Bad Case of Wanderlust (My Trip Around the World): The Sacred Valley (Pisac)

Monday morning began with free breakfast at the Pariwana bar and a trip to the Cuzco Tourist Information Office to buy entrance tickets for Marcelo and myself to Machu Picchu. Both of us had decided not to do the trek-- my reasons being health-related-- and to simply take the train, the choice of which led to a rather Chaplinesque sequence of the two of us running back and forth between the InkaRail and PeruRail ticketing offices trying to determine what trains to take.

When we had finally made our selection and purchased our tickets, we headed further out into Cuzco to catch a bus to Pisac, one of the Sacred Valley Inca Ruin sites. The bus cost a whopping 2.50 soles, equivalent to approximately 75 cents, U.S.. And as an added bonus, I had my first experience with a truly sketchy third world bathroom. Not quite a squatter, but just a bowl in a shack with no sink and no paper and a little old man with no teeth who demands fifty pesetas to let you in and to pour a bucket of water in to force the flushing mechanism when you're done. Awesome.

After a bumpy hour-long ride past many of the local Cuzco sites like Q'enqo, we arrived in Pisac, a small town below a set of Incan ruins of the same name.

We wandered into town and found a tiny local restaurant where we got a three-course lunch for 3 soles ($1). Marcelo then entered into an epic haggling match with the local taxi drivers to determine who would take us up to the entrance of the ruins. I have done well with this sort of haggling, but nothing compares to the artistry of a native South American, and Marcelo has led me to conclude that Chileans may be the finest at it. Halfway up, the taxi driver tried to change the price, but Marcelo wasn't having it. And damn if within the next minute, we weren't being driven past the main remaining Incan terrazas for the originally determined price.

After being dropped off, we embarked on the trail through the ruins at the top of the first set of terraces.

The path took us across and around the mountain, through and past Incan buildings and guard walls.

To get from one side to the other, we had to pass through a low-ceilinged cave, reminding me of how much the average height of the population has changed in 500 years.

Upon emerging, we were greeted with yet more spectacular views of the terrazas we had just crossed, of the valley, of the agricultural ruins below, and of the opposing mountain, in the side of which are many former Incan burial sites.

The sun shone with such brilliance that Marcelo said we had a view of the valley, the mountain, and god.

Eventually, we came to the next full set of ruins.

Unfortunately, it was at this point that I realized that I had lost my cell phone somehow. While I scampered about looking for it, Marcelo tried to take a nap on a 500 year-old bench.

My search proved futile, so we moved on, hiring a local tour guide named Miguelangelo to explain the rest of the site.

After quite an interesting tour entirely in Spanish and about 80% of which I understood, we chose, rather than to go back to the entrance and catch a taxi, to walk down the mountain past the rest of the ruins.

With barely any daylight left, we descended upon Pisac and wandered through the famous market before catching a bus back to Cuzco. There I snapped one final photo of the day of the brilliantly illuminated Qoricancha.