San Pedro Market

One of the craziest, most chaotic markets I have ever seen is the San Pedro Market in the high elevations of Cusco, Peru. 

The market sprawled into all the streets surrounding the actual building of San Pedro. There was barely enough room to walk around. Vendors with fruits, potatoes, herbs, and everything else were overflowing onto the sidewalk while traffic on a single-lane road tried to push through. Horns honked. Exhaust blew. Pedestrians pushed through. A young boy urinated wherever he found room on the cobble-stoned street. 

I wished I could have taken pictures with my eyes, but I had to do the second-best thing⸺with my camera, trying to be as stealthy as possible. It was the people and their goods I wanted to capture, especially the Inca ladies in traditional dress, or with their babies wrapped on their backs. 

I looked at the food and filth and concluded that it was no wonder so many foreign tourists caught a bug while traveling to Peru. This food would be purchased and brought to the eating establishments where they would be prepared on a plate. 

Still, I was fascinated. 

Then we passed the meat section. Piles of heart, liver, hooves, jugular veins. It smelled the same as when I gut a deer. Blood and rotting stomach. It was here we saw chicken legs, skinned guinea pigs⸺and live bugs. 

At one point we decided to take a break on the steps of San Pedro Church, a 320-year-old house of worship watching over the market. Jenna and I plotted our next move when a foul and drunken man with dark hair and pudgy hands made his way toward us. He nearly fell over the guy next to us, then turned our direction and mumbled something in Spanish. I grabbed Jenna's arm, ready to protect her, but when he began to sway toward us, we quickly stood up and walked away. He spewed a few curse words, but we only smiled. As we gained distance we turned around and noticed he was getting lectured by a policeman. 

From one adventure to the next, we continued through the market, now passing through food being cooked. Ladies stood in front of large kettles with a fire lit below and steam rising above. Patrons sat on little plastic stools around the kettle and ate bowls of appetizing food. A common dish appeared to be rice with a drumstick and fried egg on top; or caldo de gallina, a brothy soup with noodles and chunk of chicken.

Some ladies grilled meat and others made juice. Ice cream was also popular. At the far end were booths of flowers. 

Bathrooms were of interest to me in Peru, and those at San Pedro Market were no exception. I paid the man at the booth 50 soles to enter, and he in return gave me a piece of toilet paper. The room I entered was large and had no door to separate it from the outside. Men and women alike entered inside. The room reeked of urine and feces. Although lines of enclosed stalls filled most of the room, there was also a line of urinals for the men, which was not covered at all. In my stall there was no seat on the toilet.⸺Completely squalid conditions for a food market! 

We ended our tour by walking through the artisan section. Here they have any souvenir a tourist might want: beenies, scarfs, coin purses, alpaca sweaters, Inca figurines and much more. There were no prices listed, so with everything we had to ask, then haggle. 

Eventually the market fizzled out and the normal chaos of Cusco streets filtered in. The market of San Pedro was definitely an experience we won't forget! ♠

 

 

Sun Gate of Inti Punku Cachiccata

We crossed the river on the old Inca Bridge and walked along a trail at the foot of a steep mountain slope. The trail, they say, is ancient and was used by the Inca to haul their quarried stone.

Just a few minutes into the hike we came across an old wall and structures. The rooms were made of gray rock and bushes grew within. The tops of the walls had collapsed. 

What a beautiful sight! To our right tumbled the Urubamba River, whose waters would eventually reach the Amazon. Humongous mountains towered all around. On the other side of the valley was the elusive Mount Veronica, whose snow-capped peak was now veiled behind a band of constant clouds. At times there were pockets when we could see a flank, or perhaps a quick glimpse of the summit. But in an instant it was veiled again. Mount Veronica towered at 19,334 feet. 

Urubamba River.

Village of Ollantaytambo.

In the beginning, the trail gained elevation slowly. Across the valley to our right we could see the town of Ollantaytambo and the massive ruins of the same name on the hillside. 

Our destination was the Sun Gate of Inti Punku Cachiccata, an Inca ruin near the crest of the mountain. We would be climbing over 4,000 feet to get there, and I prayed dearly that my body would allow me to do it. 

One of many old ruins on the trail to Inti Punku.

Trail to Inti Punku.

Village of Cachiquata in the Sacred Valley of Peru.

After the first resting point, which included a stone hut with shade, the trail took a sharp turn and began to climb even steeper. Here we could get see a shack where someone lived with a dog outside barking. It is mind-boggling to me that someone would live this far up. There were no roads anywhere near here! 

The foliage on these steep hillsides was not lush. From a distance they appeared bare, but walking through it was obvious that there was plenty of growth. Although we were above 10,000 feet, it reminded me much of what could be found in a desert: cactus, yucca-like plants the height of a human, and another plant similar to a manzanita tree. 

Ten minutes later we could hear the sound of flowing water. It was a rivulet shooting down the slope. It ran in a stone canal . . . one that had probably been in use for 800 years or longer. The Inca were masters of controlling water. 

Shaded rest-house along the trail.

The trail took a sharp turn and began to climb even steeper.

