From Zu - salt pans

Written by Zu on March 2nd.

Earlier this week we went for a long walk from a town called Urabamba to a village called Maras. On the way we passed a really interesting place where they make salt. What is incredible is that they have been making salt here for over 600 years - well before the Incas ruled.

The rock contains a lot of salt. As the water runs through the hill it picks up the salt.Then the water is directed into the salt pans through channels. The water is allowed to evaporate leaving the salt behind. Then they scrape the salt up and put it into bags.

There is so much more to say about our lives here but that is all for now.

Cuzco 5 - The lost binoculars

Two weekends ago we set off for a Sunday excursion to Tipón, some Inca ruins about 15 km east of our house.  We took a taxi to the village and plodded up the road to the ruins.  To distract the boys I told one of my corny PC McAllister stories.  He’s a policeman from Orkney who very quickly solved all the crimes at home and now has to bust baddies round the world.  In this one he smashed a drug-smuggling ring in Colombia – or was it the corrupt policemen in Bolivia?  I can’t remember. 

At the gate to the ruins the guardian tried to overcharge us by asking for a fee for Zu.  I already knew that he gets free entry until he’s 10.  I said I would need a receipt and the chap soon backed down.  I felt rather sorry for him. 

The ruins started by the car park with a rather beautiful ‘Inca bath’ – water flowing down a channel of cut stone into a shallow trough.  I was getting ready to be all reverent until I saw there was a sign prohibiting the washing of cars. The ruins turned out to be an exceptionally beautiful and well-restored series of terraces with the water channelling through.  As always, it all felt rather harmonious and tasteful. We picnicked on the terraces and then set off to find an aqueduct at the top.  Although it no longer has water running through it, this too was an impressive feat of stonework.

From the top of this we decided to drop down to what looked like some other ruins and a village on the other side.  On the way we saw lovely Andean Flickers – woodpeckers – that like to congregate on sunny rocks. We found more ruins and more terraces, but these one unrestored as yet. 

A man ploughing with two oxen told us how to get back down to Tipón village and we had a delightful walk down a gorge.  On the other side was a cliff with partly bricked up holes in it.  We examined them with binoculars and speculated about undiscovered Inca treasure.  But by the time we got down to the bottom we had seen so many holes or entrances that we knew the secret could not be ours alone.  I looked it up later and read that poor Incas were often buried sitting up in holes in cliffs.

We arrived back at Tipón village tired and thirsty and immediately indulged in Fantas and Sprites on a bench in the square. At this point I approached a local taxi to take us back to the main road and having agreed a price (50p) we all rushed to jump in.  On the main road we found another taxi to take us back to Cuzco and welcome cup of tea.  But before we could drink it, Martha, looking very pale, announced she could not find her binoculars. 

Before I go any further I had better explain that these were a pair of Zeiss binoculars she bought when she joined the BBC 25 years ago.  A replacement pair would cost about £1,500. 

She thought we had either left them on the bench in the square or in the next taxi.  She had been clutching a bottle of Sprite when she should have been clutching the binoculars.  I decided to go back to Tipón to have a look for them and left Titus comforting Martha while Zu complained that he would have no-one to play football with.  (How he had the energy, I don’t know.  We had walked for about five hours). 

Back in Tipón there was no sign of the binoculars.  I went into the shop where we had bought the drinks and talked to rather a listless woman.  I left our details and the promise of a $100 reward.  Back down at the main road I questioned the taxi drivers and also promised them the same reward.  However, I could not see or recognise the driver who had carried us and I set off back for home feeling they were all a bunch of shifty sharks. 

The next day I went to the police station to make a denuncia  in the hope of claiming something off our insurance.  One of them greeted me like an old friend – I had already spent a couple of hours in their company making a denuncia  after M’s handbag was stolen.  The process involves sitting while they type out the form.  This is very slow because it is done with one finger and they often have great difficulty reading passport details and spelling awkward words like Zeiss.  Once this is all done you have to sign, press your index finger against an ink pad then put your fingerprint put by the signature.  You are given a slip to take to the bank where you pay 80 pence for another receipt. (This might have involved a couple of hours of queuing but I managed to look hopeless and the man at the information desk queue-barged for me).  This you take back to get your copy of the denuncia – if the right person is there.  There might be a further delay if they can’t find the stapler which they share between offices on different floors. 

