Adventurer or Tourist?

I've tasted undiluted adventure, and this wasn't it. Travelling in a tour group has been a feasible and well organised way to visit some undeniablely cool places. My whole time in Peru has been spent as part of such a gang. The sights have been superb, but it just takes a while to notice the scratch resistant plastic.

I can't fault Leo, the wheeling and dealing tour leader. He's looking out for everyone and has several useful contacts in every town. Most of the group is cool too. The roleplay still feels like babysitting though. Exploration on a leash.

Here are some preheated locals we prepared earlier. They are going to show you how X is made, while selling XYZ. The only people we talk to who live here are selling goods or services. All additional conversations are with other tourists. Visiting sites while listing others they've been to. Eating a great local meal while raving about others they've had. Are you even here, or just ticking off another checkbox?

I was trying to get a feel for this new world through protective bubble wrap. Getting from one tourist site to the next is comfortable enough to be boring. I knew the upcoming Inca trail trek would be a sharp contrast to this, however, before the outer layer of this packaged tour tightened from smothering to suffocating, action was necessary to take back some control.

First thing in the morning, I approached Leo with two requests.

My second request (I'm breaking the rules of chronology like Tarantino), was a solo tent for the Inca trail. I knew there was the guilt trap, that some poor porter had to carry it up mountains and why couldn't I just get with the program. Leo gave me concerned look, assessing my level of commitment to what I just said. He advised that it could be difficult to organise and would cost extra. I didn't have my reasoning condensed into a sentence at that early hour, just my intent. So my response was, "I just need to make it happen".

After that, I was talking to the person I probably relate best to on this tour. Steve is a Canadian fisherman (that's his hobby/art/passion, not his employment, but still a better way to define a man). He captured the sentiment of getting more solo time on the path to Machu Picchu in a simple statement - "Well, this is your own personal journey." Spot fucking on.
Some phonecalls later, Leo advised a reasonable add-on fee, I agreed and it was done.

My first "request" was to bail half way through the planned bus tour today and find my own way back to the city. The schedule was to visit several archaeological sites (interesting), then see and feed some more llamas (they're just South American flavoured cattle by this stage), then head to a really big shopping district (really big "fuck no!").

Saqsayhuamán (commonly, but incorrectly pronounced as Sexy Woman) is made of big badass blocks. The huge stones are cut with many angles to fit seamlessly. The corners are smoothly rounded and the walls inclined inwards. My BS siren went off for another implausible rock moving theory from the quarry, 30km away. This one involved llama fat to reduce frictional drag. That's a lotta llamas. Most of this structure has been destroyed, and all the liftable stones recycled for buildings in the city. About 20% remains and it's still massive.



This site was originally built as a temple for the Incan empire in honour of the puma, which is the animal that represents this stub-your-toe-and-it-hurts plane of existence. (The condor is the sacred mascot for the world above and the snake for the underworld.)

During the Spanish invasion, the size of this megalith allowed it to switch purpose as a fortress protecting nearby Cusco. Eventually though, the natives were overwhelmed by the combination of firearms, horses, sharpened military tactics and small pox. King captured, decapitation, check mate. Thousands lay dead and the carrion-eating condors feasted, getting them a place on Cusco's coat of arms today.



Other ruins visited showed ancient knowledge of aqueducts, solar calendars and mummification, while continuing a staggering high standard of stone masonry. They were all cases of mysterious beauty smeared in tourists. And I was becoming one by association. Time to make like an Incan king and head off.



Leo helpfully gave me some bus then taxi instructions, but I deliberately didnt pay close attention. Shortly after, I was in a minibus with some locals and strangely loving the feeling of not knowing where it was going. Is this next stop mine, too soon or too far? I did not begin my travels this attitude, but then again, some Brazilian neighbourhoods warrant a more legitimate concern.

I stepped out of a taxi ("gracias amigo") and began walking the tall, stone corridor streets of Cusco while a storm thundered its threat overhead. On the independant hunt for lunch, I walked past an archway that caused me to stop then take a couple of backward steps. A beer garden interlinked some names that appealed to me - Dragon Palate Restaurant, Mandelbrot Cafe and Fractal Dragon Art Gallery.



I entered, sat, ordered and ate. It was an endorphin raising meal that I foraged myself (not quite, but that's how it felt). The taste of regained freedom. My lesson was that even here the invisible chains could creep closer. Imposed by another's agenda, or self-imposed secured limitations. In hindsight, escape was a simple matter, but it wasn't solved by waiting.

I traversed Cusco's streets some more, stopped here and there, then entered Greens Organic Cafe which some prior research recommended. On my table appeared slices of deep fried mango in crusted coconut. Am I going to become the type of person that photographs their food? Maybe just this once.



By this stage I was already on the wish-to-be-bulimic's tour of this city's food. I requested the drinks menu and took a recommendation for a smoothy made with avocado, banana, yoghurt and mint. Mintox indeed.