I'm too Sacsay....(April 22, 2007 continued)

There was a sign for Sacsayhuaman (pronounced, and I'm not joking, "sexy woman") and we asked someone where those ruins were...he told us over the hill. So, we climbed and rested, climbed some more and couldn't find any ruins! At the top of the hill, we asked again, and some ladies said, "No! You need to go down the hill (yeah, the one on which we'd just exhausted ourselves to climb it) and take the bus." Alison, always humoring me, follows me on the "short cuts" that I find. They never are short cuts, though. But Alison continues to walk along with me anyway.

We finally got on a bus and were dropped off at the road leading to Sacsayhuaman. We passed a man weaving a brightly colored poncho on a loom (takes him 8 days to weave the fabric, he said). Along the way, there were canchas (soccer fields) surrounded by sunken ruins. Taxistas (taxi drivers), with their taxis parked along the canchas, were drinking beer--makes ya feel safe on the road, huh?

We arrived at the grassy expanse in front of the ruins and sat there, trying to avoid the hawkers and tour guide offerings. Alison pulled out a set of headphones attached to nothing and "listened to music" while I buried my nose in my book. The ruins at Sacsayhuaman were pretty incredible. Three tiers of rock walls zig-zag along the grass. The stones fit perfectly one into another. It was amazing. All done with out concrete or mortar. Just stone upon stone, fitted to perfection. Maybe a jigsaw puzzle of the gods.

We climbed up and took a good look at the sun calendar. It was high above Cusco and the view was incredible. We were exhausted, though. We had walked about seven hours that day. With that in mind, we considered taking a taxi back to town but I didn't want to pay eight soles so we walked. It turned out to be a very pleasant, downhill, 15 minute walk.

On our way down, in San Blas, we were solicited by two competing restaurants (literally across the street from each other). We opted for Tuco, the restaurant by which I had been solicited. Our goal that night was to eat traditional Peruvian cuisine. Peru has nothing on Chile for sophistication, however their cuisine is, without a doubt, superior to Chile's. I opted for the alpaca a la plancha (alpaca steak) and Alison, brave soul that she is, ordered cuy (guinea pig!).

The salads were amazing...we'd really been missing fresh vegetables. That was probably the highlight of the meal. I tried Inca Cola (the flavor of Peru) and it wasn't too bad. Finally the big moment arrived. The main course! The alpaca steak was a grayish rectangle accompanied with slightly soggy fries. Nothing too exciting or worth writing home about. Alison's cuy, though...well, a picture speaks 1000 words. Just take a look. It was one of the most disgusting things I had ever seen!! She ordered a half cuy...cut right down the middle from head to tail. It laid flat, de-haired...cooked with a brown glaze on it. There was a head (no eyese, no teeth) and a front paw WITH claws!!! Ugh! I still have fleeting, disgusting thoughts of that little clawed, cooked paw moving up and down, trying to lift its dead, cooked corpse off the plate. Mmmm!! Eat up!

It was divided in 3 parts (head, upper body, and lower body). Alison bravely peeled back the skin of the upper body and tried to find some meat. Let's just put it this way: half a guinea pig contain much meat. She cut a little piece off and tried it. I tasted a teeny bit. Ugh! It tasted like it'd been cooked in the same oil used to fry the trout they were advertising that night. Not at all to my liking.

I ate my alpaca and fries and Alison tried some of mine. When Javier, the guide/university student at Puca Pucara, cornered us out there, he told us he was also a chef! Talk about a Renaissance man! He told us he would give us a discount if we came to his restaurant that night. We asked what kind of food they prepared and specifically asked about cuy and alpaca. He assured us that they served cuy and real alpaca. He warned us about restaurants that dishonestly serve regular mea rather than alpaca. Alpaca meat, he informed us, should be different. He said, "It should be soft, like your own flesh." Alison, without missing a beat, responded, "Well, I've never tried my own flesh." It was hilarious. Javier didn't get it.

So, my alpaca was a little tough and chewy...maybe it wasn't alpaca, but it was different than anything else I'd tried. Alison couldn't finish her cuy...and I couldn't blame her! I tried another, larger piece, just to make sure...and yep. It still tasted gross. The thought of that half guinea pig on a plate still gives me the heebie jeebies!! We checked out the skull...flipped it over and morbidly checked out the brains. Ick. As we picked at the cuy, the waiter told us that you normally eat it like you would ribs or a chicken leg...just pick it up in your hands and dig in. Skin and all. Blech.

After "dessert" of fruit (I don't understand how South Americans think that fruit is dessert!!) for Alison and a panqueque con dulce de leche for me, we walked back to the hostel and got ready for bed. I felt like the walking dead!! I was bushed! Dinner had been so hilarious because we were tired...and because Alison had half a rodent on her plate.

As soon as we got back to the hotel, though, we crashed...and it was only 8:30. Good night!