Photo Update-- the lazy man's blog post

In November and December we have had all sorts of little adventures and expeditions. We visited a waterfall, got soaked at a waterfall, jourenyed into Cusco for a nostalgic dose of consumerism, and did some quality hiking. We visited ruins, slid along wires far above the ground, and of course, celebrated a Peruvian Christmas. To share all the fun, I'm happy to present: The collected scraps and detritus from these last months' photos!

 We hiked about half an hour up from the small town of Calca to this beautiful waterfall. Along the way, we inadvertently harvested some tasty Capuli berries from the tree of an angry farmer. To be fair, I can't comment on his emotional condition when young hooligans AREN'T raiding his produce. He may be a very pleasant person. At the waterfall, we climbed in to get a better look. We also got soaked-- or at least I did. I think that I acted as a human shield for the girls, because I was the only one who was still properly dripping when we reached the highway for a cold car ride back.

 In Cusco for some Christmas shopping, we came across supermarkets with pine-and-snow themed decorations. Besides the oddness of seeing pine and snow after our half year of rain, sun, and leafs, the supermarket itself felt oddly large and impersonal. I can't imagine visiting Costco after I return from a town of street-side stalls.

 Hiking! We had a fantastic little picnic in a field high up in the mountains. The hike up was colorful. The path was ambiguous, we had to forge a river, and there was a bit of bush-whacking. Corny metaphor man is foaming at the mouth, ready to point something out about the nature of our path through Peru. Meanwhile, broad generalization man would like draw your attention to the way that our Peruvian companions treated the situation. As is so often the case, the Peruvians immediately accepted obstacles and started working on ways around them. When we found the river to high to cross, with no visible trail on the other side, they fanned out to search for a narrow point. They piled rocks, tossed backpacks across, leapt, waded, and hopped across. Peruvians always impress me with their direct approach to problems.

Christmas! My family stayed up late on the 24th to open presents at midnight. As you can see in the photos, they had an elaborate nativity scene. Not pictured is the marathon tournament of life that kept the kids distracted until midnight, the midnight toast of champagne and vanilla wafers, or the piles of wrapping paper that sprouted as the kids attacked their presents. It was a fun time.

I met a sheep.

While we were visiting the ruins at Chincherro.

Where we found this incredible Incan stone version of a park bench

And this rock where stone blocks were quarried.

This is the type of view that belongs on desktop backgrounds or ranch dressing bottles. Just stunning. I took this photo from a mountain where we were ZIP-LINING!

We had a fantastic, adrenaline-filled morning. At one point, we got a wee bit stuck on the wire and had to haul ourselves in. So that was fun.  

It has been an incredible 4 months-- I can't believe how quickly the time has passed.

Parallel Structure

After a brief Salsa lesson in Spanish class, I never really thought about the dance while here in Urubamba. Absent from my life were the distinctive shuffles and twirls of Salsa-- at least until an awkward encounter in the Discoteque. We were out dancing with some Peruvian host siblings. The lights were flashing hypnotically, the songs were popular and familiar, and all was right with the world. Then I heard it: The music was shifting. The pop lyrics were fading and a Latin beat was creeping in. I felt a distinctive sway in the crowd and realized that we were pairing off-- It was time to confront Salsa. I ended up dancing (very, very poorly) with Claire's shy host sister Veronica. I was embarrassed and the awkwardness was palpable. I fumbled some twirls, lost the beat, and at one point may have lost a shoe. It was ugly. But somehow, from that scary disgusting incident a new relationship was born. Veronica saw me as a comical (but doubtlessly charming) figure and I managed to expend a lifetime's worth of embarrassment in one evening. Now I smile at the memory. Its nothing major, but when I see Veronica we smile and nod, closer than before.

--“Kenny, do you know any stories about snakes?”

--”Like Adam and Eve?”

--”Heheh, no. No, other stories.”

--”Uhh... I don't think so, do you?”

