This blog post is being written by candlelight (due to a power outage) in the village of Ollantaytambo on the evening of Thursday, October 2. We travelled here by taxi after landing in the regional capital, Cusco, on Tuesday morning.
Ollantaytambo is an Incan town that has been continuously occupied since at least the 1400s. There are narrow, pedestrian-only cobblestone lanes, intricately-fitted stone walls, and an elegant aqueduct system.
Many of the citizens of this village and surrounding, even-tinier settlements, are indigenous people in traditional clothing, with babies tied on the mamas’ backs.
At the market, along with more usual items, there are cows’ and sheep’s heads for sale. And guinea pigs are raised for dual purposes: pets AND special-occasion menu items! Knowing that, and seeing this scene, made Dawn cry today.
We read during our research that about one in three people will experience significant altitude sickness when visiting the Andes. Well, Frank, Dawn and I have proven to be a representative sample – I have been feeling dreadful, with classic symptoms: weakness, nausea, insomnia and one of the most intense and longest-lasting migraine headaches I have ever experienced. It has made fully enjoying the adventure really difficult! We toured the Incan archeological site on the mountain overlooking the town today and it took every bit of grit I could muster to put one foot in front of the other to climb the steps (only 300 or so), and to pretend to be interested in what our guide had to say! Truly, though, the site is an impressive scale and astounding craftsmanship: archeologists estimate it took an average of a month of labour to prepare and polish each stone prior to fitting it precisely in place.
Thankfully, through a combination of the passage of time and remedies both traditional (coca leaf tea – perfectly legal and much less exciting than it sounds) and modern (diamox pills and a canister of pure oxygen), I am feeling much better this evening. These last two days, I have been acutely aware of what it might be like for my dear friend Trish as she goes through the after-effects of chemotherapy every two weeks.
Tomorrow, Frank and Dawn will attempt a five-hour downhill mountain-bike tour, but I am going to take it easy to give myself one more day to acclimatize. Recovering in time for our trek to Macchu Pichu on Sunday is my top priority! Travelling for 30 hours, being overwhelmed by the strangeness of everything, and feeling crappy on top of it, makes me think of a story from my cousin Judi’s adolescence. “So you really love hiking, eh?” her mom asked her after she came home from a stint at summer camp featuring a multi-day out trip. “Not really”, she answered. “Not every minute, anyway. But it feels so amazing when you get there”.
Frank and I seem to have a knack for timing our trips to coincide with local elections. All people will be voting across Peru on Sunday. And I do mean ALL: anyone who doesn't can be fined abparades.! And they won't be drinking, at least not in public, for two days prior: there are fines for that too. The electioneering seems to take the forms primarily of signage painted directly on buildings, and noisy parades.
I find myself thinking a lot about the experience of childhood here, compared to home. I'm pretty certain it's better here for most kids: they get carried around on their mamas’ backs at least for their first year. In this town, anyway, they are well-fed and warmly-dressed and clearly loved and they play outside until bed time…with sticks and rocks and pieces of wood and empty plastic bottles. I wonder what the rates of childhood anxiety, depression and obesity are here. Surely lower than in Canada and the United States.
Well, the lights have come back on, and it's almost time for bed. If you'd like to see more photos, go to Frank’s OneDrive at:
http://tinyurl.com/k3meuan
Good night, dear people.
Wendy, Frank and Dawn
Ollantaytambo is an Incan town that has been continuously occupied since at least the 1400s. There are narrow, pedestrian-only cobblestone lanes, intricately-fitted stone walls, and an elegant aqueduct system.
Many of the citizens of this village and surrounding, even-tinier settlements, are indigenous people in traditional clothing, with babies tied on the mamas’ backs.
At the market, along with more usual items, there are cows’ and sheep’s heads for sale. And guinea pigs are raised for dual purposes: pets AND special-occasion menu items! Knowing that, and seeing this scene, made Dawn cry today.
We read during our research that about one in three people will experience significant altitude sickness when visiting the Andes. Well, Frank, Dawn and I have proven to be a representative sample – I have been feeling dreadful, with classic symptoms: weakness, nausea, insomnia and one of the most intense and longest-lasting migraine headaches I have ever experienced. It has made fully enjoying the adventure really difficult! We toured the Incan archeological site on the mountain overlooking the town today and it took every bit of grit I could muster to put one foot in front of the other to climb the steps (only 300 or so), and to pretend to be interested in what our guide had to say! Truly, though, the site is an impressive scale and astounding craftsmanship: archeologists estimate it took an average of a month of labour to prepare and polish each stone prior to fitting it precisely in place.
Thankfully, through a combination of the passage of time and remedies both traditional (coca leaf tea – perfectly legal and much less exciting than it sounds) and modern (diamox pills and a canister of pure oxygen), I am feeling much better this evening. These last two days, I have been acutely aware of what it might be like for my dear friend Trish as she goes through the after-effects of chemotherapy every two weeks.
Tomorrow, Frank and Dawn will attempt a five-hour downhill mountain-bike tour, but I am going to take it easy to give myself one more day to acclimatize. Recovering in time for our trek to Macchu Pichu on Sunday is my top priority! Travelling for 30 hours, being overwhelmed by the strangeness of everything, and feeling crappy on top of it, makes me think of a story from my cousin Judi’s adolescence. “So you really love hiking, eh?” her mom asked her after she came home from a stint at summer camp featuring a multi-day out trip. “Not really”, she answered. “Not every minute, anyway. But it feels so amazing when you get there”.
Frank and I seem to have a knack for timing our trips to coincide with local elections. All people will be voting across Peru on Sunday. And I do mean ALL: anyone who doesn't can be fined abparades.! And they won't be drinking, at least not in public, for two days prior: there are fines for that too. The electioneering seems to take the forms primarily of signage painted directly on buildings, and noisy parades.
I find myself thinking a lot about the experience of childhood here, compared to home. I'm pretty certain it's better here for most kids: they get carried around on their mamas’ backs at least for their first year. In this town, anyway, they are well-fed and warmly-dressed and clearly loved and they play outside until bed time…with sticks and rocks and pieces of wood and empty plastic bottles. I wonder what the rates of childhood anxiety, depression and obesity are here. Surely lower than in Canada and the United States.
Well, the lights have come back on, and it's almost time for bed. If you'd like to see more photos, go to Frank’s OneDrive at:
http://tinyurl.com/k3meuan
Good night, dear people.
Wendy, Frank and Dawn
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