front door to the station. I took in some much needed air there, but was abruptly approached by five taxistas looking for company. Out of desperation, and need for space, I took the first one's offer and went with him.
Zaguan del Cielo, #12, was the address given to me by the principal at Amigo's Spanish School, my place of volunteership for the next three months. At the pace that I was going now, 5:35 a.m., I was surely to be the first to arrive for work. My taxista had a bit of trouble finding the address, but quickly recovered and even went as far as walking up to the front door of the school with me to be certain that I arrived safely. Regardless of method and style, I had arrived in Cuzco, Peru, my highly anticipated goal had been achieved. And now I would wait for the rooster's call to wake up the others.
Juan Carlos was the first to arrive to the front door of the school. I sat, huddled away, like a vulnerable man without recourse or a place of respite. We cordially introduced ourselves and entered the school.
Juan Carlos was only the second person that I had met with the phenotypical characteristics of an indigenous person from the Andes. His eyes Asiatic, his skin as dark brown as possible, and his accent noticeably Quechua influenced.
He gave me a tour of the school where I would be for the next quarter-year plus and we sat down to have tea. A half-hour later, the principal of the school arrived along with one of the other workers, Sergio. The latter immediately struck me as mellow and kind, while the former was quite a sight to see.
My best description of Jesus, the principal, would be a mix of RuPaul meet Juan Gabriel (a famous Mexican singer/songwriter) meet Inca warrior! He was as flamboyant as they come with a visible feisty tiger hidden inside ready to strike upon call! We sat, had a conversation regarding my role at the school, and Jesus eventually offered to give me a tour of the city.
A bit about the previous paragraph: It's not that I wasn't expecting there to be gay people in Cuzco, it's just that I wasn't expecting one to be so flamboyant and the principal of the school! Luckily for me, Jesus' sense of humor was such that he would play to his femininity by exaggerating it either for comic relief in a friend situation or as rebellion in a strange stranger situation. Needless to say, Jesus, Sergio, Juan Carlos, and I shared infinite laughs with regard to Jesus being Jesus and all of us being exactly who we were as well.
My first tour of Cuzco was spellbinding: views of the outskirts of the old city, the omnipresent Inca foundations now supporting the reconstructed Spanish supplanted buildings, the twelve-angled stone and all of the other fitted Inca stonework, the narrow alleyway streets, and to top it off, the Plaza de Armas.
From the perspective of the center fountain of the Plaza, one has a panoramic view of the surrounding mountains of the city of Cuzco. To the west, Sacsayhuaman, the fortification which formerly stopped attacking tribes and colonizers from entering the city. Sacsayhuaman, or "Sexy Woman," as the tour guides will say, also forms the puma's head (given that the original shape of Cuzco is in the form of a puma, a characteristic reminiscent of other anthropomorphic figures found in Peru, i.e. the Nazca Lines). To the east, we see .... the place where Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo, the creator gods of the Incas, purportedly planted their staff proclaiming Cuzco as the capital of the Inca Empire. Today, it is marked by a monument depicting the two gods, a noteworthy place to visit. To the north and south, are (usually) green hills where numerous battles were fought during the Conquest of Peru. For the best reading of the Conquest of the Incas, read The Conquest of the Incas, by John Hemming.
As Jesus and I strolled through the Plaza de Armas and its surrounding blocks we observed the myriad Inca stone foundations which previously housed various temples, Inca quarters, government buildings, and other miscellaneous services. While sitting on the steps in front of the Catedral, Jesus and I sat and took in the greatness that is this city. Mini Tico cabs shooting by, hordes of tourists arriving, seeing, and leaving in the tour buses they came in on, and my favorite of all: the Cuzqueno kids who would approach and give their sales pitch.
It went something like this:
The first President of the United States: George Washington. The second: John Adams. The third: Alexander Hamilton. The fourth:...
The richest man in the World: Bill Gates, owner of Microsoft in Seattle, Washington.