During this process I asked one of the policemen what I should do to try to get the binoculars back. He suggested I contact Tipón’s radio station and have an announcement made with the offer of a reward.  “That’ll make them listen” he said.  “How much should I offer?” I asked. “10 o 20 soles” came the reply - $4 or $8.  I wondered if my $100 had been way over the top. 

The next day but one I set off again, sure that by midday a series of enticing announcements would begin on Radio Tipón.  But when I got to the turn off (by bus this time) the vulture taxi drivers assured me there was no radio station.  They all listened to Cuzco stations.  Rather demoralised, I walked up to the square.  A young lady of about 20 approached me with a rather forward smile.  I feared the offer of a massage, though that didn’t seem likely there. Instead we had rather a pleasant conversation.  She worked in tourism in Lima and was there staying with her aunt. She liked to talk to tourists.  I told her my mission.  She immediately took me over to another shop where an impressive-looking lady shopkeeper immediately took down our numbers and said she would make an announcement in Spanish and Quechua that very evening over the tannoy in the square. I stressed there would be a good recompensa and left feeling quite optimistic.   

My new friend, Geraldine, and I then chatted some more.  She told me there was a US-funded NGO in the village which worked with children.  I thought about asking for their help but they were out somewhere.  Geraldine then introduced me to a small boy who was partially crippled in the legs – he’d been run over by a taxi when very little.  She told me he sang beautifully in Quechua and he was persuaded to give it a go in return for some spicy snack. He sang quite loudly and I was glad when he finished. Before I left Geraldine suggested that we should come back the following Sunday afternoon for the village’s birthday party, with music and dancing. I set off home, taking another bus.  I was rather pleased that the whole outing cost me less than $1 this time. 

Alas, no one rang about the binoculars. So that Saturday we decided to go to the Baratillo market in Cuzco where, we were told, stolen things generally ended up. We went with Lucho, one of the three brothers from the hostal we first stayed in.  We had been told it was quite a rough place and that they didn’t like gringos there so we took the minimum of everything and hid money in different pockets and my socks. Martha removed her earrings.  It turned out to be a very crowded little market selling everything – hardware, clothes, stationery.  But there were sections selling used gas-bottles, car wheels, car mirrors, car radios - all obviously stolen.  Then there was a big section selling mobile phones with the odd camera or pair of binoculars, but not Martha’s.  In one place various young men stood about, most with mobile phones but one with a video camera. We passed through this lot once but later Martha decided to pass through them again.  However, she said that the second time a policeman or guard of some sort had blown a whistle and they had all quickly blended into the crowd.  All very interesting but no binoculars. 

On the Sunday we were keen to get out again and opted to go back to Tipón rather than explore the hills behind the house.  We had spotted a village from which we could get up to a high ridge.  We had an invigorating three or four-hour walk. On the way up I told another of my awful stories which was interrupted by the excitement of seeing wild guinea-pigs.  Well, Martha saw them; the rest of us looked out for them.  Eventually Zu, Martha and I got to a little peak while Titus, who had only eaten biscuits since his light breakfast of mashed bananas, sat and waited, feeling a little sorry for himself.  From up high we had a good view of yet another Inca wall above the ruins of Tipón.  It had not been restored and we could not guess its purpose but it was still in fine condition.

By the time we got back down to the village it was late afternoon and fiesta was in full swing. At least people were mingling about, there were a few stalls selling food and loud music was blaring out of some speakers under a canopy in the middle of the square.  The tree in the middle of the square was being decorated with objects, mostly plastic: washing-up bowls, chairs, buckets, stools and lots of Tupperware.  I am told this is a carnival tradition and in the more remote areas they decorate the trees with mantas, their woven blanket/shawl things.  I looked for my dynamic lady shop-keeper but she had disappeared leaving a child to mind the shop. A good number of the men seemed a little the worse for the chicha and beer that was being consumed and many of the others were on their way.   Zu, hungry as always, bought a plate of pasta with a chicken wing on top.  We thought we would go as soon as he had finished. But while waiting I spotted Geraldine sitting on a bench and went over to talk to her.

