The altitude hit me really hard Saturday night in Cuzco. There were several times that I awoke gasping for air. It was similar to the feeling I get during an asthma attack, but my inhalers offered no relief.
Apparently, Hotel Monasterio will pump extra oxygen into your room for about $30/night, but by Sunday morning I had acclimated and wasn’t having problems.
The stereotypical, colorful Andean garb really isn’t a relic of the Incan empire, according to Hernan. It was introduced by the Spanish after the conquest to identify various groups of people and regions for taxation purposes …
Children selling shoeshines, finger puppets, postcards and cigarettes navigate the narrow streets of Cuzco like a pack of piranhas. Once they smell gringo dollars, they start a frenzied circling motion and spin up their pitch, which is well-rehearsed and fairly uniform.
“Want to buy a postcard?”
“No, gracias.”
“Why not?”
“No es necessario.”
“Where you from?”
“Los Estados Unidos.”
“Ahhhh. The capital is Washington. The president is George Booosh. Before him was Clinton. Before him was another Booosh. Before him was Reagan. Before him was …”
And on and on. Sometimes it’s a chance to practice my Spanish. Others it’s just annoying.
They are all orphans.
They all have five brothers and sisters.
They all make 10 nuevos soles per day (about 3 bucks). But today they have made nothing and want something to eat.
It tries my patience because after you’ve heard it once, it’s so obviously a come-on. But I try to be gracious and humorous. I even learned that singing “no no no no no no no” in a descending scale as they persist with their pitch draws a smile and makes them realize the answer really is “no” and that “no,” I won’t want to buy that postcard “maybe later,” either.