Machu Pichu, 2010

Well it is done. Did it. Finished. Trekked four days time on the Inca Trail, finishing at Machu Pichu. The last days of Peru 2010 disappear this week and I return to the states.

This last memory is anticpated to be of Machu Pichu and one most favorable to last until dementia sets in (hopefully not). Four days of changing micro climates as our small group of seven pasenjeros, nine porters, one cook and three guides, ascended and descended on original Inca stone steps. Building codes certainly have changed in the last 700 years. The riser height on these steps, certainly exceeds current standards. Since the Incas were fairly short they must have had a vertical leap worthy of Olympic medal to get up these steps. The depth of these steps seldom accomodated my small shoes size either. Still, the construction of this trail has withstood earthquake, volcanic eruption, heavy jungle rains, and dense jungle overgrowth and there are no signs of gaps, separation, looseness or asphalt coating to cover up cracks. Amazing skill and durability.

These trails extend from Chili, through Peru, Ecuador, into Columbia and across to Bolivia and Brazil. Is it possible there was an Andean version of Route 66 played on pipe and drum? Our trail began about an hour away from Cusco. First day was simple, smooth, straight. Not much gain in altituded and just a hint of the vegetative green that awaited patiently for our footsteps.

Then that second day shook hard any confidence of physical strength or stamina. It was a day almost entirely uphill. Add to the leg exercises to lift body weight, step by step, the cruelty of hight altitude location, forced frequent stops. Counting steps was senseless. Numbers would have to be enumerated with scientific notation, like counting distances between stars. Listening to the huffs, puffs and wheezing of fellow travelers was smothered by one’s own gutteral expressions of agony.
And yet there was the reward of amazing scenery. Every value of green possible was seen. Bromelias, orchids mixed with cactus and fern. There was the occassional parrot, green of course, as well as the picaflor (hummingbird). I’m trying to think of a way to describe these mountains, unsuccessfully. Despite the height of these mountains, there are green from top to bottom, no evidence of treeline was displayed below rocky precipice. In the distance beyond could be seen snowcaps. But, the immediate Amus (Incann reference to sacred mountains) were different. It seemed each mountain stood separate, rising independently from deep valley floor to the heights of condors in flight. None seemed connected to the mountains next. It was as if marbles were placed in a flat-bottomed bowl and grew into these beautiful shapes.

The third day was like Alice in Wonderland walking through the mirror. Whereas the previous day was uphill, this day was almost all down. Every point of contact between the adjoining bones of hip, leg and foot was blasted with impact, as a locomotive reverses itself to connect the loaded freight cars in the railyard. Thankfully I am not the size of a profootball lineman.

Between the steps and the natural beauty around was a frequent tease of Incan ruins along the way. Walls, temples, fortress lookouts, and terraces were confronted, observed, touched, explained, mystified, appraised and appreciated. A fear arose the Machu Pichu might be anticlimatic. How could it be possible that one more Incan construction could surpass the others experienced these two months in Peru?
But, those fears were silly. We arose before four AM on the fourth day so as to allow the porters to feed us, clean up, break camp and carry their, or our, burdens back and return to their homes, most likely in surrounding pueblos, and tend to other duties of their lives, almost assuredly in a field.

So, we readied and marched. A short walk, only two hours, and then we went through a large stone entrance and were immediately graced with an overlook of the city below. If I had not had a degree of previous knowledge I cannot imagine how great that initial impact would have been. It was like walking through a dark tunnel, then emerging to see a golden city below. It spread over layers of the mountain side, with taller sister peaks lifting their heads to shelter, hide and protect, if necessary.

Our guide took us through much, though not all, of the individual structures. Storage units, housing for the common Inca, the sacerdotes, the royalty (who had indoor plumbing). Then there were the terraces weaving everywhere, rooms for atronomical observation, the Temple of the Sun, plazas. Fountains for purification, canals carrying water from subterranean sources. There were inserts in the walls for objects of worship and respect, and various rock sculptures to mimic the sacred mountains nearby. There was even a sound room to detect and test the sounds of nature and musical instruments. Each structure is special and was constructed with a specific objective in mind, and size and shape of construction was modified to that need.

The place certainly had a sacred mystical purpose. Likely guidance and confirmation was sought from dieties, from Pachamama (mother earth), the spiritual levels of heaven, earth and the underworld, of future, present and past time, all represented by the condor, puma and snake. Occassionally as one walked among these amazing ruins you would find some in their cross-legged yoga pose, in their meditative position, obviously trying to connect to that source of energy and strength felt by the Incas centuries ago.