She and her family were most welcoming and the conversation quickly turned to the binoculars.  Geraldine tried to find the shop-lady who had been going to make the announcement but she was thought to be off partying somewhere.  Her family then approached the village presidente, a tall, moustachioed man who had a big necklace of ticker tape, to help.  He looked at me very sternly but then wandered off to the stage.  I thought he might make an announcement but he was just off to do something presidential. 

Then one of her cousins asked her daughter, a girl of about 10, if she had seen anyone with binoculars.  Yes, she replied, she’d seen a little boy with a pair of big binoculars in the week.  She knew exactly which boy and she went off to find him.  He was a tiny, snotty-nosed little fellow in a dirty blue jumper whom Martha had been watching earlier.  When asked whether he had found some binoculars he said “Yes”. Then, when he saw everyone looking at him, “No”.  And a moment later “I didn’t steal them.” 

An uncle of Geraldine’s, an off-duty policeman, was now persuaded by all the women to go and find the family.  Rather unwillingly he set off through the village.  He came back saying that the father was very drunk but the family all swore they had no binoculars in the house, despite the promise of a reward.  I thanked them all for trying and wondered whether sending a policeman had been foolish.  But before long one of the accused family came to ask “How much?”  The presidente was quickly brought in as a broker.  I looked in my wallet and said $80, which was all I had in dollars.  All agreed that this was a very fair amount.  The presidente went off to talk with a stumbling man and two rough-looking teenage sons. The price was agreed and one of the boys went off to get the binoculars.  A few minutes later, round the side of the church, I handed $80 to the presidente who handed it to the father.  Either he couldn’t read or his eyes wouldn’t focus but the presidente had to count it out for him and assure him that it was the agreed amount.  Then one of the boys took the binoculars from under his shirt and gave them to me.  We all shook hands and thanked each other.  The presidente  said proudly “No one loses anything here.”

Martha came over, rather emotional.  All the women asked what the matter was and I had to explain the binoculars had great sentimental value.  We stayed another forty minutes or so.  Geraldine and her cousins and aunts kept going over the case.  “What luck you came back!”  “What luck my little girl saw the boy!”   We left with fond farewells and lots of invitations to visit them again. I pressed all our spare Peruvian soles – about $30 - into the hands of one of the cousins.   By now it was dusk and we thought about going out to dinner to celebrate but in the end thought we would all prefer a spaghetti bolognese at home.

Schooliforms

Zu and Titus have now got their uniforms - best quality nylon.

From Titus

Stolen from an email T wrote...

In England you hardly see  lightning or hear thnder, but here  you see it every night!

 

We had a black-out the other night!

Hummingbirds

Great joy from Zu and Titus this afternoon as they spotted a hummingbird on the fuchsia in the garden.  A Sparkling Violetear.  We have now moved the feeder so close to the fuchsia in question that, we hope, it cannot fail to be noticed by the next visitor.  Titus feels sure that the first hummingbird will tell all the other hummingbirds and we will soon have hundreds.  Martha responded with something scientific about territories.

Hummingbird

Zu:  one of my best pictures so far

Click to enlarge

Cuzco 4 - Football

This was mainly written for Zu's team mates and their parents in Monmouth.  Skip to the other posts below if not interested.

On our third day here we were down at Pisac,  a small town about 40 minutes away from Cuzco.  We saw about 20 teenagers being trained on a beautiful pitch beside the hotel. It was all being taken very seriously.  By chance we then bumped into the coach as we were about to return to Cuzco. I asked about training for 9 year olds.  He scribbled down the address of a monastery and the name ‘Stephen’, English Soccer School.

We found the run-down old monastery and on the gate was a sign for English Soccer School with telephone number but on the pitch there was another club training – Alianza Junior.  They were very welcoming and we took down their details.  Then friends took us to another school run by Martin Garcia, who won the Copa de Libertadores with Cienciano, the only Cuzco team to have won it.  There was no one there but the pitch they train on looked awful – large patches of bare mud.  We also felt little intimidated by the area;  it was something of a no-man’s land. (Martha’s handbag has already been stolen and we are perhaps a little jittery). A fourth option was put to us by a taxi driver: the Alianza Lima – Cuzco.  They were a little gruff on the phone but said Zu could join.

