What a Weekend

Sabado (Saturday)

Art and I spent about an hour sitting on a bench in one of Cusco’s charming plazas, just watching the world go by… and around us and beside us and occasionally even stopping by to try to sell us something.

Our first visitor, a shoeshine boy, was determined to bring my dusty old Keen hikers back to life. Since “no, gracias” is hardly ever a conversation stopper with these determined entrepreneurs, I decided to continue our exchange by changing the subject. I asked him about his shoeshine equipment, if he goes to school, his name, and how old he is. He settled in beside our bench, perching on his box of polishes and brushes. I think that he was either happy for the reprieve from working in the hot sun or he was particularly amused by the Canadian woman’s tireless efforts to speak Spanish to him. Whatever the reason, we were quite taken with him and enjoyed his company.

Not long after I had run out of things to say to our new 11-year old amigo, John, a woman stopped by to show us her beautifully weaved hair ties, belts, and table runners. Like John, she also settled in for a while—but this was a period of tough negotiation (not idle chit chat) that Art will report was particularly entertaining. After about 30 minutes of exchanging numbers ranging from 40 soles to 130 soles, I ended up with an unneeded (but gorgeous) table runner for 80 soles. Muy bien, Kathy. (Now, if you are unable to stick with ‘no’, then go buy another suitcase!). There was so much more going on here than buying a table runner—she spoke of her work and how long it takes to weave such an intricate piece (2 months for the one I bought, so perhaps 80 soles was too little…?). She even provided us with a demonstration of the weaving process. This all happened in Spanish, except for the part where we took turns writing numbers on the back of her hand. After the ‘deal was done’, I asked Art to snap a photo of me with my two new amigos.

If that wasn’t enough to qualify for a ‘best day ever’, things got even better. For lunch, Art and I found a restaurant around the corner with a sunny veranda and a band playing traditional South American music. (Yes, of course, we bought a CD (or two) from them.)

So, that was Sabado.

Domingo (Sunday) was our bus tour of the

Sacred Valley (El Valle Sagrado)—a valley that begins about 15 km north of Cusco and, in my mind, indescribable in terms of its beauty. Even though what we signed up for was, in the words of my Lonely Planet guidebook, “a whirlwind tour”, both Art and I were so pleased with all that we were able to see and do in such a short period of time—from the Inca citadels of Pisac and Ollantaytambo, to the snow-capped Andean mountains, to the artisan demonstrations by the Quechuan woman of the Centro de Textiles Tradicionales in Chinchero. I had read and heard that this valley of the River Urubamba is beautiful, but nothing could prepare me for what I saw and experienced. Indescribable. Best just to leave it at that.