--”Well, there is a small village near Urubamaba ...”

That was the introduction to the little conversation that changed filter days. I'm using the term “conversation” in a loose sense to include exchanges where other people talk and I nod, say “si, claro” (yes, clearly), and occasionally toss out a couple of vulnerable sentences in my two-month old Spanish. My patient partner in this instance was Ernestina, the Peruvian full-time Pro-World staff member on the water filters project. Ernestina is a short muscular woman with long black hair and the face of a trickster. I had been working with her every Tuesday and Thursday for the past month to mix, weigh, and finally press clay into ceramic filters. After a few fizzled attempts at small talk, we had settled into a routine of productive silence punctuated by short requests and instructions. The work was rewarding in the long run. And dull in the moment. Things changed on the day of the snake talk-- On that day I was startled, disgusted and impressed. Finally, from the ashes of an uncomfortable conversation, a new relationship was born.

Ernestina and I were mixing things up. Instead of working with wet dirt (clay) we were working with dry dirt. More specifically, we were leveling a lumpy patch of ground in order to construct a new kiln. 11 o'clock in the morning found us lugging rocks around to fill in holes. The silence was comfortable and the sun was not. As I pried one of the last rocks from the ground, out slithered the sort of animal that one would expect to slither. The sort of animal that squeezes meters of itself into small unexpected spaces to that it can surprise you with deceptive speed, a flash of exotic-colored scales, and bite that floods you with toxins and brings your stay in Peru to a tragic and sudden end. At least, those were my frantic thoughts when the snake appeared. In reality, it was about a foot and a half long, brown, sedentary, and probably generally benign. I froze. The snake froze. Ernestina did not freeze. Ernestina took a pickaxe and bashed the snake repeatedly while explaining that this type of snake was very hard to kill. She was more than up to the challenge. When finished, she must have seen the shocked and disgusted look on my face because she told me that the little guy was, in fact, poisonous and that it would have been a very bad idea to let him run around in the filters work shop. I was impressed (and disgusted and still a bit startled).

We sat down for a break, and the conversation started. When she learned that I had never heard any “proper” snake stories, Ernestina took it upon herself to educate me with some folklore from her childhood. The stories were horrifying. I spent the first few minutes doubting my Spanish and the rest of the time politely nodding and trying to stop my jaw from dropping off my face. I don't think this family friendly blog post needs to go into more detail, except to say that if you ever, EVER think that a snake may have gotten INSIDE your body, you should get an MRI immediately and pray that the snake wasn't pregnant. Yuck.

Somehow though, that 20 minute session of gross-out did the same thing for an 18 year-old gringo and his middle aged Peruvian boss that the great game of gross-out has been doing for elementary school kids for ages: It made us friends. The conversational dam shattered like a tired metaphor and we started talking about her snake-filled childhood. That turned into talk about Killabamba, a nearly mythical source of all of Peru's tastiest treats-- chocolate, coffee, mangoes and the like. Then to food, to cooking, to the traditional delicacies of Peru. Ernestina wanted to learn to cook American food, so I invited her to our volunteer dinners (we take a night every week to cook for each other). I wanted to learn more about chocolate so she told me about the process that takes weird fruit to beautiful bean to molten brown happiness.

With the silence broken, filter days became more than morally rewarding manual labor. They became morally rewarding manual labor with conversation. They became a time to talk with someone who shared my interest and curiosity for food. One day, Ernestina brought in cocoa beans from Killabamba and, together with another volunteer, we roasted, shelled, and ground them into bar form. I will dream of the smell till the day I die.

