Arrival in Cusco
06/17/10
The plane dipped an aggressive left, cutting through mountains low to the ground towards Cusco. After landing, our plane did a 360-degree u-turn, before being pulled by what looked similiar to a tractor towards the airport. I was already excited, before even leaving the plane.
When we walked across the concrete runway, I found myself mesmerized by the setting: Cusco was exactly what I expected, a country South American town, dusty with brown mountains to brown homes, feeling summoned from Peru´s past - horse-drawn carriages and homemade, massive backpacks of coloured blankets, the smell of cold-brushed wind, the pale light that covered the whole city in a soft glow, marking a pathway to walk amongst history. I found myself lost in mental images, my mind photographing each sight, until my infatuation with Cusco broke by the trance of footsteps echoing indoors.
Inside the airport, I found myself with the energy to continue carrying both our large backpacks, though tempted to test the airport´s courtesy oxygen cannisters, though, I was unwilling to deal with the salespitch that would have followed. The baggage conveyer hummed, while outside, men dressed in brown military suits and helmets paced in circles, armed with what appeared to be AK-47s. My excitement grew in rolling waves of thunder, the lightning crashes in my bones, this feel of nakedness, of being so out of place, which I have come to love.
I thought about heading home, of soon returning to a normal life, a feeling that left me with mild fear, as if the comforts of the familiar tired me, pulled me away from my current life, exhausted while living in a dream.
Without warning, a lightness hit my temples. A warm lassitude spread through my body in deep, even breaths, the world closing in with light air. I was panting like a dog from taking only a few steps out of the airport. My balance felt off, as if the ground below me gently shook. My limbs became feather light and weak. My brain an air bubble. Toes without feeling.
I was glad I planned this in advance, to arrive in Cusco two days before we began hiking, in the hopes this would be enough time for us to adjust to the change in altitude. We were 3,400 metres above sea level, near the Urubama Valley of the Andes Mountains, the historic capital of the Inca Empire.
Boxie-boo was handling the altitude adjustment better and began talking with taxi drivers. She returned minutes later, out of breath from the short walk, taking breaks between sentences to swallow air. A driver told her he would not take us to the Apu Wasi Hostel, as the place was supposedly home to a violent riot. At best, he would take us within a few blocks, then we would walk the rest of the way at an expensive price of 50 Soles.
I knew he was full of shit. Taxi drivers lie constantly in the hopes to trick travelers into going to a hotel where they get a commission. Before entering Cusco, I checked the status online in Lima - the place was safe, only going through a mild worker strike. Eventually, we found another taxi who agreed to take us for 30 Soles, discovering the dangers of our hostel - people were outside playing soccer with nets made marked by large rocks, while street vendors sold fresh fruit to locals. Oh the danger! A taxi tried to pull this same trick on us in India, and we were glad we did not fall for it then or in Peru.
The altitude adjustment hit us harder trying to walk up the stairs, the two of us walking very slow, breathing in hard enough to dry our throats. We began slowing our breaths and later relaxed in our room, only leaving for a short sprint around the beautiful town of Cusco to grab lunch, before returning to rest. The best medicine for altitude adjustment is to take it slow and be patient, so we obliged, feeling constantly light-headed, near stoned, as if they city exhaled hole a soothing drug in its moisture.
That´s all for now.
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