All this was right at the end of their long summer holidays and almost all the clubs were still running their holiday sessions – three hours a day, five days a week! We waited to see the term-time timetable (starting on March 1^st).  In the end we plumped for English Soccer School who train 3.30 to 6.00 on Tuesdays and Thursdays and from 9.00 to 12.00 on Saturdays, largely because this timing suits us.  For this we pay about £11/month.  This helps to pay the assistant coaches, probably at a reasonable rate for Peru. I think it also subsidises the boys with promise whose parents can’t afford to pay.

The chief coach, Stephen, is a missionary from Bristol.  He does the organising but doesn’t do much coaching.  In fact, on most of the occasions we’ve been there, he has spent the majority of the session jawing with me.  He’s been here seven or eight years and is married to a Peruvian but I think he’s a bit homesick.  The two men who do the actual coaching are Michel and Miguel, cousins, and are excellent. Although called ‘English Soccer School’ there is not an English voice to be heard except Stephen’s.

All this is probably making it sound as though the football scene is quite organised.  It isn’t.  Training nominally begins at 3.30 but if you turn up at that time you’ll be guaranteed a good long wait for the first coach or boy.  Turn up at 4.00 and they might just be thinking of fetching the balls from the lock-up. Nor can you guarantee a good turn-out.  If it looks rainy or cold (and now is the end of the rainy season) only five or six might turn up.

The training itself is good.  There is a surprising amount of emphasis on physical fitness.  The boys have to run round the pitch with the ball, without the ball, then walk round to recover.  Zu was a little breathless at first but is now fine.  Then the exercises themselves involve more running.  But of course individual skills aren’t neglected.  They have to dance their way through cones or sticks with the ball, forwards and backwards, with right foot, with left foot.  And they are taught to curl the ball when shooting, both with the inside and outside of the foot.  Zu loves the shooting sessions – the ball whistles through the air with delicious speed at 11,000 feet.

We get to training in a mini-bus colectivo.  Luckily the route begins near our house and we get a seat. However, it fills up rapidly and after five minutes all the 14 seats are full.  But they still stop merrily at bus stops and try to entice more passengers on.  We’ve had 26 before, which inevitably means someone almost sitting on my knee and a fight to get off.  Luckily the conductors tend to be very bossy and force the other passengers to make way. Strangely this means of transport feels much safer than going by taxi; the taxi drivers like to weave their way through the traffic but anticipation is rarely a strong point. The cost for the half journey is another advantage – 20p for the two of us.

At the first session most of the better players were away playing in the semi-final of a tournament.  But there were still twelve or so at the training so a game could be played.  It soon became apparent that Zu was the best player on the pitch and his side were soon five or six up.  One rather loud-mouthed boy on the other side, who obviously fancied himself,  took exception to this. When Zu next took the ball off him he suddenly let out a shriek.  “He pinched me! He pinched me!” he shouted to the ref, Michel.  The ref, with a slight grin, walked up to him while all the other players crowded round. “Show me the mark” he said.  Of course there was none and all the other boys gave him a good ribbing.  His tussles with Zu remained equally competitive but he did not resort to foul play again.  I was amused to see that this boy put on a top after the game with ‘Alemania’ on the back.

The first team won their semi-final and we went along to the final.  This was played on the artificial grass training pitch of Garcilaso, one of the two first division clubs in Cuzco.  The opponents were the Academy boys from Cienciano, the other big team.  Before the match, ‘English’ went into a huddle which took rather a long time.  The ref became impatient and blew his whistle a few times.  I suddenly realised that Stephen was leading them in prayer.  Alas, it did not help.  Cienciano were better and more physical.  They had a centre half and midfielder who were like young Kray twins and the little ‘English’ flies were pushed off the ball time and time again.  The ‘English’ supporters were incensed by this and shouted all sorts of rude things at the ref, albeit in very good humour.  In between they chanted (in thick Spanish accents) “Ingleesh, ingleesh, ingleesh”.  In the end Cienciano won 3-0.  Zu of course was itching to play and could possibly have made a difference.  The coaches are keen to know if he will be available for the next tournament in April, so they obviously think he can make the team.

Of course this is not all the football Zu plays.  Just up the hill from us is a concrete football –come– basketball pitch.  He loiters there after school and has inveigled himself into several games. We have been hoping he would learn some more Spanish doing this but if the language of football is universal it isn’t sophisticated: aca, aca, aca (here, here, here) is about all they seem to shout except gooooool!