Shack located high on the mountain slope.

Here we could hear the sound of flowing water.

The Inca were masters at channeling water.

As we continued, the trail became steeper. We passed a team of Peruvian natives who were trotting down the hill with a group of pack horses. My guess is that they hauled them up for hikers. 

We passed the old quarry site where stones were hewn from the mountain and hauled down to the valley. The whole idea of the quarry being so far away blows my mind. Some of the rocks at Ollantaytambo are so big that they're considered megalithic. And how did they haul them down without pack animals like horses or oxen? 

We also saw a few thimble-shaped stone structures called chullpas. These were burial tombs used by a pre-Inca people. They are scattered around several places in Peru. Originally the corpses were buried in the fetal position along with some of their belongings, but nowadays the chullpas are empty. 

Chullpas.

Looking upward toward to old Inca quarry site.

Stone remains at the quarry site.

Around this point the slope of the trail really gave us a beating. I am no longer young, and health issues have taken a toll. We continued forward, albeit slowly. 

Much to our surprise we found cattle at this high elevation near 11,000 feet. The cows nibbled on grass and basked in the sun as if it were nothing. 

Beyond the cattle we came across another group of Inca houses. With the exception of the roof they were very well preserved. Each had a door and inside the room were several niches along the wall. 

We took a break here⸺on the front lawn of these old homes. And what a view! Mount Veronica rose even more majestically from this altitude, now clearing up from cloud cover. We sat on the fluffy green grass that felt as soft as any bed. We sipped Gatorade and ate a candy bar. 

From here we now had a good, albeit distant view of the sun gate. The stone edifice appeared as a tiny silhouette on the top of the mountain, with a piercing hole on its face.⸺We were getting closer! 

Much of the trail had stone steps built into it, probably ancient in origin.

High-elevation cow.

Old structure along the trail, perhaps homes for the quarry workers.

Jenna takes a break on the "front lawn."

Mount Veronica, elevation 19,334 feet.

Mount Veronica on right and sun gate on the left.

We spent the next half hour completing the final ascent. When we arrived, it was probably the grandest view I've ever seen. Not only did we have a front-row seat to view Mount Veronica, but we could also see the other side of the mountain, further into the Sacred Valley. Our panoramic view gave sight to several other snow-capped peaks, each with their own rugged destination. 

Inti Punku, literally translated from Quechua, means “sun door.” The stone building, which I believe is unfinished, has a set of stairs leading to an opening in a wall. Crossing the threshold through the door brings the visitor into an open-air room, with walls only a few feet high. Beyond this ancient temple stands Mount Veronica, which, from the right angle, can be framed through the door. 

The Sun Gate possibly worked as an astronomical observatory. It lines up perfectly with the constellation Pleiades and is closely associated with Winter Solstice and the Andean New Year. 

Sun Gate of Inti Punku Cachiccata.

Looking south from the sun gate.

It is interesting that Inti Punku served as an inter-dimensional bridge between the world of the living and dead. I have heard other Native American myths of there being a portal to the afterlife and I would love to find the origin of these beliefs. 

My altimeter measured our elevation at 12,820 feet. We were not, however, the tallest peak on our hillside. To our south stood a very rocky peak and I noticed a well-used trail leading to it up the backside. It would be at least a couple miles one-way if we were to go there, but we had neither the time nor energy for that. 

We spent an hour at the sun gate, taking pictures from every angle imaginable. We knew we had to relish every second. 

The Sun Gate of Inti Punku Cachiccata should not be confused with the sun gate at Machu Picchu.

Looking east into the Sacred Valley and Ollantaytambo. Other high peaks in the distance.

Sun Gate as seen from inside.

For our journey down, we chose to go a different route. Instead of the long drawn-out route to the Inca Bridge, we chose one that descended immediately and came out at the village of Cachiqata. 

This path was not as well maintained as the other. In some places it might have been considered a mule trail and there were times we had to make a decision between a right or left fork. 

As expected, there was a lot of zig-zagging. Down below the trail we could see a group of three horses playing around and running through the bushes. A small herd of cattle fed on a grassy slope. 

There weren't as many Inca ruins along this section, although we did find another chullpa. But this route was great for displaying Mount Veronica. By the time the clouds had cleared out, her beautiful white flanks radiated in splendor. 

Lone horse seen on the hike down.

Looking back up the steep slope.

Feeding cattle on the middle slopes.

The rugged slopes of Mount Veronica were very prominent on the hike down.

The view as we began to approach the village of Cachiquata.

At last we arrived on the outskirts of the village. I was a bit nervous here because I didn't know if the trail led through someone's backyard or across their property. But we traversed without incident. 

We walked through someone's farm. We saw no one, but passed pigs, ducks and different-looking cattle. Some of the modest dwellings were protected by stone walls. A couple of school boys strolled in front of us. 

Farm animals in Cachiquata.

