At nearly two miles high, the headache's gone, thanks to Hotel Monasterio's oxygenated room. Of course, the two 12-hour nights of dead-man sleep probably helped, and for sure my soul is renourished by music: a classical guitarist who plays at breakfast each morning; the opera soprano who sang from the hotel's restaurant pulpit during Tuesday night's dinner, and last night, by the string quartet in the chapel.
Cuarteto de Camara practices in the chapel at Hotel Monasterio
The concert was fabulous: Two hundred people crowd into the golden gilt, religiously-iconated 14thcentury hall to hear Cuarteto de Camara play Haydn and Halvorsen, Bach and Schubert. The concert is worthy of Key West's Impromptu Classical Concerts, which on March 4 hosted the world-renown protege, pianist Conrad Tao. In Cuzco, though, half the concert goers are under age 30, and when the chapel's huge wooden doors creak shut for the performance at 7p.m., a door-pounding performance takes place by folks stranded outside, who want to get inside.
What an elegant mob scene. Almost entirely local.
The tourist scene, on the other hand, is generally less mobbed in March, the end of the the South American summer. Rainy days and nights are normal; temps range between 60 and 70 degrees Fahrenheit. Tom and I have been weather lucky; the occasional sun ray plows through roiling gray clouds for some most-appreciated moments of vitamin D. Rain or shine, the lure outdoors to hike about the City is irresistible. The steep streets and narrow back alleys are as intriguing as they are intoxicating; in fact, a breath-gasping exercise in lung development that reveals how Tomcito's high-Andean training made him a 2008 Triple Crown contender.
Textured mix of stones and slate indoors and out
I am, of course, not so sure footed. The headaches may be gone, but a lingering sense of altitude impairment lurks behind each trip over a cobble-stone curb, each slip across a slate or highly glazed interior brick floor. Most surface textures are intricate and uneven, even when my sense of balance is balanced. But centuries-old cities like Cuzco attain antique status precisely because they evolve from hard, hard building material. Reflected in the architecture is the solidity of granite and gray slate, clay-tiled roofs and massive brown, cut blocks of stone, not to mention a pervasive monotone.
Colorful family wearing colorful fibers
Cusquenians challenge such dullness with flashy fibers—vibrantly colored blankets and wraps, ear-flappy hats with braided ties, fingerless gloves, embroidered skirts—all natural materials, woven with cotton and wool from alpaca and vicuna.
Marybelle displays an endangered vicuna pelt in her fibers shop
Oops! No mas vicuna. Because this wild camalid has been over harvested, Peru protects vicuna and its lush, downlike fur. The super-soft baby alpaca, which is domesticated and sheered, is vicuna's fashionably trendy replacement. En route to Banco da la Nacion, Tom and I drop into a city park, where Mama Llama greets us with a few grunts and spits and hisses. In the distance, a couple of alpaca, or is that vicuna? happily harvest the terraces' grass.
Mama Llama greets us in a Cuzco city park
This lovely cultural moment transitions into a real headache at the bank when we try to prepay our $64-per-person park tickets for tomorrow's entrance into Machu Picchu: After a half hour queue the bank cashier refuses to accept our credit cards. That's right, no US credit available at Peru's national bank. Even more head scratching: Because she accepts cash for MaPicchu tickets, the cashier then refuses to trade Peruvian soles for US dollars. She explains there's a daily exchange limit—banks only accept $4US in trade—and obviously, the two-day, $128 pass has already over taxed the bank's assets.
Can we thank the US credit downgrade for this, or are we at war with Peru?
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