I see that snake talk as a turning point in my time in Peru. The obvious reason is the impact on my work here-- it made me a friend at work which in turn made work richer. It marked one of the first substantive connections I made with a Peruvian outside my host family. But it meant a lot to me in a more general sense as well. I realized that I (or anyone really, there was no special role I played in this) could fly thousands of miles to a totally new country with a totally new language and bond with someone over something as silly as snake-based horror stories. A humanist might cite this an an example of some universal connectedness. A cynic would point out the insufficient sample size of my data set. An herpetologist would just accept it as proof of the fascinating nature of snake talk. Fortunately, I don't need to try and mine this incident for more meaning. I have a new friend at work and a great opportunity to learn more about Peruvian food. I'm happy.

Backpack

To mix things up a bit in this week's entry (a misleading phrase considering my disregard for regular updates) I thought I'd try to create a picture of my daily life as revealed by my stalwart companion and close personal friend:

My backpack. I've grown quite attached to my backpack in the last few months. There are so many odds and ends that I don't feel comfortable without, and my backpack is always happy to soothe my insecurities by porting along generally unnecessary supplies. At the moment, it contains:

-A raincoat. The weather changes without warning here, and I've been caught in the rain too many times to leave home without my rain jacket. Particularly on those deceptive sunny days. Stupid sunny days, always trying to lull me into a false sense of security. The last week has been a solid, unbroken block of golden heat, which has me convinced that a rainy day is lurking, sneaking closer and closer...

-My trusty pink Spanish notebook. On our first day of orientation, we all received little notebooks from Pro Peru. Some people got blue notebooks with soccer players, some got black with ninjas, I got a pink one. With a cute little bunny. At first I was afraid that there had been a slight mistake, but Tavia, a volunteer coordinator was quick to reassure me-- it was quite intentional. That same notebook is now used in every Spanish lesson. My teachers find it endlessly amusing.

-Keys. For some reason, all of my keys for things back home made the trip to peru with me. I don't really know where to put them, so they live in my backpack.

-Toilet paper. One of the BIG cultural adjustments centers around toilet paper. TP doesn't live in the bathroom. Instead, one has to bring it with them. Thus, I like to have a roll with me at all times-- the possibility of making a mistake in this regard is too terrifying.

-My computer! My link to you, the beloved reader. I carry it around because Wifi here is a bit like a really great parking spot in the states-- it is never consistent or expected, but one must always be vigilant. The internet cafe I used to use now, oddly enough, no longer has wifi. The quality of their brownies still has me going there regularly. Try not to take that as an indication of your (the beloved reader's) importance to me relative to baked goods.

-My plug adapter. This beloved little fellow keeps me charged and typing, listening, skyping, and brushing (my teeth-- with the electric toothbrush which I brought all the way to Peru. Judge if you must, but never, NEVER question the state of my dental hygiene)

-My book. When applying to this program, I remember my interviewer asking me something along the lines of “How will you avoid entering a violent rage after the repeated frustration of extreme non-punctuality by Peruvians?” He may have phrased it a bit more delicately. The point, however, was that I came prepared to flex like the humble willow in the breezes of polychronic perceptions of time. As it turns out, most every Peruvian I've met has been extremely punctual, and I've spent more time waiting for gringos than I have for Peruvians. To that end, a book is a wonderful addition to my backpack. It also

A) makes me look terribly smart and impressive when people arrive, and

B) creates the impression that I have been waiting much longer than I actually have been, thereby reinforcing my reputation as a timely arriver. (A butchery of the English language? Mayhaps, but a conscious one)

I'm currently reading The Poisonwood Bible, which also gets me “cultured person” credit-- redeemable for valuable prizes and insight.

-Hand sanitizer. Miracle gel. When you can't wash-- sanitize! Before meals, before cooking, before flossing. I've consumed enough of the stuff that I'm coming to appreciate the subtleties of the bitter aftertaste it leave in the mouth. The low grade generics have a chemical sourness, but the good ones, GermX or Purell often have subtle floral undertones.