Cuzco 3 - the house

Written on 7th March, 2012

I can’t remember what I said in my  previous bulletin but initially our house-hunting was very disappointing,   We saw some grim flats with views of tangled telephone wires and dark houses with thick bars on all the windows.  Everything was expensive and nothing was furnished.  It began to make Martha very anxious.

When we came back from a two-day visit to Pisac – more of that later maybe – we got one of the three brothers from our hostal to drive us round the likely areas.  It soon became apparent that Cuzco has a few small islands of quiet, genteel housing surrounded by massive areas of poorer, noisier, rougher accommodation.  However, out by the school, on the edge of town houses there are some houses with views of the hills and gardens.  We had thought we wanted to be near the ‘action’ of Cuzco but we started to change our minds.

The next day the boys went to be assessed at the school.  (They passed with flying colours and were particularly impressed that they could do so much Maths in their heads.)  On our way out we walked down to look at a house that had been advertised in the paper – opposite the Jehovah’s Witnesses’ Temple. But we passed another house with a sign saying ‘for rent’.  It looked pleasant enough but it was behind a wall defended by electric wires and I thought it too prison-like to bother with.  But Martha got me to take the number.  The first house turned out to be right on the road and had no outside space and was, if anything, too big.  We told the owner it was not what we were looking for and rang the prison house to see if we could see it.

We found a tired looking lady with a small girl (and a baby somewhere) packing up.  They were off to Lima to join her husband who had found a good job there.  The house was lovely compared to all we had seen before; lots of light, wooden floors and a relatively large lawn. The lady was obviously very proud of the house which she and her husband had built. I thought it was promising but Martha started imagining herself moving in and making brownies while the boys played happily in the garden.  We left to buy the paper and see what else was around.

At lunch that day, Martha’s handbag was stolen and it was late afternoon before we could get back to housing. By now the germ of the idea had taken root and Martha wanted the prison house.  While I was with the police she went with Paulina, who works for our contact here and was helping us in the afternoons, back to the house to do a deal.  They agreed the rent and also persuaded the lady to leave a few things – fridge, cooker, our bed, kitchen table and six chairs, sofa, armchairs and a couple of side tables – in return for another $100 a month.  I think this wasn’t a bad deal but the lady liked us (and we her) and she didn’t have any other options.   Martha and the boys went triumphantly back to our hostal while I had come back an hour later to be shown how the locks worked.  There were an awful lot of locks and, tired after the excitements of the day, I think I said ‘Yes, yes’ to all her instructions without necessarily taking them in.

We were allowed to move in the following morning and the alarm men were instructed to come at 10 to instruct us in its use.  We arrived in two taxis, now with about four more bags than we came to Peru with.  We were let in by our landlady’s mother – our landlady herself had flown to Lima.  She was here with her husband, her downs syndrome daughter and their maid – an indigena the old man told me.  Mother and father were delightful but it came as a bit of a shock to realise that not only were they spending the day here doing the last of the packing up but they were also planning to spend the night with us.  (I should explain that the family were renting us the whole house minus one of the downstairs rooms, a sort of pantry outside and a garden shed.  These rooms were to be used for the storing of their effects.  For their overnight stay three of them would squish into the downstairs room while the maid would be on a bed in the sitting room. )  Anticipating a happy weekend home-making we were a little disappointed by this news but shrugged our shoulders; it was such a relief to know where we were going to live.

Once the alarm men had been we set off for Molino 1 & 2.  These are vast covered markets where they sell absolutely everything.  Our guidebook says it is all black market but tolerated by the authorities. We went with a long list and were met there by Paulina.  It was very crowded and rather hot and the poor boys very frustrated being told not to wander off.  We bought sheets, pillowcases, a bed, two mattresses (to be delivered later), pots and pans, a kettle and mugs (my essentials), crockery, cutlery, cleaning stuff (M’s essentials) etc.  Quality was generally poor.  I was amused at the perception of quality: lowest = nacional  or Peruvian; next best = importado or Chinese; next best = Colombian; best = Brazilian. Prices seemed to us quite high for black market Peru and haggling generally only won us a few percent.  They kept claiming they were charging us what they would charge Peruvians and Paulina said this was probably right.