Once we had free time to wander about I found a shady wall and tried in my own way to retrieve some of that intangible force. I looked across the expance of stone and well-maintained green space. I watched hundreds of tourists as they moved through the labyrinth of walls, in a controlled clockwise direction. I tried to imagine what the scene might have been 500 years ago. Was it noisy, quiet, fast, slow, crowded or not? With all the noise it was near impossible. There was the normal drone amongst the tourists. There was the spanish accented explanation from the many guides to their curious tourist groups. Alas, there was also the frequent shout from a separated youth as they yelled across the walls and compounds to friends, breaking any possibility of tranquility. And, then there was the whistle from the park security waving stray tourists off of manicured lawns, as a pool lifeguard would warn kids in the shallow end to stop their unacceptable behavior.

Despite it all, there was still enough space to center oneself. Looking beyond this mountain top to others beyond, to the valleys and river below, I could still drift away, not as easily as the swifts that nest in the walls, but enough to have a wonderful sensation – a sensation of time and place I wish I could repeat on a routine basis.

But, I had a schedule to keep. My train and bus back to Cusco had schedules to keep. So, I laid my walking stick (broom handle) against one wall, and left this wonder. I am glad I saved this for last.

So, now shortly to return and renewed. I again carry memories and maybe some change of character and skill. Gracias por todo Peru!

I walk the maze of moments
But everywhere I turn to
Begins a new beginning
But never finds a finish
I walk to the horizon
And then I find another
It all seems so surprising
And then I find that I know.

You go there you’re gone forever
I go there I’ll lose my way
We stay here we’re not together
Anywhere is.

To leave the thread of all time
And let it make a dark line
In hopes that I can still find
The way back to the moment
I took the turn and turned to
Begin a new beginning
Still lookig for the answer
I cannot find the finish
Its either this or that way
It should be one direction
It might be on reflection
The turn that I have taken
The turn that I was making
I might be just beginning
I might be near the end.
(Enya)

Colca Canyon, 2010

Un beun viaje – a good trip. This weekend had a three day expresso, 10-hours distant from Cusco via bus. First day was in Arequipa, second largest city in Peru. The central part I visited, of course, had its Plaza de Armas, as all do. And, yes, the large catholic cathedral overlooke he central fountain, gardens, pathways and bench.
I was there May Day and there were the marches, bands, speeches. There was even a small communist rally, but no images of Che were visible. After a walk around I toured the Monasteria de Santa Catalina. Dating back to the sixteenth century it once housed 450 people. It now has 30 nuns in residencia. Due to money needs it has recently been partially opened to tourism. The nuns resided in a part sheltered from tourist chatter, and fotos, including the “here I am at the fountain”,”here I am at the orange trees”.

The area is surrounded by volcanoes, three visible from my hotal window, none active at the moment. In addition, the area suffers from seismic activity. So, between the volcanoes and earthquakes, all city structures have suffered, including the monastery. The city itself is referred to as the “white city”, due to the fallen ash as well as use of volcanic rock for construction.

Inside as expected are small sized rooms, natural light, wood fired stoves, without chimney, thus the blackened ceilings. Gas has only recently been added for cooking. As for running water, I saw no evidence of it. Minimal furniture, a wood framed bed, thin mattress (no adjustable settings), simple chair, maybe a small desk, plus no ordainments except a cross and maybe an image of Jesus or the Virgen Mary.

But, the convent was, and is, a small city. I did not count the number of peaceful pation courtyards, with religious paintings “frescoed” on the walls of the patio corridors. There are several streets, rock-laid, crisscrossing through this pueblo of faith, sacrifice, and total devotion.

So many points of interest. The canal system that carries water throughtout. The outdoor lavanderia. The orange trees, including one that has yet to bear fruit. But, when it does it is expected to coincide with several predictions made by a former sister, now sainted due to other predictions which have been verified as to being fulfilled. And, in this place, is peace. Despite the solitude and separation, the architecture and construction, art, and gardens all bring focus to the purpose of the place. Sitting on any of the walls or benches in the complex, and just sitting in contemplation, brought as reapid a meditative calm as any I have had in the mountains.

Next day was to a pueblo Chivay where the night was spent before entry into the Colca Valley. The valley has been occupied for 2,000 years, preInca, who built these amazing terraced fields to catch snow melt from the surrounding volcanoes. Still in use, the patchwork of yellows, greens and sienas indicates presence of quinua, barley and maize. Papas were harvested last week. They lay below the mountains around and the Colca River runs by on its way to the depths of Colca Canyon, some say the deepest canyon in the world.