-Sunscreen. The elevation combines with the side effects of antibiotics (sensitivity to sun) to make Urubamba a giant broiler to for the unprepared. For this reason, I also always tote around my

-Beloved baseball cap. I actually have two, one from Bridge Year that I try to avoid destroying completely, and one lightening bolt cap that I found on the street in AK, and which is subject to a rough treatment. It gets sweated upon as I hike, saturated in DEET as I poison insects, and it is also the tool of choice for swatting spiders and ants off of things that ought not to have spiders and ants on them. Namely me. I honestly doubt that that poor hat will ever see the states again.

-Spare Hidden Toilet Paper. I think that my concern in this matter is valid. Can you really disagree?

-Water bottle. I don't actually drink a lot of water throughout the day; the tea that I get after each meal usually does the trick of keeping me hydrated. Instead, the water bottle lives in my backpack as a reminder to take it to the office to fill for my nighttime water needs. Those would be tooth brushing and pill swallowing. Clean water has truly become a logistical challenge. Some days I don't go to the office, and I have to plan ahead for those by filling up my spare bottle. Some days I'll have a hike and need another spare. It's all very complicated, and I pay dearly for my mistakes. That is, I pay one sole to buy bottled water-- one sole that could be spent on a churro, a bowl of arroz con leche, or two (2!!!!) tasty pastries. A sad, sad sacrifice.

This blog entry is written in memory of my pen, which until recently lived in my backpack and served nobly as a writing utensil. Pen fought valiantly against the altitude of the Inca trail, but lost spectacularly. My memories, like his stain, will last forever.

Machu Picchu and the Inca trail:

DAY 1

Friday morning, hauling backpack and slathered in sunscreen, I made my way to the plaza to begin our Inca trail adventure. A van delivered us to Ollyantaytambo, where we were to round up some porters and set off. Unfortunately, the porters, it seemed, had not been made aware of this plan. In fact, we couldn't find enough. So we waited. We ate banana pancakes at a local cafe. We slept in the van. We checked out jewelry shops with BOTH kinds of Peruvian jewelry shop workers-- the high pressure tourist hunter and the slightly stoned craftsman. We walked around. We did not hike that morning. When the necessary porters (there are actually laws about the number of porters a party is required to bring on the trail) had been imported from nearby cities, it was lunch time, so we had lunch before heading out. And then we were off.

Day 1 hiking was easy, beautiful, and fun. Our guide pointed out medicinal plants (translation, narcotic plants), ancient ruins, and the landscape was stunning. We were walking though valleys, and the mountains around us were just beginning to turn green with the rainy season. When we camped, we were introduced to the phenominal food that the porters would prepare throughout the trip. After coffee and crackers, we had a semolina soup. Dessert was also served-- a candied plantain in syrup. Luxury camping at its finest.

DAY 2:

Saturday morning, we woke very, very early. 4:45. Fortunately, the porters woke us with cups of tea in the tents and a nice crepe for breakfast. At this point, I was beginning to wonder if we were really experiencing the Inca trail as the Incas did. Something tells me they had fewer condiment choices for their crepes. Before setting out, the porters took a substantial portion of the loads off our backs in preparation for the toughest day. I had (and still do have) a moral discomfort with the amount of work the porters did for us-- their roles were uncomfortably similar to servants'-- but I have doubts about my ability to survive day two without the support of porters. At any rate, I'm immensely grateful, because:

Day two was a killer. In total, I believe we hiked for 9 hours that day, and at least two thirds was us stairs. Stairs. The Incas loved their stairs. Not much can be said about those stairs, other than that I'd be more than happy to live a perfectly level life and never see another step. The elevation gain was significant. Between the altitude (4200 meters) and the coca leaves that we kept chewing, it was the highest I'd ever been. (just kidding benevolent, fun-loving Princeton folks, please don't squash our funding!).

The grueling nature of Day 2 was more than worth it when I consider the sights. We saw mountains in mist, waterfalls, ancient green overgrowth, and ancient, pristine Incan ruins. It was in day two that I started to feel the liberating removal from civilization that marks the best trips in nature. It was in day two that I had my strongest moment of “praise be, the trail levels out now.” And it was in day two that the Princeton bridge year group proved our musical prowess by belting out “Fill Me Up Buttercup” from ancient Incan constructions.