Returing home in an advance party, Martha and the boys set the alarm off – inevitably because I had not shown her how to manage the system.  Luckily the landlady’s parents turned up to put things right.  I came later with the bed and a few more bits and bobs.  The mattresses arrived and we went out to to supper.  The next morning our lodgers went promptly at 10 and we had the house to ourselves.

The house comprises two large bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, a sitting room, dining room, loo (with shower) and kitchen downstairs.  We fit in very well and we think we can squeeze guests in comfortably – Dominics ? and, separately, Jo, Robin and Mani – for the odd night or two.  Outside we have a lawn, quite a lot of plants in pots and a small vegetable garden with some chard, lots of camomile and two strawberries.  We have been lent a hummingbird feeder and have had bought four fuchsia plants to help attract them. We have good views of the hills above the Cuzco and its airport below.  I no longer see the electric fence.

There are many little shops around the area but we  find ourselves patronising El Chinito.  It is run by a very cheerful lady.  When we go in she rushes around plugging the lights in so we can see what’s there.   She doesn’t have a counter so we amass items on the ice-cream freezer but it has a sloping top (to discourage use as a desk?) and things tend to slip off.  She writes down the cost of each item and grinds her way loudly but unerringly through the addition.  She seems to have almost everything one could want, though in very small packets.  She also takes in our washing and passes it on to some other lady.  We take it back wet and pay a little under £1 a load.

Up the slope from the house is a concrete football-come-basketball pitch, to which Zu gravitates in the afternoons.  The first day we went we found a campesino grazing her sheep on the verges.  So as not to frighten them we played down the other end but when a basketball player came to practice shooting, he gave her a right earful and his dog chased the sheep off.  Next day we had a good game with four kids of varying ability. One, called Evan,  found Zu again the day after, played some basketball with him and then came back to play hide and seek in the house.  He’s a friendly, confident chap and we hope Zu might learn some Spanish from him (though I find some of his Spanish unintelligible).

That’s about it on the house.  We are of course still in the process of making ourselves more comfortable and hardly a day goes by without another little addition or two – a mop and bucket plus tupperware yesterday.  Someone will do very well out of us when we go!

PS. I notice in one of the photos that Zu’s posters are visible.  He started packing these about an hour before we left home and we were very cross with him. The last laugh is his.

PPS Titus thinks the best thing about the house is the Jacuzzi bath.  However, we haven’t been able to use it much: the hot water tank is not big enough to fill it to the required level.

Zu and Titus painting in their room

 

The house from inside the wire

Cuzco 2

Written on 25th February, 2012

Found a house near the school. Moving in tomorrow. Martha had her handbag stolen. Zu shone at football training.

Cuzco 1

Letter of 22 February 2012

We arrived in a rainy Cuzco the day before yesterday, slightly late, extremely tired – not only from the 24 hours or more of travelling but from the horror of getting ready to go.  We were picked up from the airport and taken to a rather gloomy but clean and cheap hostal which is run by three brothers, one of whom works with our one contact in Cuzco. 

At first the boys were rather pleased with themselves because they did not feel the effects of the altitude which we had warned them about.  But then tiredness and hunger set in, for Titus at least, and he complained after an hour in the hostal “I hate living in Peru” and “I don’t know anyone in Cuzco”.   Zu’s spirits were lifted by the sight of a humming bird on some fuchsia in the garden of the hostal.  He had to get his camera out immediately, ready to snap the next one that should visit.

Later we walked towards the centre to find an early supper.  Zu was looking so hard for humming birds that he soon stepped in some dog shit.  However, he was rewarded with the sight of one of the long-tailed varieties – thrilled.  We had spaghetti bolognese for supper which filled a hole but was somewhat testing; the cook had decided to ladle a good deal of sugar into the sauce.

We all longed for that first night’s sleep but it ended up being quite farcical. By 7.30 we were all fast asleep.  At 1.30 (6.30 in England) I was up and found the door to our bathroom had somehow got locked. I ended up having to pee in a water bottle. A little later Titus – who was sharing with me – was up and peeing into the thermos.  We then read Tintin.  Next door Martha and Zu’s loo was blocked and Zu was having to pee in the shower.  By now I had the most awful headache from the altitude and while popping pills was hatching plans to descend to the Urubamba valley almost as soon as it was daylight.