Above the Colca Canyon is a lookout, a mirador. Intended less for viewing the canyon, but more for sighting of the Andean Condor, standing four feet tall, with a wing span of ten feet. Shortly after arrival on this beautiful sunny and clear day was their appearance. Eventually ten in total were seen, adults and juveniles. They showed no fear, nor apparently no taste, for the spectators scattered on the rocks with their cameras. Easily playing with the thermals rising from the canyon below, the drifted above our heads and then away and then returned. The adults with rings of white were especially impressive. Aiming a camera at these creatures as they soared by required more skill and lens power than I have. Still, watching them was as if I were in a scene in one of those Lost World pictures, where prehistoric size was no surprise. It was well worth the time spent in a tour van.

Only one more planned experience. In two days I start hiking to Machu Pichu, a four-day hike in the mountains. And then back to the states.

Clinica de San Juan, 2010

Not much to add this week. No trips since Lake Titicaca. That changes dramatically upcoming and final two weeks with Canyon de Colca and Machu Pichu. But, just in case anyone wonders if I am lost, needed to add a few comments.

So, other than study and travel, myh time has been partly devoted to volunteer work at a Children´s Clinic. Wonderful children, beautiful children, sad situations. In personal respect for their condition, I do not post photos of them. But, I will post photos of others not in the same circumstances.

“My children” have been abandoned by their family. Ages 3 to 15 they possess varying degrees of discapacidades (disabilities). Of the 40 to 50 in the section to which I provide time, only two small ones can walk without assistance. Most need sillas de ruedas (chairs with wheels). Possibly half cannot talk or express their needs. Many have minimal muscle control and cannot feed themselves.

Yet, despite all, they still shine “como un noche estrellada”, starry night. Several of the little girls have been given appropriate names such as Mira (sight), Luz (light) or my favorite little Quechua, Milagras (Miracles). When they recognize their amigo, the smile that comnes forth appears as the aura around the paintings of the Virgen Mary, found in all the iglesias in Sud America. It changes a dull day into Christmas morning.

I don´t do much. Mainly give attencion, where it is evident there is never going to be enough. That hurts. I also help feed those that need assistance. Almost 30 years since I have done that. Now that is a challenge. One incident really confused me. Lunch followed a day of excitement as the children received new shoes. You could feel their energy. Later, I was feeding a little pal Rodrigo. At first things went well, but then he began to cry, progressively louder, unceasing. I had no idea. Finally the director sensed the cause and removed his new shoes, yes, too tight. But, Rodrigo is one that cannot talk.

One more week with my little friends. I will miss them. I will wonder about their situation, their care, their future, and others that will follow. I will wonder if the runaway parents pause, remember, regret. Can it be possible to ever forget? How many others are there in the world? And how can we avoid them?

. . .
Life plays its tricks, some cruel but fair
And only a fool can pretend they don´t care.

When there´s too many memories for one heart to hold
Once a future so bright now seems so distant and cold
And the shadows grow long and your eyes look so old
When there´s too many memories for one heart to hold.

There are those moments and they just never fade
Like the look in (their) eyes and the way the light played
God moved in that moment and the angels all cried
And they gave you a memory that you´ll have till you die.

And there´s too many memories for one heart to hold
Once a future so bright now seems so distant and cold
And the shadows grow long and your eyes look so old
When there´s too many memories for one heart to hold.

S.Bruton

Titicaca, 2010

Well a good feeling this morning (Sunday). The greatest peace and calm I have had since arrival, now marking the half-way point. I have had other moments, but not equal. The weekend travel did not start with such positive inclination. A 10:00 PM bus departure in Friday night rain, with targeted arrival at 5:00 AM Saturday. Since I do not sleep on plane or bus my anticipation was not great. But, arrival was on time and three hours later I was on a tour bus on Lake Titicaca, highest navigable lake in the world, and second largest in S.America. It is over 50 miles wide at some points. The lake besides its immensity is quite clean, and taking a horizon viewpoint, its blueness merges into a mirrowed shade from the sister sky.

