4G Network Service, Inca Style

 The condor was a holy symbol of eternal life to the Incas.  Since the one I had seen earlier today tried to snuff mine out, our guide, Angel, was giving us another chance to feel the way a bird does.  We were back in the minivan, winding and turning over some pretty exciting roadways, overlooking the Sacred Valley and the city of Pisac.  The Peruvian highway department is a lot more relaxed about where they put guard rails.

            The town felt like a lot of other places we have been, but it didn’t take too long to get through it.  On the opposite hillside lay the main attraction of Pisac – ancient terraces and structures that had stood for half a millennium.

            Angel explained to us that many crops need to be grown at specific altitudes, but since it isn’t possible to plant on a hillside, the Incas, or perhaps the society that existed before them, fashioned the sides of the giant mountains into terraces, creating huge blocks of arable land, irrigated by water that previously just ran down the mountainside into the river.

            We sparked the van, and in the lot was the usual gaggle of tourist hunters.  These were smarter – they knew I wouldn’t be fooled with the cute little lamb.  I smelled something cooking.  It was probably dirt, but it smelled good.

            As we hiked along the hillside, we saw a young woman with flowers in her hat, which Angel told us meant she was looking for a husband.  She answered “25” when asked her age.  She might have been five feet tall, and was built using right angles.  She was pretty in a different way – she looked like she had already led a hard life, but her face looked like she had never cried or even frowned.  She was at peace.  If this girl could cook, she shouldn’t have any trouble finding a man.

            We went on around the hills, past centuries-old walls, and through narrow crevices carved into the rock.  At the edge of each mountain, a small set of buildings had been assembled, some with mud as mortar, but many using the same perfect construction techniques we had seen in Cuzco.

            To communicate along great distances quickly, the Incas would signal a lookout at each post, who would in return pass the signal to the next corner of the mountain.  It wasn’t exactly 4G, but an Inca-Tweet could probably go ten miles in a few minutes.

 

            It’s a shame they couldn’t order me some Chinese food.  By the time we got back around to the parking lot two hours later, I couldn’t resist – I spent s/3, a little more than $1, for a boiled Choclo.  It’s the Southern version (That’s Southern WORLD, not Southern U.S.) of corn on the cob, a sweeter version of hominy corn.  It ain't bad when you're hungry.  I could have eaten an alpaca, but I had already done that yesterday.

            I had straggled behind and bought it quietly, but as I tried to be discreet about chowing down, Angel ratted me out.

            “That is called “Choh-Kloh,” he said, forgetting that we weren’t complete strangers to his country.

            “Choclo!”  Middle and Youngest said in unison.  Now I was going to have to share, as each demanded a portion.

            We made it down the mountain and into the market.  This one was quite a bit more touristy than we are accustomed.  Every vendor wanted to stop us and show us what they had to offer.  Angel told us that the locals spend six months growing food and the other six making handcrafted stuff for the tourist trade.  I respect that, not a thing we saw was made in China.  But these guys missed their calling – they should have opened an international school for insurance salesmen and Jehovah’s witnesses, because they have mastered the high-pressure sales routine.

(Peru has thousands of potato varieties, about a dozen are pictured here.)

 

            In the food section of the market, we were back in our element, so I was willing to let myself be pressured into buying an Empañada, one of the small Peruvian turnovers made with Chunkah meat.  For the uninitiated, that’s some Chunkah meat that I don’t know what it is.  It’s served all over the country, and it’s pretty good.

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