I like the nightlife. I love to boogie.

Dinner at a funky little spot called Macondo (anybody? Ten points if you remembered that's the name of the village in A Hundred Years of Solitude) where I had an alpaca mignon that was so good I'm literally writing home about it.

Then I headed out to the Plaza to look for a little Saturday night action. The streets really weren't as jumping as I had been led to believe they would be, and consequently I stuck out (even more than usual) and was an easy target for all manner of street vendors. "Shine your shoes, meester? You sure? They look pretty dirty!" "Amigo, amigo, remember me? Pablo Picasso! Buy mi paintings!" "No quieres comprar? Quieres me regalar algunas monedas?" (Don't want to buy? How about gifting me some coins?) That got old real fast, and it looked like it might rain, so I ducked into the first bar/club whose name I recognized from the guidebook, Kamikase [sic]. Apparently the reason why there wasn't any action was because 9 o'clock is way too early to start partying. (I really should have known that, I don't get started before 10 at home, and this town is much more European than LA.) This was explained to me over (many) vodka-Sprites by the bar staff (I feel too weird ordering the usual here. For one thing, you have to say "Coca Cola Light" with a Latin accent instead of "Diet Coke", and for another, I'm sure I would get way more funny looks here than I do at bars at home.) Timo and Cruz.



The place has evidently been there for years, and entertains a much more local crowd than most of the clubs on the Plaza. They serve some ridiculous drinks there, by the way. I didn't try them, but I watched Timo mix up something called Camino a la Ruina which included pisco, rum, wine, and an egg white. Road to ruin, indeed. They also served somebody a Dialysis, which is gin and beer. Ecch. I don't know which is more gross, the name or the (imagined) taste. I rocked my barstool silently for a while, knocking 'em back for a good couple of hours, until Cruz said she could tell I was getting drunk because I was looking a little colorado, with which Timo agreed and added that I was also looking chino. In case I didn't understand what she meant, she then made the universally recognizable yet wholly offensive gesture for Chinese (see Italian Olympic Basketball team photo), so I politely paid my tab (8 cocktails for $14!) and struck out for some more adventure.



Now the Plaza was a whole different world. Reflections of streetlamps sparkling from fresh rain puddles, gaggles of giggling Cusqueñas, loud music pumping from every little alley off the square, THIS is what I was looking for. I allowed myself one night out on this trip and by gum I was gonna have it!



Paid the cover at a place called Ukuku's, and caught a live reggae show.



Trust me. You haven't heard reggae until you've heard Peruvian reggae. Actually, it's pretty much the same, but all the shout-outs are in Spanish. The lead singer (#66) was exclaiming the virtues of the "robe-a-dobe estyle," to give you an idea. Danced by myself for a while (don't cry, I do it all the time) and paid MUCH more for cocktails. They got this wacky system where first you go to the cashier, look at a menu, indicate your choice and pay her, then she writes your order on this little slip of paper, which you then take over to the bartender, who reads it and makes your drink. Certainly beats competing for the bartender's attention and then screaming over the din of the crowd.



After the band finished up, the club music started playing, and that's when things really got going.



And going. When I left around 3 AM, it was showing no signs of slowing down.



You guys aren't going to believe me (I can't really believe it myself), but I actually pulled digits from TWO different chicas last night! I don't mean to brag, but that's a record for me, worldwide. Anahi is a tour guide who has promised to show me the real Cusco when I come back through after Macchu Pichu, and Milen I didn't really get a chance to talk to that much. We were dancing up a storm and then her friends were leaving. In fact, I should probably go call her right now. Talk to you chumps later!

Journey to the Navel of the World

Today was spent on a day-long bus ride from Puno to Cusco (or Cuzco, or Q'osqo) with several stops at tourist traps along the way. I gotta say, this is a much more enjoyable way to take a long bus trip, if for no other reason than you're never stuck longer than two hours without a chance to get up and stretch your legs.



First stop was Pukara, site of a significant archaeological discovery, and (of course) a colonial church.



Next we stopped at La Raya, the highest point between Puno and Cusco, and quite an impressive mirador of the Andes.





