Day 56 - Cusco.

In spite of being wretchedly tired the night before, I’m up at 6.30am; still on jungle time.
Catch up on correspondence, phone calls, hand in my filthy and disgusting jungle rags to be washed, and head over to the South American Explorers’ clubhouse. I joined them just before leaving home and in Peru it’s certainly worthwhile; you get discounts on accommodation, food, shopping, tours…

The SAE clubhouse is up a very steep street in the San Blas area, where I’m currently staying. I have de-climatised during my time in the jungle, and rapid movement causes instant breathlessness. Today I’ll get my bearings, take it easy, prepare for my jungle outing to Puerto Maldonado, book advance accommodation…

The SAE is staffed by a helpful middle-aged woman who points me to a row of folders with information on different parts of Peru, makes my actual membership card, gives me a booklet on the best places to eat, plus a thick booklet on all the businesses that have agreed to give discounts to SAE members. I buy the Jungle Handbook they’ve printed and almost kick myself when I read the section on the biting black flies; DEET doesn’t work against them, but Avon’s ‘Skin So Soft’ does, and I knew that when I lived in Puerto Rico, but have forgotten by now.

I leaf through the info on Puerto Maldonado (the terrestrial transport section’s outdated), on shamanism (because I’m considering taking a spiritual journey using one of the two hallucinogenic plants locally available and you have to do it with people who really know what they’re doing), on the rest of Peru. Members file trip reports when they go somewhere with a specific tour company, and those are useful; I’ll do a couple myself.

I browse the library and have a hot drink with Sarah and Roger when they arrive. Sarah ruffles my hair, which is a bit familiar, but that’s the price I pay for being small and cute. They’re planning their trip to Arequipa and the Colca Canyon and have asked me a zillion questions on the subject. When they invite me to dinner, I’m fairly non-committal, but decide that I will join them.

Pop down to see Marianne at the Pantiacolla office to give her my bed sheets (which I appear to have stolen) and my feedback regarding the trip. Nicolás is there as well, and I’m very enthusiastic about the trip in general and his work in particular. “I’d gladly go again. The only thing I’d do differently is take permetherin for my clothes to keep the mosquitoes away”, I tell her, showing her my multiple wounds. She’s glad to hear that I haven’t lost my enthusiasm for the jungle. “Many people tell me: ‘It’s been a great experience, but I’d never do it again’”, she says.

I’ve been craving pizza for several days in the jungle, so I visit the ‘Chez Maggy’ chain. It’s all very fresh, the dough rolled right in front of me, but a bit lacklustre compared to pizza at Machupizza in Puno, and twice as expensive.

Visit the Cusco branch of Walk On Inn to check it out. Surprised to find Marc there, looking harassed; he’s had to fill in for a sick member of staff. The hostel is secure, with decent beds and a light common area, but some of the twin rooms only have a window into the common area, i.e. no fresh air, which doesn’t bother many people, but is something I particularly dislike. I make a reservation here, but when I find out that it’ll be 58 soles for just such a room, I decide to find somewhere cheaper and cancel this one.

We discuss tours out of Cusco, porter welfare on the Inca Trail (that I intend to keep a very close eye on), sustainable tourism. Marc argues that even a tiny bit of tourism irreversibly changes a place, so there’s no such thing as 100% sustainable tourism, but I think it’s possible to keep negative impact to a minimum. He’s also very sceptical about tour companies treating porters fairly: “There are some who abuse, and there are some who pretend not to. I’ve seen companies leave with the correct number of porters and then send half of them home after the checkpoint.” I argue that given the sheer number of tourists who do the Inca Trail, if they were too start demanding change, change would occur, and he reluctantly agrees.

On the main plaza, a scruffy street urchin follows me in an attempt to persuade me that he should shine my scruffy hiking boots. Nice try, guy. About a zillion people are trying to peddle something or hand out leaflets for something, and after the relative peace of other Peruvian towns I’ve passed through, it does get old pretty quickly.

I stop by an internet café to print out my LAN boarding pass for Thursday; I guess we’ll find out then whether my little gamble’s paid off.

At seven, I try to find the Indian buffet off the Plaza de Armas where Sarah and Roger said they’ll be, but Roger seems to have given me incorrect directions; I walk up and down the same patch of Avenida del Sol for at least three blocks, but there’s nothing but banks and hotels.

There’s a delicious smell emanating from a street corner. A couple of women are selling all kinds of anticuchos (meat on a stick) and I have hit jackpot – there’s beef heart kebabs, kidney kebabs – the perfect place to indulge my love for offal! For two soles, I can stuff my face, and do. They always stick a potato on the end of the skewer and I give mine to an elderly beggar woman. It seriously bugs me – the begging by the elderly, the crippled (one woman’s wheeling around her child in a wheelchair) and while my small change won’t help in the long run, writing for a guidebook and demanding changes, demanding better treatment for porters, forcing local businesses to pay taxes – that’s the way to bring about improvements – maybe not in a year or two, but eventually, especially if more tourists become conscious of the positive power they wield.

I try every street leading off the Plaza de Armas, but no luck in finding the Indian place. I do find several more anticucho carts, and fill up on heart. Now that’s my ideal dinner! For desert, I seek out ‘Fallen Angel’. It’s like eating in a modern art gallery - you’re surrounded by bathtubs with fish in it, red love cushions, leopard print cubes to sit on, flying pigs dangling from the ceiling, tall candles, and waiters with angel wings painted on their t-shirts. Yes, the gringos love this place, the ambiance, the chilled, bass heavy remixes on the sound system, and the desserts which are a work of art, but the high price is worth it: my white chocolate heart with strawberry sauce and burnt sugar swirl is beautiful.

It's hard to fall asleep because of what sounds like gunshots nearby. Apparently, it's all because of some celebration.