The first stop was to the floating islands of Unos. Very interesting. These man-made islands were originally created centuries ago as a means of escaping and avoiding enemies. Constructed from the rooted mats of reeds that grow in the lake. These are cut in the shape of large spongy blocks. Then the reed shoots are layered criss-cross on top creating a mattress far more solid than I anticipated. Until waves are created by other passing tourist boats there is not much sensation of undulation at all. One-room solar powered homes are constructed of reeds as well, light, efficient and lightweight. They can easily be lifted and moved, a requirement as the islands decay about every 15 years and new ones have to be built. The islands themselves are easily anchored or moved. In fact often several islands are towed together to create a soccer field. The place was interesting but a bit like Disneyland with an appearance that all activity, native dress, dance, etc. Was geared to creating a fantasy world for the tourists. Still, these people otherwise have lived in the same style for centuries.

Next stop to Amantani, a natural island, which was to be our one night stay. The group was divided and “fostered” to a Quechuan families. Myself and two dentists from Norway (I was the interpreter) were adopted by a wonderful three member family. Madre Irma, Padre Javiar, hija Nadie. Irma in particular has this smile that immediately brings the sensation of Inca heritage, simple, pure, connected to earth, sky, sun, moon. Neither shy nor assertive, she included us in the meal preparation.

Those on the island are for the most part self-sufficient, and a barter system paired with a communcal sharing of responsibility and productivity from quilted fileds dating to pre-Inca cultivation seems to work. But, the tourism, plus craftwork sales, definitely assists their survival. Still primitive, however, as our kitchen was a dirt floor, with a wood fire filling the cocina with smoke.
Incan history states that the first man arose from these waters of Lake Titicaca. Two temples, to the sun, to the moon, overlook the terraced fields. The overlook from these temples, above these terrazos, with more islands arising from the lake just as that first man, is breathless. Of course, being above 12,000 feet could account for part of that.

We had a fiesta night of folkdance and Andean music. Sleep was welcome afterward. I made up for the bus ride under several layers of aplacan wool blankets. I was as snug as the babies strapped to the backs of Quechuan mothers. I see now why these babies never seem interested in crying for attention. Movement is near impossible.
I awoke to birds and burros braying, among the many tended gardends of the communal village of Colquecachiman. There are ten communal villages on the island, mine one of the smallest. During the night I met my need for el bano (no indoor plumbing), finding no need of headlight as the stars provided all I needed. The display overtook even my Colorado prejudice for clear viewing. What a stressful thought knowing that many have not a clue to what a starry night really is.

After a pancake breakfast, I sadly shook the hand of my father, and kissed the cheeks of mother and daughter and said goodbye. We headed for one last island with pre-Incan connection. As we walked from the boat dock to the town plaza, marveling at the cultivated terraces that climb up the mountain, or fall to the sea below (perspective) I overheard one of the group remarking how this island resembled much of the Greek coast. Guess I put Greece on my list.

This was a fantastic trip and reversal of those initial expectations. Not sure what this next week offers. Perhaps more tranquil for time to rest and cram some studytime. We shall see.

Inca ruins, 2010

Another grand week. So much done, seen. Inca ruins, more processions this Santa Semana, visit to the largest mercado, local food tasting, parcial participation in the apprehension of a thief, as well as participation in an Inca ritual involving burning cocoa leaves, plus amazing scenic memories.

But, will focus on the seven Inca sites visited. Despite many fond memories of American native structures in Chaco Canyon, Mesa Verde and other locations, there is no comparison to the Inca construction. The skill displayed is incomprehensive. Massive stones, sometimes from distant locations, so perfectly quarried, cut, modified, sculpted, placed, that no adhesive is used nor needed. So perfectly fit that a knife blade cannot penetrate between. And not all are squared. Many have multiple sides, one in particular is famous for the twelve sides, each representing some Incan meaning. Yet, as if some great jig saw puzzle found on the tables at the senior center, all fit so neatly both in balance and shape to create massive walls, straight lines, withstanding centuries of earthquake prone tendency, which modern Peru cannot duplicate in strength nor structure. Some are placed not only for structural use, but also representation. See if you can find the duck in flight in the attached photos.

Built for varied purposes, ceremonial and religious ritual, commercial, military outlook and defense, noble or priestly residence. The location of these structures add to the impression. Many located on steep moutainside, layered on terraces climbing up the mountain. How was it done technically, how many people needed?
Many, particularly the ritual sites, have been engineered for water systems, from the numerous cascades in the area, with irrigation canals, fountains and baths for cleansing prior to entry. They still function perfectly without intervention. Simple, functional, beautiful. The sound of splash, the movement of wave within receptor, draws you, tempts you to put your feet under, but the guards watch. Yet, at one time, people gathered, cleansed, the entered for devotion to a variety of designees, almost all related to Pachumama – tierra madre.

