Day two...Higher learning

            I’ve come to notice that whenever someone asks me who I'm going to Peru with, and I say I'm going by myself I always get the same reaction. It starts with a moment of silence, as they stare at me in what looks like a mixture of shock, pity then turns to joy and envy. It all seems to register on their faces in one quick, fast forward moment, while I stand there grinning like an idiot. Then when the answer they weren't expecting to hear finally registers, their response is either: "Really?" and/or "Wow, that's amazing. I'm so happy for you! (Beat) But, aren't you scared to go by yourself?"

“Well, no. Not really.”

But, now that you've said it like I should be...I am starting to worry. Sheesh. A little confidence please. I’m always excited to do new things or travel to new places, but worry, fear and sadness? Those feelings only seem to follow after it’s too late to turn back. They’re like waves in the ocean, one extreme feeling falling over the other, until they’re foaming at the shore, nipping at dry land just before a departure or landing. It makes me feel brave to venture out and do something I don't know much about, especially when I’m on my own. But, don’t get me wrong, it can also be very scary and at times, sad as well. Especially when you begin to think about how vulnerable you are if something were to go wrong, something unexpected happens, things go off course or something goes horribly out of your control. That’s when you realize that there’s no support system or a smile of reassurance at your side if you need it. With that being said, as the days before my departure were drawing near, I had been riding this roller coaster of emotion, but I tried not to hold on too tightly to any one of them. Because, in the end, that’s all it is,...emotion. Nothing solid that I can truly ground myself to, and nothing I can count on.

            The fourteen hours it took me to get to Peru had kicked my butt and a small headache was beginning to form right smack between my eyes. When I woke up from a short nap it was still there, but I didn’t want my first day in Peru to go by sitting in a hotel room. My stomach was telling me it was hungry so I went in search for my first Peruvian meal. The holes in the walls are usually the best spots. There you can typically find the real deal, authentic food at a great price. But I also wanted to ease myself into the culture with a place that was a little closer to the types of establishments I was used to seeing in New York. Today, I went to a place my guide recommended, called the Inka Grill. To Cusco, this place is as fine dining as you'd find here. The food was Peruvian with a classy flare.

            When I walked in only two other people were dining inside. They sat together in what looked like a first date. So, they paid no attention to anyone but themselves. Good for me. I hate eating with people wondering why I’m sitting alone. I chose a small table by a window facing the inside of the restaurant. I knew exactly what I wanted when I opened the menu. I was craving seafood and the trout sounded amazing. With that I ordered a beverage I didn't realize was alcoholic but it was delicious and I couldn’t stop drinking it. The concoction was something similar to a mojito or a Brazilian caipirinha, which is made with muddled mint, fresh squeezed lime juice, sugar, and what I assume was rum. The only difference was that this drink included muddled passion fruit as well. It was strong but full of flavor. I probably drank it a little quicker than I meant to and my cheeks felt like they were on fire. In no time, my grilled trout with olive oil soaked potatoes, diced tomatoes, sliced olives, grilled fava beans, a topping of fresh basil leaves and a drizzle of a lime vinaigrette, arrived in all its beautiful smell and color. If I were to order this culinary work of art in New York, it would have easily cost me a good thirty to forty dollars. In the Peruvian Sol it was equal to about twelve dollars. That’s cheaper than a value meal at Burger King these days. My plate was devoured in as civilized a way as I could manage without disturbing the couple sitting across from me on their date. I was at a comfortable full when I finished the plate but I couldn't leave without trying at least one local dessert. So, I chose a flan called crema volteada. It was so creamy and rich with flavor, I wanted to cry it was so good. If I were in the privacy of my own home, I would have licked the plate clean.

            When I left the restaurant, not only was my stomach bulging, but so was my head. Although a little dizzy from that drink I decided to walk around for a little while and take in Cusco as the sun was beginning to set. After a little trek around the Plaza De Armas my head was pulsing at a DEFCON level four. It was time to end my adventures for the day. It was either that or I was going to end up in the fetal position next to one of the lamas on a street corner in another hour without some kind of medicinal help. At the hotel I downed two cups of steamy coca tea and passed out watching an episode of Mad About You in Spanish.
            This morning I woke up at seven a.m. like a new person, at least in comparison to how I felt last night. When I looked in the mirror however, my eyes were as blood shot as I’ve ever seen them. I don’t know if it was because of the effects of the change in altitude or if it was all that coca tea I had last night. Either way, I sure looked like someone who had a long night. I need coffee.

            One of the biggest attractions in Cusco is a 16^th century cathedral called Santo Domingo. This was the first Christian church to be built in Cusco and it took a hundred years to build. They don’t make buildings like this anymore. When I entered the Gothic structure, a mass had just started. My intention was to just look at the beautiful architecture and appreciate the artwork, but when I got there I felt the urge to sit with locals, the few tourists scattered about, and listen. Looking around at the people who clearly lived there, I noticed how tired and over worked they all seemed. These people came here for peace, hope and belonging in a world of so much drudgery. And in some way, maybe that was why I was there too. On nearly every corner I turned in Cusco was a beggar in ratty clothes or a shop clerk with a sunken face trying to make a little money. Even the dogs ran around looking at me with their sad eyes, hoping I might have a scrap of food for them. Most of the strays slept in the sun too weak to even beg for food. It broke my heart. It was either middle class or dirt poor from what I've noticed all day. I'm sure there were many upper class people, there always has to be that balance. But they were probably lawyers, diplomats and real estate tycoons, like everywhere else, and didn't hang around these parts for very long. They were probably hiding in their offices or heading back to their centrally air-conditioned homes by now. I may have worked hard for everything that I have in my life, but these people have worked that much harder and have so much less to show for it. In the short time that I've been in Cusco, I felt grateful for what I have and what I haven’t had to suffer, like many of these Peruvians. I felt the need to thank someone for this and God seemed like the best place to start.       

            When I got back to the hotel at the end of the day, I couldn’t wait to take a shower. It was going to be the last time I would have a chance to feel clean for the next four days so it was now or never. And after a day of walking around the streets of Cusco, I needed one. When I stepped into the closet sized shower I noticed that the only thing dividing me, and the people in the next room, was a wall that stopped at the height of my chin and a frosted window that could be opened on both sides. And behind that frosted window was the shower to the next room. If someone was in that bathroom at the same time we would be able to wash each other's hair. I was just grateful it was a couple and not a room full of frat boys. As a few strands of water came spraying out in ten different directions, I had to remind myself not to swallow any of the water. I had been warned not to drink from the tap or even eat fruits or vegetables that have been washed in it. One of the travel journals I read before coming to Cusco, about a young woman who visited the city, wrote about being painfully ill with symptoms similar to food poisoning for three days after she at a salad. That scared me enough to keep as far away from fresh fruit and vegetables for the last two days. Taking a shower is another issue. Water that comes cascading over your mouth can be very difficult to deter. If some of it managed its way into my system, I’d probably only feel its effects tomorrow when I was climbing a mountain and my only bathroom was a hole in the dirt. God help me.

To be continued...