DAY 3

Day 3 was a relatively breezy 6 hours or so, and after the morning hike, we had the afternoon free to journal, engage in insightful discussions with group members, and reflect on the magnificent beauty around us. Instead, we slept. It was wonderful. Afterwords, we hoped on over to a huge ruin with a grand set of agricultural terraces and the rainbow temple. Incan belief: Don't smile at rainbows, negative energy will enter your body and rot your teeth.

In the evening, we had the typically delicious dinner (a beet and carrot salad with Chow mein noodles and, mystery of mysteries, a cake) and then applauded and tipped the porters.

A thought on the porters: These guys do the same Inca trail we do, except that they get up an hour earlier to set up breakfast and start breaking camp. They run past us on the trail to arrive at rest points an hour earlier to set up lunch, dinner, and camp. They make the food, do the dishes, filter the water, and set the table. And they do it all with packs that are at least 25 kilos. And packs is a loose term, most don't have waist support. And a decent number of them were wearing sandals. They made the Incan trail luxurious, and they are paid next to nothing in American terms, maybe a total of 150 dollars for the four days. I can't decide how to feel about them. I feel guilty for the business arrangement that we had with them, but I also recognize that the four day income is more than many families make in a month here. And of course, they made my time on the incan trail so much more pleasant. Like so much in Peru, the situation is complex.

DAY 4 (AKA MACHU PICCHU DAY)

We woke up in the middle of the night to hike the last couple of hours to Machu Picchu. The last stretch was a high intensity cold war of a race. All the trekers wanted to arrive first, but nobody could flat out run. Instead, the line of people was marching at top speed and rudely jostling to pass. We couldn't stop for a break on that last couple of kilometers. It was madness. 

The first sight of Machu Picchu was an outline in the fog. I can't really do the lost city justice, maybe the pictures will help, but the panoramic view from Winu Picchu, the nearby mountain that we climbed, was one of the unforgettable sights of my life. I will say that I found the tourism a bit odd. This ancient lost city feels like it should be deserted, perpetually abandoned to time but instead, it crawls with bright shirted tourists and scruffy backpackers. 

Anyhow, enjoy the pictures:

 From the trail

 This is a view from dead woman pass, the high point of the trip at 4200 meters

 The trail. When we were surrounded by the mist, it seemed to stretch into nowhere

 Ruins on the way, this was a lookout tower

 A picturesque mountain lake. The cynic in my reminds you that it was probably filled with picturesque intestinal parasites.

 Hehe. Stairs.So many stairs. The Incas: renowned for their stone work and beastly calf muscles.

 My pensive reflection from an agricultural terrace.

 More terraces

 At the sun temple in Machu Picchu

The view from Winu Picchu

Back from the Jungle

I'm back! I return with verdant memories and countless bug bites. The jungle was an incredible experience, deserving far greater depth of description than I could hope to give. So I'll go ahead and abuse the exchange rate between pictures and words (a picture is worth a thousand words) to skimp on my duties as blog writer. Enjoy!

This is the view from the river we floated down to reach our lodge. We ended up swimming in this same piranha infested water-- and I proudly emerged with all of my fingers

That would be a tarantula. We saw several, and our guide (who I otherwise loved)  seemed to have an uncanny knack for finding them.

These cute hipo/ beaver/ water pig creatures were on the shore of the river. They look slightly less noble on land, where they tend to loaf about.

We saw so many crazy bugs!  

Dear lord, they gave me a machete. What were they thinking?!? This is the walking palm. it creates a cage-like set of roots that diverge and enter the ground. When water levels rise, they are covered and any gringos trapped inside are in trouble

I'll never tire of sunsets over water.