This entertaining spiel would continue on to include whichever other random knowledge obviously taught to the kid by the vendor of some store looking to capitalize by having kids "woo" the tourists in order to sell anything from postcards, to Andean character hand puppets, to small copies of local paintings. I found all of these kids, during my experience in Cuzco (spanning three trips), to be very amusing and remarkably sharp. I, of course, question the sought-after end result, but, nevertheless, understand the survival and adaptive measures taken by both child and store-owner.
After the spectacle at the Cathedral steps, we walked over to La Compania, the Jesuit church erected and intentionally designed to out-do the Franciscan Cathedral. The facade of the church is much more detailed and elaborately decorated yielding an almost exaggerated contrast to that of the more traditional Baroque style of the Catedral. As we found out inside, the gold painted backdrop of the pupil, standing in stark contrast to the dark interior (created by the use of local stones, dark in hue), was just the ticket to "wow" the audiences who came to pray in its grandeur and observe its masterful work.
It's interesting to note that the clashes and disagreement that existed between the Jesuits in the New World and all other denominations. Unlike the traditional, pious, and the vowing of poverty characteristic of Franciscan and Dominicans operating in the New World, the Jesuits ran their operation like a private company: capitalize where possible and incorporate oneself into the body of not only the religious clergy but into the political and social body as well. The Jesuits were so notorious for involving themselves in the business of other sectors of society that in the late 1700s they were expelled from the New World. The work of La Compania is a metaphor for the way in which the Jesuits operated in New World society: Marketing 101 with aims of capitalization thereafter.
In addition to the brilliant and extravagant architecture created by the Jesuits, the art highlighted in La Compania church is some of the most notable work carried out by the Cuzquena School. This high-level art circle, supported and taught by well-known Spanish artists of the day (from the 16th to 19th century), produced numerous paintings for the walls of the Jesuit Church. Artists' aimed to incorporate characteristics of nature into their works whereby inviting the viewer, initially illiterate Incas, to recall the natural images that are so prevalent around him or her, in the form of nature (mountains, rivers, stars, etc.). Either the byproduct of a rebellious artist's idea, or the intention of a conversion-hungry artist or high-level clergy official, the use of nature in paintings formed an integral method by which the Church was able to win the hearts and minds of the indigenous population, at least superficially; in most cases, the former's complete successes were few and far between, regardless of the outward appearance.
All of this site-seeing was making me hungry. So Jesus and I decided to grab a bite to eat. For dinner, we decided to eat local. By local, I mean staying close to long-term businesses who've been in operation for more than ten years. We went to a restaurant a couple of blocks away from the Plaza de Armas where we found some well-respected service and food. Upon entering this typical Cuzqueno place, I took note of the absence of gringos or other tourists. My presence was so unlikely that it appeared to have shocked the local clientele frequenting the popular eatery. With a supportive nudge from Jesus I found the courage to carry forth.
We sat next to two other men who were playing "hog" of the table. When Jesus asked the two if there were others in their party, one of the men, with blank face, reluctantly moved over on the long-stretching cafeteria-style benches/tables, and the other followed suit while breaking from uniformity only when I spoke. "...No, just the two of us." My friend and I cordially thanked the two stern men for their "courtesy" and promptly took our seats.
Ten seconds later, the small Cuzquena waitress stood stoic and ready to take our order, even before offering us menus. Following her lightening-quick menu-of-the-day recitation, I conferred to Jesus who explained to confused me the three choices: chicken, steak, or lentils, while the cute lady looked on patient and still. I opted for the chicken plate while Jesus chose the meat plate.
Sitting in this close-quartered local spot was both nerve-racking and exhilarating! I had only shared a restaurant exclusively with locals only two times previous to this current experience. One key to traveling adventurously is to take risks such as this in order to eat what the local people eat and enjoy. Much too often, travelers opt for the easy-way while negating the opportunity to gain a glimpse into the culinary, cultural, social, and other aspects of eating in the mix of "regulars." If one dines like this, it's as if everyday life is almost captured and offered for free to the advantage of the courageous.