Of course I was the only one of the four of us who was suffering.  Zu and Titus, even after a bad night, were full of bounce.  I had a mate de coca with breakfast which did not make me feel a jot better and we headed into town to the Plaza de Armas.  I don’t think the boys were very impressed which makes me wonder what they were expecting. But they enjoyed the Inca walls and the pack of about ten dogs which was roaming freely through the square and the traffic.  I bought aspirin and we went for a drink in a bar overlooking the square.  The boys have discovered fresh pineapple juice which suits us and them.  I had another much stronger mate de coca which, combined with the aspirin, seemed to buck me up no end. However, by now I found I had a frog in my throat and could hardly speak.

First day, first cafe

Over our drink we decided to descend to Pisac in the Urubamba Valley, arguing to ourselves that the boys would enjoy the swimming pool in the hotel and we would  all be much better rested. On the way we stopped to look at two houses for rent with Paulina, who works with our contact, Rob. The first was in a very grotty area and was rather depressing inside. The second was in a quiet street but again rather gloomy, even though it was being freshly painted.  But it quickly became apparent that the housing choice is going to be difficult.  The school, it turns out,  is half an hour from the centre of Cuzco in a southern suburb. Do we want to be out there or between the two? And will we have to take an unfurnished house and buy everything for it?

The rain followed us down to Pisac but I immediately felt better in the thicker air.  We rushed to the hotel pool before it closed at 4.00.  It was impressive – ‘Olympic size’ and inside a sort of greenhouse – but the water was very cold and the boys didn’t last long in it.  But it didn’t matter much. The hotel, an old estancia, had bouganvillia and fuchsias growing all round it and as soon as the rain stopped  Zu was stalking humming birds with his camera while Titus ran along the little paths and got in his way.

After an early supper – more spag bol for the boys, this time without sugar – we had a delicious long sleep.  We woke to a sunny day, had a big breakfast and decided to walk up to the Inca ruins above Pisac.  Titus was initially very grumpy about this but was soon racing along saying how wonderful it all was.  We loved the climb – about 2,000 feet – through the old terraces and the ruins, when we got there, were very impressive. We tried to feed the boys with information to take back to history and geography lessons but Zu was easily distracted by little American kestrels which seemed to be everywhere.  We all enjoyed being out and about and Martha and I were enchanted by the Alpine feel of this particular part of the valley.

Ruins? American Kestrels!

 

The only problem with this outing was that we had set off prepared to be cold and wet, but it was very hot and sunny.  We all got badly burnt, particularly Zu round the face and neck. Martha, who feels that protection against sunburn is a mum’s responsibility, is very ashamed of herself.  To do her justice, the boys have never been badly burnt before.

Two more from Pisac

We are now back in Cuzco which is much more pleasant and lively when it is not cold and raining.  However, our excursion to the Sacred Valley got us both asking whether we have made the right choice.  Do we want an urban five months?  Or should we abandon our first plan and decamp to the valley, find a house and see if we can get the boys into a local school down there?

Later...

Prospects have improved a little.  Yesterday we asked one of the three brothers to take us on a tour of the residential districts and then out to the school. (He turns out to be a lecturer in psychiatry at the private University here.) There are some pleasant pockets of housing but they tend to be small.  There are also some parks in the residential areas but they too are on a small scale and seem to be well used. (One of our worries is where the boys will burn up energy).

We arrived at the school to find that there was a teacher training day in progress.  The school, I should say, looks unfinished like many buildings in Cuzco but is right on the outskirts with great views of the hills. The headmistress and staff could not have been more welcoming. It seems they are quite used to non-Spanish speakers starting there. The boys immediately explored the play area while we filled in registration forms.  The only disappointment came when Titus asked how many children there would be in the school – 320.  This is three times the size of their school in Monmouth which has a more indoor and outdoor space.

Later in the day we went to investigate football training for Zu.  We had been directed to a pitch in the grounds of an old monastery and found a group of children playing a match.  We talked to some of the parents and then the wife of the coach – again very welcoming.  Zu can start training on Friday afternoon.  Later I rang another contact I had been given through a chance encounter with a coach in Pisac – the English Soccer School.   He too was most welcoming – Zu can start on Friday morning.  Zu’s spirits were noticeably lifted.