The Fake Money Fiasco (April 23, 2007)

Continuing my promised recap of my travels, we're back in Peru! Enjoy!

Monday morning we got up and found that the guarantee of 24-hour hot water was untrue. As we left, I paid the desk 100 soles and they gave me 50 soles back. Since no one takes big bills, I asked for sencillo (smaller bills) and was given two 20s and a 10.

We headed out to see Qoricancha and the Templo del Sol. We got a guide, Raul, and he took us through. We asked a lot of questions and were amazed at what we learned about the Inca religion. They believed in different different levels of the world, a trinity of sorts, consisting of the Father (thunder), the Son (lightning bolt), and the Brother (the lightning). We thought that was a pretty fascinating parallel to what we believe. There were temples to the sun, the moon, and stars...and a great veneration for the dead. Extremely interesting.

At the end of our tour, we had to pay Raul 15 soles for our tour. I gave him a 20 and, of course, he doesn't have 5 soles change and probably expected us to pay the 20 soles and call it good. But I was determined to only give him 15. He was good, but not that good! So we went to the desk at the entrance and asked the girl for smaller bills. Unable to conceal a smile, she barely glances as the 20 I had put down on the counter and says "Es falso" Fake?! What?! Raul said it wasn't and he'd take it anyway. I was so upset. I felt like it was all part of a big ploy to get our money...he doesn't have change, she won't exchange it because it's "fake." Aughhhh! Finally we gave him a 10 and 6 soles in coins. I asked for one back and got it (yes, I was being very tight-fisted). I was just completely floored by this supposed fake bill.

Alison had gotten a tutorial from a store owner the day before on fake money and compared the bill to another that we had and informed me that it was indeed fake. It was missing a watermark number, the security strip was on the wrong side...dang it! I had gotten that bill from the hotel that morning and was upset that they'd slipped me a fake bill!

We went to the Qorikancha museum that is under the grounds of Qorikancha (which is also a Dominican monastery) and it looked like a seventh grade fair exhibit. A number of the timelines and informative displays were made with construction paper and glue sticks! There were some items, pottery, replicas, photos and drawings, but nothing too fabulous. We followed the museum through to the end and the exit, which was up some stairs. The exit, however, did not lead back to the street. Rather, it opened to the middle of the fenced-off grounds. We popped our heads out and I asked Alison if she felt a bit like a gopher :)

We went back to the hotel to get our bags and I told the woman at the front desk, as non-confrontational as I could possibly be, that I had been given fake money when we checked out that morning. I showed her and I really didn't expect her to do anything about it. I mean, we had already left and could have gotten the bill somewhere else (which we hadn't). But, surprisingly, she called the girl who'd given me the wrong bill and the guy who had checked people in the night before. Apparently one of them accepted a false bill and that is how it got to me. After 20 to 25 minutes, the owner gave me a new 20 soles bill and I thanked her profusely for making it right. So good of her.

While we had been waiting for the other employees to show up, she gave me a lesson in fake money and how to recognize it. It made me all skeptical, so I checked all my bills. One suggestion was to "snap" the bill by tugging on it, to check if it was paper (fake) or cotton (real). As I was snapping one of the bills, I ripped the corner off a 20 soles bill! [Underestimated my own strength!] Alison was probably thinking, "Way to go, Amy!" It was kind of funny, after the whole issue we'd just gone through! The ripped corner automatically made it undesirable/unusable. Good grief!

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!

Peru: Don't forget the time change! (April 22, 2007)

Sunday morning I woke up to darkness and the sound of rain trickling outside. It was so dark outside and my alarm clock said that we had at least two more hours. Good! I was too tired. So, the alarm went off at 6:00 and we got up. We had a lot to accomplish that morning before church at 8:00 a.m. After the shower fiasco (see the previous post), we got ready in the bedroom and it was pitch black outside. I asked Alison how much time I had and, glancing at my alarm clock, she told me it was 6:37. So, I had a little more than 20 minutes to pack up and get myself ready for an entire day of church and excursion. I grabbed my alarm clock and it slipped out of my hands. I asked Alison to check her watch and tell me the exact time to reset the clock. She said, "Quarter to six." Huh?! I had forgotten to change my alarm clock from Chile time to Peru time, so we had gotten up a WHOLE hour early!! Good grief! We had a good laugh about it, but I really could have used that extra hour of sleep.