Ten minutes after my initial anxiety surfaced, I relaxed and found myself very much enjoying this close proximity to the locals (Actually, I now prefer to travel in this way: with mainly locals). A few minutes after this, an old friend of Jesus' approached and invited both of us to the art museum to view his display. We accepted and decided to go there right after lunch.
The Museum of Modern Art in Cuzco is an absolute masterpiece. An old colonial building with Inca foundations (like most other centrally-located buildings in the city), this building was eventually transformed into a museum in the early 1900s. Jesus' friend, Carlos, met us in one of the rooms bordering the inside of the interior plaza of the museum. Carlos went on to show us the local art display and competition that would be taking place in the coming days. Jesus and I were privy to some exceptional work highlighting the modern, ancient, and mixed art of these displayed artists. Carlos himself was a very accomplished artist having won the prize for the country's best artist a few years earlier. He spent two years in London where he studied at a well-known art academy. Judging by Carlos' presence and humility, I guessed that his work was probably nothing less than impressive.
Jesus and I walked through the museum room observing the varying degrees of talent, technique, and tone evident in each work of art. Out of the ten or so truly incredible works (of the hundred on display), there was one that absolutely stood out. In that moment, Jesus was as captivated as I was. What my friend and I viewed was the depiction of a quintessentially-dressed indigenous man from Cuzco. This in itself, wasn't the catch; you see pictures and photos of indigenous men, women and children the country over. What made this indigenous man so noteworthy was the fact that the artist placed this man's painted profile as the photo part of a DNI, or national identification, card. Implicit within this artist's message is a question that has baffled the leaders and politicians of the Peruvian Republic for the last 180 years (and for even longer when considering the colonial period): what do we do with the Indians? In Peru, it was never very cool to kill off the natives as the usurpers in North America were accustomed to doing. Instead, the attempt was made to coerce and/or convert the natives.
One way the natives were coerced was by inscribed labor through the mita. The mita forced the native population to either work in various different capacities (the most notable being at the myriad mines throughout the Andes region) while producing a desired quota for the regional Spanish authority and the larger, over-arching Spanish Vice royalty. A byproduct of the mita was the relocation of formerly stable populations. This resulted in instability and an absence of cohesion in various populations throughout the country. Notwithstanding this attempt by the Spanish crown, and later by the ascendants to power in Peru, the native population has always had its knack for maintaining spiritual-religious, cultural and communal union through the centuries.
This is evident by the many accounts made by ecclesiastics when faced with the resulting reality of failed conversion and the natives' indifference to most things Catholic/Christian.
There are numerous examples of attempts made by the Spanish to convert and coerce the native populations. In most cases, these attempts proved futile given the natives' deep-rooted view of their world that happens to run almost counter to that of the Spaniards (and their European roots); which is a topic that has been discussed by many scholars.
Back to present day. This piece of great art was a pleasure to view and a summation of much of the clash that has been taking place between the social and cultural classes of Peru for the last four plus centuries (given that the upper classes/power holders were essentially spawns of the Spanish crown, versus the indigenous lower classes).
Next stop on our tour of Cuzco, the Church of Santo Domingo, a hop, skip and a leap from the Museum. We ventured along Avenida del Sol, the infamous road that leads to the hallowed grounds of the Santo Domingo Church, the former location of Cori'cancha, the Temple of the Sun. This divine place once stood as the "belly button" of the Inca universe. From this point, it is said that the energetic connection to the sky, land, and underworld is held and that the political and spiritual leaders of the Inca Empire would ascertain the appropriate measures to be taken in the best interests of the Empire. Although, like in any empire, the political and spiritual would surely enter into disagreement (the realities of the Incas can't be viewed with an overly naive scope; the Incas were an Empire and cannot be viewed as some spiritual utopian society, like many have done, and continue to do, over the last two hundred years).