Then Jenna noticed the cemetery. There was no sign and no gate, but a couple dozen obvious graves. Since I can't pass up a cemetery, we cautiously stepped inside the grounds and looked around. Most of the burials were marked with wooden crosses or an oval of rocks. Some had flowers growing inside the oval and others were decorated with figurines of Jesus or Mary. Wild grass grew all around and there was no attempt to have it manicured. I didn't know if we were allowed to be there, so we only stayed five minutes, then continued on our way. 

At this point it didn't take long until we were on the valley floor. This was the Sacred Valley, a long corridor that has been sacred to the Inca for hundreds of years. Once again we crossed the Urubamba River and took the only road available back to Ollantaytambo. By the time we arrived in the village the sun had set and darkness had begun to move in over the mountains. ♠

 

Cemetery on outskirts of Cachiquata.

 

Wind, Hell and Goats

It was a cold, windy day when we made it above the treeline. Large swaths of snow, some several feet deep, still draped the slopes of the peaks. We only had one direction to go, and that was up. 

This was Jenna's first time in this mountain range. I told her to dress in layers and plan for the worst. The wind always blew hard up here. 

We put one foot in front of the other, climbing a giant staircase of shale-rock and tundra. A marmot chirped a warning cry somewhere in the distance and we didn't hear or see of him again. 

The higher we climbed, the harder the wind blew⸺cold on the face and any other exposed skin. I pulled over my hood and gripped it firmly so it didn't blow off. 

The summit of 11,985 feet was a welcome sight. On the east side of a sign that marked the crest a rocky and precipitous drop led into a rough canyon, deep and heavily forested. We braced ourselves when gazing over the edge so as not to be blown over. 

Far away on the next hill we spotted a small herd of white fluffy mountain goats basking in the sun. We sat on the weather-beaten tundra and spied on them through the binoculars. They truly were far away and we made it our goal to get close enough for pictures. 

But by the time we left our perch on that big bulky mountain, the goats had left. Jenna thought they had walked behind the hill, but it was impossible to know for sure. They were gone. 

We moved down the north face of the mountain toward the saddle. The wind, which was already blowing hard, now moved in at a furious pace. The raging stream of air moved from the east side of the cliffs, up through the saddle and across the tundra plain of the west slope. 

Walking into the wind I leaned forward, lowered my head and pierced the way before me. I pulled my hood over my head and cupped around my eyes with my hands so my glasses wouldn't fly away. I couldn't breath. It felt as if I had jumped from a plane and had air pushing on my face and rushing up my nose. The flap on my jacket vibrated like a loose cord on the back of a truck. Each step was precarious and I wobbled as I walked like a drunken boxer. 

Jenna wasn't doing much better. She was shorter and lighter, so the wind had its way with her. She wore a black beanie over her head and one time when I glanced her way the beanie was flicked from her head and propelled over the east cliff like a clay pigeon. It was gone forever. Her long hair flayed in the wind like Madussa's. I smiled at her. As Patrick McManus would say, it was a fine and pleasant misery! 

At last we made it past the saddle, which was by far the worst of the wind. I found shelter against a small boulder where we laid low and took a drink of water. We didn't dare open our packs for fear that something would blow away. With extreme caution I pulled my camera from the bag and fastened it to a monopod. 

Then, with stealth, we moved up the slope toward the cliff where we hoped to spot the goats. Mountain goats are some of the craziest animals alive. They live their entire lives above treeline in some of the nastiest terrain God ever created. Their rubber-like hooves act as suction cups, allowing them to climb up and down cliffs like Spider-man. 

We came to the top of the slope and there they were . . . 150 yards away along the ridge. I don't know if they saw us, but we quickly ducked away. 

We advanced toward them, but stayed on the opposite side of the hill. When we closed the distance we moved back up over the hill, only to learn that they had left. They were gone again. We weren't giving up. 

We walked toward the ledge and then across a giant patch of snow. My leg fell through the crust and was completely submerged (at 2 ½ feet). By now we moved down the rocky cliff face, knowing we were in their territory. 

Then I spotted them over the hill. 

The closest was a nanny, fifty yards away. She sat on the shale rock, her thick white coat of fur keeping her warm from the wind. She glanced back over her shoulder and we made eye contact. 

Several of them were lounging around when we caught them off-guard. One by one they stood up, exchanged glances with us, then began walking in the opposite direction. They didn't run, nor did they wait around. They simply moved. I snapped whatever pictures I could manage. 

We knew we couldn't catch them, so we let them leave. Nearby we found a good spot partially blocked from the wind with a good view of the mountainside. We sat down to eat lunch and scoped their trajectory from a distance. 

It wasn't long into our meal when we saw a dozen little white objects climbing up the far mountainside. They moved like a pack of rats across the slopes of snow and onto seemingly vertical ledges. We watched in amazement. 

At one time we had lost them, but Jenna spotted them again. They were far away and we watched them ascend a strip of bare rock on the cliff face. Soon they disappeared and we didn't see them again. I suppose they had found a precarious perch on the southern face where they could bask in the sun, undisturbed and out of the way of any clumsy human who might pursue them. 

We finished our lunch, occasionally enduring gusts of wind pelting tiny rocks and balls of hail across our bare cheeks. We packed up and began our way off the mountain. We took the lazy human way down. ♠