In Cusco, you can barely go more than four steps in the Plaza de Armas without someone offering to sell you something...shoe shine, cheap reproduction paintings, dolls, their llama....It gets a little old.

First thing we needed to do that morning, at 7:30 and before 8:00 a.m. church, was go to the train station to buy our tickets to go to Aguas Calientes, otherwise known as Machu Picchu pueblo. We left Alison's debit card in my suitcase and decided that I would pay for the train tickets on my credit card. However, we learned that they don't take credit cards at the train station! Are you KIDDING me? I attempted to take money out of the ATM machine there, but it wouldn't recognize my card. 8:00 a.m. church was looking less and less likely.

We walked back up Avenida del Sol--the main drag--where the banks were. I finally found one, after numerous attempts, that would accept my debit card. Annoyed, we took a taxi back to the train station and had definitely missed the beginning of 8:00 a.m. church. Bummer. We bought our train tickets (which were rather expensive...they really suck everything they can out of the tourists) and the girl who sold us the tickets refused to give us change and NO ONE takes big bills! I was SO annoyed.

So, we decided to go to church at 10:00. In the mean time, we got our breakfast at a small family-run store. Alison asked the woman how she could identify fake money because it is a rampant problem in Peru and got a 15 minute lesson on how to recognize the falso. Meanwhile, not listening, I was trying to decide if the cheese they had in the "refrigerator case" ("refrigerator case" that was probably unplugged) was still edible. The bread wasn't as good as Chilean bread and the cheese tasted like dirty feet, but my mango juice was good...and I was carrying my trusty 2.5 liters of bottled water to drown my cold. So that helped.

We went to take some photos near the statue of Pachacutec, the Inka king and founder of Machu Picchu and the Sun god fountain on Avenida del Sol as we killed time waiting until we needed to go to church.

Typical to South America, the street signs are screwy. One side of the street has numbers completely unrelated to the ones on the opposite side. Despite the confusion, we were able to find the building where church was to start at 10 a.m. Strange, though, were the black tarps covering the inside of the gates and the newspaper covering the windows of the front doors. Hmmm....We waited, doubtfully, until 10:05 a.m. and not a soul had shown up to open the gates. Although, one man passing by did ask me to send someone from the church to see him. When I told him I wasn't a missionary, he apologized, shook my hand and walked away. You could still smell the alcohol a good 20 seconds after he left. We were both very bummed about missing church that day. We went back to our hotel, changed our clothes, had a little prayer and spiritual thought and headed out.

We were both pretty stressed out the day before because of unfamiliarity with the city and the fact that we hadn't really seen anything yet. The prices surprised us and the fact that we didn't know what to see stressed us out, too.

We took a taxi to the bus station and paid to go to Pisac to see some of the ruins. On the road to Pisac, it dawned on us that we didn't have enough time to go all the way to Pisac and really explore it and all the ruins outside Cusco. What do we do?? Should we squeeze past every person in the insanely crowded bus to get off in Tambomachay, the last ruins right before the long ride to Pisac, or just not make a big deal about it, save ourselves from having to displace half the bus as we crawl out, and go to Pisac? Next thing I know, Alison yells out (and loud, mind you) "BAJAMOS AQUI!" (We're getting off here!). It was hilarious to see this tall gringa yell that in the midst of a COMPLETELY packed Peruvian bus. We piled off the bus, permiso-ing as we squeezed past people. I nearly died laughing.