The first conquistadors that reached the exterior walls of Cori'cancha were worlds beyond themselves with exhilaration. There, before their desirous eyes, stood endless rows and columns of solid gold, the "sheets" of gold hung like a materialistic equivalent of a sighting of the divine. The gold sheets glistened in the sun's light as the small group of Spaniards relished in their "find" and determined by exactly what method they would strip this glorious temple's walls of its unknowing (to the Incas) riches. They say that the entire temple was covered with this gold; in order to imagine its size, one must only think of the size and grandeur of a cathedral as we know them to be.
By this point in our tour of Cuzco, Jesus and I were in need of a break from the conventional. Taking Jesus' cue, I followed him. Before the walk had even begun, we were at the desired destination: Hotel Libertadores, the chain of hotels known to be only in the most breathtaking places of Peru. Jesus told me that this place had a bar with the best Pisco Sours in all of Peru. At his urging, we entered. By entering we gained insight to Anywhere Uppity, World, and away from historic and modern-day Cuzco.
The lobby was immaculate, building off of the Inca Ruin theme; a very real style in that the foundation of the hotel is comprised of original Inca stones. We went directly to the bar area while we waited for another friend to join us.
We took seats at the vacant bar and scoped out the place. Inca foundations to the back, bar to the front, lobby out in the distance, bar separated from hotel lobby by long wall of glass. We received our drinks within two minutes and, once having tested the spirits, loosened up any previously unloose blocks. Jesus, in that moment, decided to display this looseness by starting his more-than-hilarious version of "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred. Suffice it to say that Jesus' version is like no other version in the solar system. Not only does he have the Peruvian accent while singing the words, but he shows such a natural feminine swagger that no soul on Earth could resist sudden amusement. It was so off-the-wall that I couldn't help but to quickly follow suit.
We were soon after joined by John, our American friend from the school. He laughed in shock while Jesus and I "duoed" our way to the catchy 90s pop masterpiece. I knew in that instance that the traditional Peru, oh-so-desired and expected prior to my arrival in the country, was lost and had instead been replaced by some strange South American version of "Lost in Translation."
We took our RSF show on the road from there. We exited Hotel Libertadores and headed right for the Plaza de Armas. First, we cut through a long alley way which would lead us to our next bar of choice, Cross Keys, the famous English pub bordering one side of the main plaza. This walk through the narrow, Inca ruin-studded alley, could be more aptly described as a "strut." Jesus began to put on a model show more reminiscent of RuPaul than anyone/anything else. He played to the imaginary crowd and cameras as he pranced on the wet cobblestone only pausing here and there for brief, mischievous peeks. Cuzco was not even close to being ready for something like this; we were smart to be living this out at night away from the microscope of daylight.
Once we reached our destination at Cross Keys, nothing could stop this trio from fulfilling all that we had sought. In short, more Pisco Sours and company in the form of women. Though the latter, come to find, wasn't in plenty supply, the former was; it was with full commitment that the three of us, plus three others, spent the next three hours.
Fast forward two-and-a-half hours. Fuzzy ceiling, walls and tables. Some form of movement abounded in the shape of human bodies. The spins had hit me and I was whirling, attempting to find some sort of grasp on things. By now, the damage had been done; I was beyond return and I began to kiss my ass goodbye. The only way out: leave! Within seconds, the original trio left and sought transportation home. The only thing I remember from this point on is my fish eye view of the exit/entrance to the bar with the view of the Plaza de Armas outside. I recall the faint appearance of taxis pulled up to the curb awaiting the next drunk's arrival; I guess that would be me, times three! We hopped in and putted away in our Tico taxi through the cool, dark and surreal alleys of the Plaza and its surrounding street blocks, as my first day in Cuzco came to a pathetic end.
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