Day 4 - Cuzco - Ollantaytambo

Cuzco - Ollantaytambo road

Somehow we haven’t seen much of the interiors of Cuzco’s monuments, but I feel we’ve gotten a good feel for the city as a living thing.  How it works.  How it evolved.  And who knows; I might come back some day.  But even if I don’t, I can still be happy with what I’ve seen.

Chinchero, in the valley

I thought a cab would be nice for today’s trip to Ollantaytambo, the next leg toward Machu Picchu.  We’d have to take one to the train station far outside of town anyway, so...  The hotel made arrangements for us at our arrival and a price was agreed: 140 soles.  (One dollar is worth almost 3 soles so the trip will cost only $49, far less than the two train tickets would have cost.) 
     Wilfredo, who drove us to the Ministry of Culture, is on time and once again I’m glad it’s not me driving.  The roads around Cuzco are badly paved and people tend to pass almost in the curve.  Wilfredo is cautious; at least he is with us in the car.  We pass one accident - a car well off in a ditch.  He tells us he’ll stop at two sites good for photos but if we want to stop elsewhere, just tell him.  (He saw me taking photos in the street earlier in the morning.)  And he answers any questions we have good-naturedly.

Roadside stop

     The road entering Ollantaytambo is the worst!  A real car suspension-killer.  Wilfredo finds our hotel, close to the main square, right next to the Patakancha River, and with a view of the fortress ruins.  He has been a prince and seems very pleased with his extra 10 soles; after all, he’s headed back empty and it’s a 1½ hr drive.

     That drive took us from Cuzco - at 3,326 meters (almost 11,000 feet - more than twice the altitude of Denver) and a population of 350,000 - to Ollantaytambo at a mere 2,800 meters (9,200 ft) and only 700 people.  This town is set out as Inca towns were - on the same grid - and it’s the site of the Incas’ greatest victory over the Spanish conquistadores, a point of vast pride for them.
 

Ollantaytambo

    With the lower altitude, or maybe thanks to my warm-up in Cuzco, I feel ready to attack the ruins, which we do after changing some money on the Plaza de Armas (a far cry from Cuzco’s majestic square of the same name).  As this is a far outpost of consumerism, I try some shops and actually find digital memory cards for my aging camera; they stopped making them about four years ago and in Paris and America they’re impossible to find any more.  The lady has two and she’s so glad to get rid of them that she gives me a discount.  (It’s probably been ages since anyone last asked for this item.)  We also buy a doll for a niece in France, two Andean hats for the grandsons and a hiking stick for me.
     Which was an excellent purchase.  My neighbor Grace had lent me hers, saying it would be a big help at Machu Picchu.  But I was afraid the planes would confiscate it, so I left it at home.  Now I have one of my own, and if it’s lost to the Aviation Security Vultures, it only affects me.

The fortress

     The walking stick immediately proves nothing short of life-saving at the fortress ruins.  After paying the entrance, a young man appears next to us and offers to be our guide.  As it would be nice to understand what we’re seeing, we say yes.  For two hours, Ron patiently waits for me to pick my way and catch my breath.  He knows all about the history and architecture of the place, pulling out a book on archeology from his fanny pack when wishing to make a point.  He takes pictures of us and is just generally charming and eager.  Plus he runs this circuit - up and down the steps and all around the ruins - every morning in an impressive 7 minutes, without falling flat and killing himself on the uneven stones!  I’m sad to say good-bye to him.
     As we leave, tourist bus after tourist bus arrives, vomiting up crowds of people.  Just like at Mont St. Michel.  I’m so glad we went when we did!
     With time to spare, we decide to poke around the town a bit and see how a real Inca town was laid out.  Adopted and accompanied by the proverbial yellow dog, we go up and down narrow streets, each with deep stone gullies to carry off the abundant rainfall and snowmelt.  Flat rock slabs laid over the gully in front of each door allow people to get into their homes safely.  

Kura Oqlla

     Along the Patakancha, which flows into the Urubamba down at the train station, we discover teenagers talking and laughing and just being universal adolescents beneath what looks like a solid gold statue - which it may once have been.  Once they move off, giggling and talking loudly, closer inspection shows that this golden woman is Kura Oqlla, courageous wife of Manco Inca Yupanqui, the warrior who defied the Spaniards and served them up more than one defeat.  A warrior herself, she was ultimately caught by Pizarro’s army, tortured, raped and executed.
     Later that night we decide to check how far it is to the train station, in preparation for tomorrow morning.  On the way back, we look for the Milky Way.  Wilfredo, the taxi driver, had told us this Sacred Valley was sacred because it grew plentiful crops to sustain the people.  But Ron explained it was sacred because the Urubamba River’s course is identical to that of the Milky Way above. Unfortunately for us, there are far too many lights even in this small town for it to be visible and personally I’m too tired to try walking outside of town on roads I don’t know.  Not the way these people drive!
     It’s a disappointment followed by others.  Although the food is excellent in the restaurant - when we finally get it - the service is worse than anywhere, ever.  As close to non-existent as you can get.  Finally we leave the price of the food on the table and flee, unperceived.

Woman carrying totoro reeds

     As consolation, my daughter decides to take a hot shower and wash her hair, after the dust of our ride across the countryside and clambering over the ruins. Ollantaytambo is a dusty town.  But no hot water, no matter how long you run it. There’s also no heat, only warm duvets.  So we strip the third bed and pile the covers over ours, to be sure we’re not woken by the cold in the middle of the night. No TV either, but who needs one?
     We were spoiled at Rumi Punku.  Will there be any more hotels like it?  We’ll find out tomorrow.

Taxi