Our guide showed us a leaf that, when ground with water, creates the perfect pigment for warding of evil jungle spirits. The spirits he described lead careless travelers deep into the unfamiliar jungle then vanish, leaving them lost. This was a bit of a disconcerting tale coming from the man who had led us deep into the unfamiliar jungle. Fortunately, my face paint must have worked cause he stuck around.

More interesting bugs!

And I'm still not tired of beautiful sunsets over the water!

This huge tree is apparently being slowly killed by the vines that strangle it. The gringos probably don't help either.

There you have it! The Jungle trip! Next up: Machu Pichu! For which I resolve to do some actual writing!

 In which he employs brevity and breadth in place of depth:

In the past week or two, I've found myself between a rock and a dead zone when it comes to wifi and internet access in general. My apologies to all. We've been moving offices and the wifi hasn't caught up with us yet. Beyond that, we went backpacking last weekend and I spent an unpleasant chunk of the week sick. To summarize the time since my last update:

Moving offices: We were gently evicted from our old place when the landlord decided he wanted to for himself, so last week we canceled project work and moved all of the books, clothing, computers, wood, kitchen utensils, beds, spiders, and food from the old office to a nice new place on the other side of town. Except for one slightly less-than-thrilling morning spent moving a wood pile and a few encounters with everyone's favorite eight-legged form of life, the work was actually quite fun. I got to ride on a big old truck loaded with furniture (it felt very Grapes of Wrath), and I think we all got a better idea of all the resources that are lying around in the office.

Piturasay: (That's my spelling and I'm sticking to it). Over the weekend we went on a backpacking trip up to a beautiful lake on the top of a mountain. It was a six hour hike up with heavy backpacks, but the arrival was easily worth it. I immediately changed and hopped in the lake. I then realized that the origin of the lake was a nearby glacier and spent some quality time thawing my toes. Still worth it! In the evening we cooked a nice quinoa dish and desserted (my blog, my words) on bananas and chocolate cooked in campfire. After a bit of stargazing we went to bed. Rest was important, because we had to wake up early to view the crazy shadow of an Incan profile that appears on the rocks during sunrise. We also viewed what our guides identified as a puma shadow, but which looked more like a particularly lumpy blob to me.

 beautiful spot, no?

 And here too, am I right?

 Oh! And this one as well!

 If that isn't an Incan profile, I don't know what is

 It was really, really early.

Illness: Immediately after our return, I was attacked by a fearsome malady and made the shrewd tactical decision to stay in bed sleeping, whimpering, and feeling extraordinarily sorry for myself for the next 48 hours.

A Day in the Life: This weekend we spent the night Chicon. By spending a full day with a family in Chicon, we hoped to get a better idea of what projects the community might be interested in. My family was extremely warm, welcoming, and, it should be noted, had a litter of week old puppies. I was supposed to be shadowing a family member for my time there, but the dad was away on a construction job and the mom thought that my offer to “make as you make for a typical day” was hilarious until she realized that it meant following her into the kitchen. I was sternly evicted and told to go play with Pedro, her son. Pedro and I had a grand time playing soccer in the field, playing soccer in the garage, playing soccer on the path between the field and the garage, and watching Cats and Dogs 2: the Revenge of Kitty Galore on DVD. A more nuanced reflection on my time in Chicon will probably occur in the coming weeks (we go to the jungle next week and I need to pack. That also means no wifi for another week, Sorry!). Until then, enjoy the old standby: More pictures!

The view from Chicon

The puppies

Serious reflection: Warning, this bit is serious.

I've noticed poverty in two different ways here in Peru. The first is the big, horrible, slap to the face type of poverty that I see in rural communities. I see kitchens with Guinea pigs living and breeding and eating and doing who-knows-what-else on the floors as people cook and eat. I see dirty plastic jugs being used to hold water or corn beer. One time, I saw a child eating an old piece of meat of the floor. The rooms are dark, the dishes are everywhere, and the entire house feels like its just barely in control of the owners-- like a few days and it would revert back to the dusty brown landscape that surrounds it. When we ask these people what sort of activities they'd like to have in their community for recreation, they tell us that they don't have free time.