Tantomachay, Pukapukara, Q’enqo, Saqsaywaman, Pisac,Ollantaytambo, Temple of the Son. All wonderfully different, impressive. I must say my favorite (Machu Pichu is in May) is Ollantaytambo. Immense coverage of the moutains and valley. The pueblo still occupies and lays over the same stone streets, and many of the walls stand as strong as centuries past. Too narrow for vehicles I can easily walk with the ghosts of the Incas. Hmmmm. I wonder. Would I have been king, noble, sacerdote (priest), artisan, or work in the fields, birds distant, water from the well aside.

We can make it, I know we can.
Only time will tell.
Let’s take a walk down to the water
Let’s go to the well.
Hear that low humming underground
Hear the skylark in the dell
While the world is sleeping
Let’s go to the well.
Sometimes my heart feels like a dandelion
Seeds scattered in a careless wind
Nothing to show for my life and time
But innocent wonder in the face of thunder
Feeling like something is about to begin.

Dia del Senor de los Temblores

This Monday was a major day in Cusco, celebration of the day of Senor protector from earthquakes. Almost an all day affair. A beautiful wooden carving of the crucifixion normally maintained in the cathedral in the central plaza is carried to a variety of churchs in the central area of town. Literally thousands observe the slow procession from church to church, beginning in the afternoon. As the crucifixion is carried through the streets, the observers throw billions of beautiful flower petals upon the crucifixion as it moves through the streets. I am not sure the of the flower except it is found in the area obviously and has high meaning to the andean people. This is again one of those strange mixtures of catholic and Incan belief. The ritual is similar to other catholic celebrations, while the image of Christ used in Incan fashion to acknowledge the connection to the mountains and mother earth is definitively tied to the Incan belief. I personally do not know how it is all reconciled. I can only witness to the fact that this day attracts thousands.

That night the procession ends after maybe five hours of movement around the central area of the city, where at least five churchs, massive, historic and beautiful, sit within a two block area. A Canadian friend and I met Elvis on the streets prior to the full gathering of folk in the plaza about two hours before the reappearance of Christ back to home presence in the cathedral. Elvis was trying to attract patrons to one of the balcony restaurants overlooking the plaza. This was a perfect overlook, so we accepted Elvis´invitation as well as his free offer of Pisco sour, the national drink of Peru. We enjoyed a simple meal, pisco sours, and awaited the arrival of the crucifixion. During this time the cathedral and adjacent church bells rang in response to each other. Beautiful the sound of the campanas. Particulary one massive bell in the cathedral bellowed out a beautiful base tone, that brought a tinge of emotion to me at least. Story is that the original clapper was of gold, but because the sound was so enormous it cracked both the bell and the tower wall itself. So, they replaced it with a smaller metallic version. Still, the sound was wonderful.

About eight the sighting came. By now the plaza was filled, standing room only. As the crucifixion moved to the front portal of the cathedral the crowd quieted. Slowly the cross was turned to face the door, but before proceeding up the steps, the men bearing the crucifixion moved to make Christ bow three times. And as faitfully linked, the crowd of believers kneeled. I failed to mention that bomberos, firemen and trucks were parked to the side of the church. When finally the crucifixion was marched back inside, the alarms screamed. Not sure the modern connection here, not really enamored of the use, particularly with the beauty of bells so easily present. But, that is how it was done. As soon as Christ was within, the alarms stopped, the crowd clapped and dispersed. That quick.

But, what a wonderful experience this was for me. Like nothing I have ever seen, nor felt.

Cusco, 2010

¡Aieeee Cuenca! ¡Increible! Que una experiencia positiva this has started to be. This timely place is like no other I have seen, visited, or lived within. Once the heart of the Inca empire it still holds close to that heritage despite the efforts of Spanish conquest and dominion to erase and displace. So instead, Cusco presents a strange, sometimes shameful, sometimes embarassing, mostly wonderful mixture (mezcla) of Inca ans spanish. The Inca language of Quechua is as present as espanol, adding to my confused attempt at learning spanish. Where the spanish came they destroyed virtually every Inca structure in their path. But, what is found in this wonderful place is spanish structure over partially destroyed Inca foundation. It is easily seen where Catholic cathedral or church stuctures rise from the walls of Inca temples. Religion itself has often united the multiple deity worship of the Inca into the Catholic ritual and practice.

