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Home > Your Stories > A Diary of a Single Girl Part 1 |
Internet Cafes Abound, But No Toilet
Paper Anywhere
I arrived in Cuzco, Peru, yesterday, and have already discovered
that there is an Internet cafe every 5 feet, but apparently toilet
paper is a rare commodity...
The people here are extremely friendly and any attempt at Spanish
(they call it Castellano – pronounced "cahst-ah-yah-no") is greeted
with a big smile and an attempt on their part to speak English. Much
to my surprise, I've actually been able to make myself understood –
my thanks to Lonely Planet for their Latin American phrasebook.
I've also discovered altitude sickness. It affects a lot of
people when they get up this high (12,000 feet, or 3,657 m), and if
you're lucky it passes in a couple of days. Symptoms range from
headaches to insomnia to constant vomiting. Luckily I only
experienced a mild altitude effect that manifested itself as a kind
of drunken stupor. I realized I was having a problem when I was
re-reading email I was writing and realized the words I was thinking
were NOT the words I was typing. The local remedy is
mate-de-coca, tea made from coca leaves – the kind in
cocaine. After the first three cups I felt much better. I don't know
if the remedy worked or if I just didn't notice by that point; in
any case, I was a convert to its healing powers and have been
drinking it non-stop now.
Cuzco is nestled in a valley surrounded by even higher mountains.
It's extremely picturesque and geared toward the tourist crowd.
Unfortunately, I've heard it can also be a little dangerous at night
in some places – and unfortunately that's where most of the hostels
are located. That's okay though, 'cause a taxi only costs 2 soles,
or about 70 U.S. cents.
Cuzco is very near the equator, and that helps keep the weather
here fairly constant, with an daily average in the low 70s (20s C).
But there is a constant cool breeze and I haven't been able to break
out the Tevas or the sarong. The sky is a brilliant blue, and I
think having a thinner atmosphere allows the greens to stand out
even more. The nights have been a little too chilly for me, as the
hostel I'm staying in apparently never heard of heating. The 50°
nights have me sleeping in my long undies and sweats as I bundle
under my sleeping bag and three blankets. Going to the even more
freezing bathroom, where you're riding bareback on the seat, is not
an option for me in the middle of the night.
A good way to get an introduction to the area is by day tour. Not
only are they very cheap (about $7 for a half day and $10 for a full
day – and always negotiable) but they are very informative. I didn't
know much about the Inca culture, now I realize what a progressive
and fascinating society it was. The hillsides here a chock-full of
ancient (well, 1400s) cities and fortresses. They used massive
stones to build these things, and they had to haul the stones from
miles and miles away, up this huge mountain. They also had running
water, which they brought in from snow-capped mountains that look
like they are days away. The people outside of Cuzco still wear
their traditional garb, and the women still wrap up their babies in
a colorful shawl they wrap around their back. But no matter how
rustic an area, modern life has encroached. For instance, the hill
people expect you to pay them a sole if you take their picture –
apparently it's big business.
Other encroachments of 21st century life include the Coca Cola
signs... EVERYWHERE. And I mean everywhere. You're coming around a
switchback in the middle of the mountain range – and there's a
billboard!
So far life has been very economical. My hostel is $5 per night
for a private room with no bath. Dinner at one of the best
restaurants in town (two bottles of mineral water, delicious trout
entree, shaved garlic tomato and poached egg soup – I know that
sounds weird, but it was awesome) cost about $9 each.
No one's licked my ear here yet, but perhaps there's some strange
altitude sickness remedy I'll discover soon.
What I lost today: my ATM card.
Maria Argyropoulos, USA Copyright
Maria Argyropoulos. All rights reserved. Story reproduced with kind permission. Home
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