A couple hours later we were at Raqchi, the ruins of an Incan temple to the god Wiracocha.





It was mostly destroyed by the Spanish (of course) but the main walls were constructed so well that neither the Spanish nor hundreds of years of earthquakes could topple them.





Regular readers of this blog no doubt are bracing themselves for another tract on how terrible the conquistadors were for destroying a great civilization like the Incas, but I gotta say, the more I learn about the Inca, the less love I have for them.

I mean, after all, they were empire-builders. They subsumed, often by bloody force, all the other pre-Columbian civilizations spread all over South America in a century-long quest for power. Why do civilizations have to grow that way? I don't care if it's the Greeks, the Romans, the British, the Americans, or even the Incas, if you seek empire, it doesn't matter how "enlightened" you think you are, you're destined to fall. Why can't we learn from the past and instead of trying to conquer the world and unite under one culture, try to become a world that embraces diversity? I know, I know, I'm young, I'm naive, I'm an idealistic hippie who doesn't understand the "real world", but surely if any country in the history of the world has the ability to do it, it's us. I mean, we're the "E pluribus unum" people! Out of many, one!




Anyways, I guess it's not such a good idea to be hating on the Incas as I head into their capital city. Hopefully I'll be able to focus on their technical advancements and whatnot and avoid any more Apocalypto-style Mel Gibson rants in the coming days.



The church at Andahuaylillas (say that three times fast), known as the Sistine Chapel of the Americas. It was pretty impressive, but they wouldn't let me take any pictures. Do they let you at the real Sistine Chapel?

One thing I found interesting in there was a statue of some saint or another carrying a rainbow flag. It's the official flag of Cusco (I think actually it goes back to the Inca, evidently Manco Capác saw a rainbow when we first arrived at Cusco and decided this was the place to start the empire) but it cracks me up that it looks just like the gay pride flag. It's everywhere here in Cusco, churches, civic buildings, on taxis. Forget that this is predominately a Catholic country (and we know their position on los gays), but also it's a real macho culture so it just drives them up the wall that Americans come to Cusco and think that everything is gay-friendly. I asked Rodrigo the tour guide about it and he said that a couple years back the mayor of Cusco travelled to America to talk to leaders of the gay community (I'm not even sure who that would be. Dan Savage? George Michael? Ted Haggart?) about changing their flag. Not surprisingly, he was sent back to Peru with a friendly, "bitch, please!" (My interpretation, not Rodrigo's, for the record.)



The ancient gate that marked the entrance to the capital in Inca times.

After arriving in Cusco (and going to the wrong hostal at first. Why would you have two hostals several blocks from each other with the same exact name, except one has a II at the end of it, like some kind of 80's sequel?) I cleaned up and got dressed for my night on the town. But THAT'S another story.

Puno Postscript

Friday night in Puno, as you might expect, is quite lively. After my pizza (delicious by the way) I had to wade through throngs of revelers to get back to my hostal, and then wait for this before being able to cross the street.



Evidently it's the police. They're WAY more fun than the LAPD.

Happy Lakesgiving

Thursday morning I headed out onto Lake Titicaca.



My fellow passengers were a Polish foursome (whom I later found out were from New Jersey), a young Taiwanese couple, a Northern Italian woman named Gerlinde, and three cranky lesbians. Well, to be fair, only one of them was cranky, and evidently she was suffering from severe diarrhea, but still, it never hurts to smile!



Anyways, our first stop were the Floating Islands of Uros. It's kind of hard to believe, but during Inca times, these people fled out onto the lake, and started building islands out of reeds that grow in the shallow waters. They've since created whole floating villages.



See the solar panel? Gift of the Fujimori administration.


So if this works, it'll be MaximumZarou's first video posting! Exciting, no? Unfortunately, I stopped recording just before the three ladies said in unison, "Hasta la vista, Baby!" The Governor would have been so proud...




Now granted, the islands I visited were putting on a show for the tourists. But evidently there are several hundred people living there year-round, most of whom never have any contact with the tourists. Pretty amazing, even if I finally got suckered by the souvenir sellers.



For another 8 soles (less than three bucks, if you're keeping score), we took a ride on a reed boat.