The ruins at Tambomachay have fountains/bathing places. We hiked around a bit with some other confused tourists who, like us, didn't know what there was to see. We hiked up a small hill and asked some local kids whose parents were planting on the hill if there was anything else to see. Not really. We shared our info with Michael, a nice German man who was with a group of three other friends. I talked to him a little about his travels. He's been to southeast Asia a lot. I love how well-traveled Europeans are. We walked to the next ruins, Puca Pucara, with the Germans and were quickly accosted by Javier.

Javier said he was a student at the university and wanted to help us understand the ruins better...so that they ended up being more than just rocks to us. He said he'd give us two minutes free and then we could tip him what "was born from [our] hearts." We listened, with the Germans, and tried to translate Javier's English into English the Germans could understand. After a couple minutes, we thanked Javier and decided to explore on our own. Javier kept bugging us and we kept telling him no. I hate being solicited. It makes me feel like I need to be on the defensive.

We sat on the grassy ruins, eating chocolate and drinking water, while gazing at the gorgeous, green Andes mountains (named for a tribe in the jungle, I learned from my guidebook that day). It was really beautiful.

We walked down the road, thinking we'd shortly come across more ruins. Not so! They were much farther apart than we realized. So, we walked and walked along the road. We were in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing around us...definitely NO bathrooms. So, Alison and I hunted for an ideal potty spot. I'll spare you all any more details. However, I found it pretty liberating to feel as though I wasn't controlled by whether or not there was a bathroom available. It truly is a man's world. I bet men rarely bring their own hand sanitizer, though. We definitely had that covered!

As we walked, we'd ask for directions of whomever we encountered how to get to Salumpunca, more ruins. With so much walking, we were grateful that the weather was nice. It was sunny and warm, however, it did threaten with saturated, dark grey clouds later in the afternoon. We ran into some cops on our way who tried to flirt with us a bit. It's nice to claim a boyfriend in those situations...makes it easy to get out of the awkwardness.

At Salumpunca, we saw the Temple of the Moon. Not much to say (and I don't even have a photo to show it!). We thought we weren't too far from Sacsayhuaman, the next set of ruins. We continued to walk and walk. It was pretty exhausting. We did try to stop at a small restaurant that said it served traditional Peruvian food (including cuy, guinea pig). We walked in and saw about six Peruvian men sitting in a semi-circle. Twelve eyes stared at us as if to say, "What are you two doing here?" but more in a curious way than a hostile way. We asked if they had cuy...but no, only trout. Nah.

"And to drink? Peru!!" (April 21-22, 2007)

Two points to the first person to give me the movie that the title quote comes from.

I'm kicking myself. Absolutely kicking myself!! I pulled out my journal ONLY to find out that I had stopped writing halfway through the day I went to Machu Picchu! Who does that?! Me, apparently. Sheesh. So, let me give you some Peruvian highlights.

April 21: We arrived in Cusco. It was absolutely gorgeous! We were a little disoriented...it always takes a little time to get to know a city. We walked up, up, up through the hills of the city in search of a hostel (Alison's boyfriend had suggested going up because the view of the city is better...but after dragging my darn roller-bag through all those cobble-stone streets, I decided that "up" was definitely for the birds).

We stayed at a hostel, Hospedaje Inti Quilla, that is a little...well...scary. We were taken in by the beautiful and very modern looking glass door on the outside. However, modernity ended once you walked through it into the courtyard. We paid $10 for the night we were there...so part of me wants to say, "Well?!? Can you really complain?" Then again, when I saw OTHER places we could have stayed at for $10, I think, "You BET I can!" The room was bare, cement or earth walls, two twin beds that made you wonder about the other "bedfellows" you might be sleeping with that night. No, they didn't have fleas or bedbugs, but they DID have really lumpy pillows and rad "vintage" sheets (circa 1985). The door was locked from the inside with a padlock...which doubled as the door handle. We panicked a bit, before realizing the dual nature of the padlock, when we couldn't get the door open (although, why one would ever dream of leaving that idyllic domain is really beyond me). We learned the trick, though: you have to lace the padlock through the latch and yank really hard.