When I first started writing this post, I thought Id put down some meaningful reflection on all that. I thought I might whip up some insight-- a skill that's gotten a lot of practice over the years of essays and college applications. When I opened the document today, I realized that my writing didn't have an ounce of substance. I don't actually know what to make of these people's lives. I feel horror, and sadness, and helplessness. That's all the honest reflection I have to offer.

The second way that I notice poverty is in all my interactions with Peruvians. Its much more subtle. At dinner, everyone always finishes all their food. When shopping, people compare prices. This is the sort of shopping I'm used to seeing when people are buying TVs or washing machines, but here, we'll get a couple of quotes for sunscreen or laundry detergent. Money invokes a very careful, controlled attitude in people. Exact change is carefully counted out to send someone off to buy something for diner. Debts are re-payed quickly and exactly, and I've yet to see any “I'll cover this one, you get the next one” attitude. Every price, every purchase, every debt and every credit is a precise and important affair. When I chipped in 1.2 soles for a shopping trip in Cusco, my family repayed me in exact change three days later. I think this attitude is telling. I get the feeling that everyone is only a generation or two away from hard times. The attitude isn't one of stinginess-- I've found Peruvians to be exceptionally warm and generous-- its just that everyone is very aware of money and waste. In some ways, it feels infinitely more sensible than the conspicuous consumption that pops up back in the states.

Anyhow, on to lighter topics:

Yesterday we went on what 90% of my body agrees is the greatest tour I've had in Peru (the other 10% had to contend with a very, very hard bike seat on a very, very bumpy trail) We were driven up, out of the sacred valley into a high elevation somewhere. There, we fitted our helmets-- mine rested over my baseball cap creating a very stylish effect-- and applied sunscreen.

 The first part of the trail was dusty, flat, and sunny. The terrain looked a bit like the Alaskan tundra in that there were no trees and most of the ground was covered with mosses and unhappy looking grasses. After an hour or so, we arrived at Moray. Moray is an Incan ruin, a set of four pits lined with concentric agricultural terraces. Pits is probably a bit of a deceptive word. These terraces were probably the most impressive thing I've seen in Peru so far. The scale is overwhelming, it is impossible to imagine the construction of something like this, and the geometry was elegant and pleasing. Our tour guide told us that scientists believe that the terraces were used as a kind of ancient lab to experiment with crops. The terraces create a series of micro-climates, and Incans could tinker with adapting plants for use in different regions. Unfortunately, the notion of adaptation in plants upset many conservative Incans who demanded that science not be taught in Incan schools. The resulting ignorance was responsible for the downfall of the great civilization. Just kidding! The downfall was actually more of a result of the Spanish. The Incans had no problem with science, and their engineering continues to impress scientists to this day.

Fooled you! This is actually from the Incan festival in Cusco a weekend or two ago-- the one put on by High Schools that I attended with my family.

After finishing up in Moray, we biked down to the Salineras. These salt mines have been in operation for centuries, and continue to support a small town today. The ride itself was hair-raising (or would have been if my hair hadn't been secured under both hat and helmet). The path was very steep, very rocky, and, toward the end, very wet. The view was once-in-a-lifetime, and the cliff on the side of the trail made that more of a threat than an idiom.

 The mines themselves were pretty spectacular as well. They looked like a giant haphazard grip of snow, but the dry, salty air and prominent “Salt Mines” sign gave away their true nature. Workers come every morning at 4 to begin harvesting, and they usually finish up for the day before noon when the sun reflects off of the salt to create an unbearably intensity.

The remainder of the ride down the mountain read like the back of a bad novel, a high-octane tour de force. Unfortunately, like those same novels, it is also a bit dull in print. So have some more pretty pictures instead!