("Wow, what a horrible looking mustache on that guy! We should definitely contribute to public school kids so he never has to suffer such embarrassment again!" But seriously, folks, you know I never ask for your money (unless it's for myself), I'd always much rather have your time and energy when it comes to social justice. But right now, for pennies a day, you can support needy kids and get to make fun of the mustache! I know times are tough, but if every reader of this blog just gave $5, then we'd have, like, ten dollars. Just click on the upper right hand corner of this page to make your TAX-DEDUCTIBLE donation. OK, commercial over.)



From Uros, we headed out deeper into the Lake, towards our destination, Isla Amantaní.



Some four and a half hours by motorboat from Puno, Amantaní is a little world unto itself. The people retain their traditional dress, and to supplement their meager farming income, they allow groups of tourists to come stay in their homes.







Of course, some tourists fit better into their homes than others.



After a home-cooked (over a clay stove fueled by eucalyptus branches) lunch, we hiked to the top of the island, which is a peak named Pachatata (Earth Father, there's another one called Pachamama, or Earth Mother) to watch the sunset.







The view from up there was incredible.






Brian. What can I say about this nutty kid? He followed us up the entire mountain, spitting vaguely recognizable tunes through his pan flute the whole time. I found him a little annoying, but the lesbians left behind some money with the tour guide for his education. One of the most difficult things to figure out here is when it's appropriate to give money to people and when you're just being taken advantage of. Of course, when you consider the difference in standard of living, and the fact that 3 soles is one dollar, it becomes a lot easier to give. But then, you don't want to support a dependency, either. For example, I brought some notebooks, pens, and pencils for my host family. I was told that small gifts like that were a good idea. But I heard this morning from the Poles that their host mother told them she'd rather just have money. And the host mother of the lesbians told them she doesn't want tourists giving kids on the island coins because then Amantaní becomes just like Lima or anywhere else in Peru. I dunno.



Gerlinde's and my host family, mother Anna Lin and 3-year-old son Edson.

In any case, the islanders get their revenge for whatever imposition we cause by dressing the tourists up in traditional dress and forcing them to dance around the community room to the strains of the high school band.





Now, I'm a good dancer. Just ask my mom! But I could not find the beat those boys were beating out for the life of me, and jumping around under a wool blanket with my head wrapped in alpaca was becoming a little too sweaty, so I went outside to look at the stars. Unbelievable. I can't remember when I'd last seen so many. Orion actually looked like a hunter, bow poised and dog at this feet! Other constellations were too difficult to find, because there were just so many freakin' stars! And out over the lake, miles and miles away, I could see lightning storms. Quite a night, and miles (and centuries) away from real life.

I should say that while I'm enjoying talking to the mustachioed stranger in the mirror, I can't help but miss my loved ones this Thanksgiving night. But a bowl of warm soup and a plate of rice and potatoes by candlelight with an indigenous family under a sky so clear seemed in some ways a more fitting Thanksgiving night than I would have had at home. But don't worry, I'll still be back in the States by Christmas to gorge on turkey and television.



Morning time, and though we look cheerful, we are unwashed and sleepy, (lacking running water and having been awoken by angry livestock) but Isla Taquile awaits.






An hour's boat ride later, we approached the island of Taquile, which has been populated for the last 10,000 years. It is a serene and lovely place, renowned for its fine textiles and distinctive dress, and which gets completely overrun with tourists.



See all our boats? I did my best not to take pictures with tourists in them, though I fear it might be too late for this insular community to remain isolated.



Where you at?

A nice long winding hike up and around the west side of the island leads to a town square with a great view, and then on the west side is a steep stone 533-step staircase we descended after lunch.






A long boat ride back to the mainland, and I'm back in the hustle and bustle of Puno. I have found something redeeming about this town, by the way. Evidently the cuisine this place is most famous for is wood-fired pizza. So I'm off to get me some more of that. Tomorrow it's a daylong bus ride to Cusco, where I just might get to do some laundry!

I leave you tonight with this "Code of Courtesy", which was hanging in my room on Amantaní. I much prefer it to the Ten Commandments.



Good advice for all of us, especially number 8.