However, the topper definitely had to be the shower. Wooeee! Made me grateful for scary, potentially explosive gas califonts that we had in Chile. A califont is a box (please see picture at left) attached to your wall. You turn on the natural gas supply, light a match and stick it in the little hole where the pilot light ignites. Then, when the water is turned on, you hear this big WHOOSH as more gas pumps through and the whole inside of the box becomes a flaming blue mass...somehow it heats the water (topic for another post someday: how the heck does a califont work?). Anyway, those were a little intimidating in my mission. HOWEVER, not nearly as scary as the Peruvian showers. They're electric. Yes. Electric. You all recall those tags attached to your bathroom appliances, especially hair dryers, that talk about the risk of electrocution and/or death when one is used near the bathtub? Now, I thought that was because water and electricity don't mix. Au contraire, mon ami! Apparently now...in Peru...they DO! The next morning (April 22) Alison and I got up to get ready for church. There were two bathrooms and, apparently, the water in Alison's bathroom ran orange for a couple of minutes before it turned clear. Gross. I guess that bathroom hadn't been used for a while. Mine was fine...just ice cold. Alison opted out of the shower. Determined not to put my head under a freezing cold stream of water either, I changed my clothes and headed out of the baño. As I was stepping out, I heard a scary witch-like cackle ask, "¿Queire ducharse, señorita?" It was still dark out, so yes, the witch...I mean our little Peruvian landlady, made me jump. She showed me how to turn on the electricity to the shower and I decided to take the plunge...risking death by electric shock. I guess the water runs through electrically-heated coils and comes out hot. My shower was barely lukewarm. I learned a lesson, though. The hotter you want your water, the lower the water pressure should be. So, I kept turning the water down more and more until I had a slightly warmer than lukewarm trickle. Drip. Brr. Drip.

Catching up on the night before (April 21), we walked around a bit...and I felt sick. I had one of the worst colds I've had in years. It was really hard for me to enjoy myself...and, I'll admit, I complained quite a bit. Poor Alison had to put up with it. We went to the tourist info place, ATM, and searched for a restaurant. Both our guides mentioned Greens, so we headed to the listed address. As we walked down a back street, passing some young Peruvian men, one of them tried to grab me. I don't know what he was grabbing at (if it was my bum or chest, he SORELY missed and got my wrist), however, on top of feeling grumpy about my cold, that made me *MAD*! I yelled back at him, in Spanish, "Leave me alone!" and threw him the dirtiest look I could muster. Ugh...there went my perception of Peruvian men as quiet and non-threatening.

We arrived at the address for Greens only to find out that it has moved and a new restaurant, Velluto, has taken its place. Sigh. All right, whatever. We were so tired and hungry by then. It was a crepe place...interesting. Not what I expected in Peru. We were the only patrons there...it was pretty low-key and quiet. Our crepes came and were A-M-A-Z-I-N-G!!! And quite a work of food art, too!

After dinner, we headed to the Centro Qosqo de Arte Nativo (cultural center) to see some traditional Peruvian dances. Interesting. I'm not as well-versed (or appreciative) of folk dance as I'd like to be...but I'm working on it. The first dance we saw started with a full-grown MAN bounding and leaping around the stage with a loin cloth and antlers on his head. He was supposed to be a deer. I guess I should be grateful for the loin cloth. Most deer don't wear them, or so I hear. As the dance continued, he was "beaten and killed and the people did rejoice and sing in high-pitched voices while the girls whirled around and waved colored pom-pom scarves. " Oh...if only you could have seen it. Later in the evening was a war dance...and they reminded me a little of the sand people from Star Wars. I dunno...you be the judge:
After the dances, we walked up, up, up through the town to our humble little hostel and, decided en route, that it was just TOO far away. Near the Plaza de Armas, we found a little hotel that would charge us $15 a night. And it was MUCH closer to the center. We made our reservation, headed back to our hostel, and got ready for bed. I was so grateful for my sleep sheet...no creepy-crawly feelings and visions of bugs frolicking and munching on my skin for me!