Lima to Cuzco

After a couple of days in Miraflores, we decided to explore a bit of central Lima.  The taxi ride that got us there was the most dramatic I have ever experienced.  I think the cab drivers in Lima have created an art-form out of horn use; they are unparalleled by the likes of NY drivers.  The fleet is also curiously eclectic, featuring 1970’s American muscle cars and VW bugs.  We went hurtling through narrow, pedestrian filled streets that were paved in stone.  The sheer number of people in Lima is somewhat dizzying.  We finally got to the Plaza de Armas.  The grand stature of the spanish colonial state buildings and cathedrals was amazing.  They were highly ornate and brightly colored.  The ubiquitous machine gun police stood watch.

We walked from the Plaza de Armas down a pedestrian glutted street filled with markets and restaurants to a neighboring plaza.  At one point I turned a corner to see an Incan temple in the middle of the bustling metropolis.  Lima was more beautiful and amazing than I expected, though I was glad to leave its oppressive air pollution and crowds when  I returned to Miraflores that night.

 I spent a few more days walking around in Miraflores.  There was a vast pre-incan ruin about 10 minutes away from the hostel.  It seemed to sprawl out over miles.  We went to a vegetarian restaurant called “Govinda,” which is run by the Krishnas.  They seem to have a healthy foothold in the continent.  I watched “La Brujula Dorada” (the golden compass) while sipping Inca Kola. 

I joined an old club called “South American Explorers” that has clubhouses in cities throughout South America.  They helped us gather information about the trip.

Overall, I found Miraflores to be quite enchanting.

Finally, we bought our bus tickets to Cuzco, as we decided that it would be best to go up to Macchu Picchu before the rainy season was in full swing.  We left Lima at around 5:30.  It was quite unnerving to see the vast slums on the outskirts of Lima after spending a week in one of the more aristocratic suburbs.  The buildings went from mouldering highrises to unfinished mudbrick complexes, to flimsy one-room shacks thrown up in the coastal desert.  The summer fog only gave me glimpses of islands out in the ocean through the sandy desert hills.

Around midnight we began climbing.  The bus wound around treacherous roads in the barren mountains, southern constellations burnt into me through the window.  I have never seen the milky way so bright.  It was an entirely new sky.

After some fitful sleep, I woke up feeling sick from the altitude and the swaying of the bus.  I took diamode for the altitude and tried to find the horizon to orient myself.  We rode through hours of fog and rain, which seemed to clear suddenly to reveal the Andes.  We began climbing even higher and winding along river beds and through little farms perched on the hillsides.  Each seemed to have its own population of pigs and cows.  I saw old Andean women wearing hats and braids.

Soon I began feeling the strange numb breathlessness again.  When we finally got to Cuzco I was weak and exhausted, but the crooked cobblestone streets began working their charm on me.

We clambered into a hostel, only to discover that night that it was placed directly above a particularly rambunctious discotech.  So it was that I fell asleep to “Mr. Bombastic” my first night in the Andes.