It is almost too easy to get lost here. There is a slight patchwork of street placement. However, there are almost as many incoherent, almost invisible, pathways diverting to unknown intersections, many using the very Incan rock roaks laid out between temple sites. Way too narrow for vehicles you have to follow as young Judy Garland walked and sang up that yellow brick road. Not too far fetched an idea either as on Temple of the Sun, its blank walls still visible, once had gold on those walls, that reflected the fullness of the sun down the Avenida del Sol toward another distant and massive defensive structure, Saqsaywaman (pronounced in a drunken drawl as Sexy Woman). If you squint your eyes you can easily imagine the mirrowed rays of gold bouncing off the stone avenue from the temple walls. Of course the spanish took the gold and ran.

People are everywhere, Peruvian and turistica. Even on these strange side streets you often will find a Quechuan woman sitting against the walls weaving some textile creation from llama or alpaca. And, most expectedly wanting to sell her products. I have yet to see any signs of affluence, so all are in constant wait to sell good or service, artwork, craft, shoeshine, food, photo. Some Andeans dress in full cultural attire, bring their youngest also so attired, and even llama or alpaca, themselves often decorated, expecting turisticas to take photos, for a cost of one sol, or about thirty cents. Why not? And, these children´s faces could change the heart of the coldest and most greedy on Wall Street. Certainly memories and photos to have and share.

Since few read this far, I will come back next week with tails of Inca ruins.

I hate graveyards and old pawnshops
For they always bring me tears.
Can´t forgive the way the rob me
Of my childhood souvenirs.

Memories they can´t be boughten
They can´t be won at carnivals for free
Well it took me years to get these souvenirs
And I don´t know how they slipped away from me.
(S. Goodman)

Lima, Peru 2010

Hola mi familia y mis amigos. I am doing my best to renew my blog. Technology here makes it difficult,but we will try. The high-tech infrastructure is weak. Plus, keyboards and other stuff are also different. However, do not give up yet.

My first days have been in Lima. Three days, one and a half too many. Very busy place, many people. Not much color except in the plazas and parks. But, a learning experience still. My hotel, the Bolivar, is and was a historic colonial. Quite nice, except it does have need of repair and maintenance, though the structure itself is beautiful.

I am not much of a museum guy, except, of course for art galleries. And so my disappointment that the one art museum, Museo de Arte, was closed for renovation until April. I have found some art in surprising places, much and most is tied to the Inca tradition in some way. Amazing the detail demonstrated centuries past. Includes the high importance of the shark, bull, owl, puma, condor and snake. Animals are indeed critical to the understanding.

Essentially visited only two places, the central area and one called MiraFlores, which is a section that lies next to the coast. More modern than the central area, upscale, and high dollar. One park named in honor of President Kennedy, another Parque del Amor, which apparently on the weekends fully demonstrates its name. A gigantic stone sculpture of two lovers in grasp and kiss lies within the park. Impressive overlook of the coastline.

Also went to a pre-Inca site, Huaca Pallaca(?). Consisted of pyramid, plazas and outlying buildings. Even though it predates the arrival of the Inca, it still demonstrates amazing ability with structure. They used a form of adobe, with dirt and conch shell, which provided the source for lime. No filler in between the bricks were used. Yet, the structure has withstood numerous earthquakes, even though recent effort to rebuild fallen areas with modernized replica of the adobe have not withstood recent earthquakes. And, we pay rising college costs for skills not able to compete with centuries old abilities? Explain that to me. Anyway, the place was amazing in size. Apparently human sacrifice of young women was an occurrence here. But, before the decapitation they were anesthetized. The burials in the location were reserved for the higher class. The sacerdotes, that is, priests, were buried here. For some reason they were decapitated after death, and a wooden mask was placed where the head once was. Another ritual was the breaking of huge vessels that I could easily hide in, similar to the tradition of some weddings where glasses and plates are smashed. All in all an interesting place.

Back in the central area are numerous beautiful and grand churches. Hard to choose one more beautiful than the next. Totally decorated, showing both the appreciation of art and faith as well as the use of art in developing and demonstrating faith. For me it is too bad, even deplorable, that the modern American church seems (to me) devoid of any connection to art, despite its gift to mankind from a higher power. But, . . . Still these iglesias son muy hermosas. Sculpture and painting in the most impressive demonstration of skill, effort and love. Enjoyed them all.

Did not enjoy the overall stay in Lima too much, though not unhappy with the stay. Just too many. But, lots of activity, particularly after sunset, and the streets filled with people. Too hot for me also, the Colorado Kid. Despite overcast skies I got burned, but I will survive.

I am already in Cusco with my family and have attended the first class. Cusco suits me. In a beautiful valley o.and much more. Will convey more later. Cial