Click here to read the story of our Cuzco trip from the beginning.
With our last stop of the afternoon, we got a lesson in Inca justice. Apparently they didn't believe in prisons. The basic rules were simple: Don't lie, steal, or be lazy. You got a few chances if you broke a rule, but after the third offense, the Incas just cut off the head of the offender. Problem solved.
One of the more complex rules involved marriage within a social class, so when the daughter of THE Inca wanted to marry a soldier, it would have been awkward to behead your own child and her boyfriend (although I have considered it myself, more than once). Instead, the Inca just made him a general and exiled them both to a place called Ollantaytambo, a hillside filled with terraces, overlooking a small village, and flanked by a river.
I just never get tired of looking at giant stones cut flat and assembled with perfection. The idea that a society could do that 500 years ago still astounds me - huge chunks of granite ten feet tall, hoisted up and assembled like they were beamed there by aliens or something. There aren't a whole lot of practical theories, so aliens sounds good to me.
The village below is an archeological reproduction; walls are carefully rebuilt, and much of the original structure is maintained. As with the ruin visited in Cold Showers and Giant Flesh-Eating Birds, the town had some reasonable semblance of indoor plumbing. As usual, those downstream get the worst end of the deal.
Since my squad was tiring quickly of ancient rocks, we headed out through the obligatory gift shop, which in this case was a few acres of open market. Two kids pointed wooden guns at us, and yelled, "Hands in the air, Gringos!" in Spanish.
Normally, I play along, but not today. Something chapped me about the way these kids are being taught to see Americans as a cash cow, and not much else.
A short ride to the train station, and we were straight back into a 1950s movie. This was a new experience for all of us, on any continent. I had never ridden a train before, at least not for the purpose of getting somewhere (meaning the one at the zoo doesn't count).
With our last stop of the afternoon, we got a lesson in Inca justice. Apparently they didn't believe in prisons. The basic rules were simple: Don't lie, steal, or be lazy. You got a few chances if you broke a rule, but after the third offense, the Incas just cut off the head of the offender. Problem solved.
One of the more complex rules involved marriage within a social class, so when the daughter of THE Inca wanted to marry a soldier, it would have been awkward to behead your own child and her boyfriend (although I have considered it myself, more than once). Instead, the Inca just made him a general and exiled them both to a place called Ollantaytambo, a hillside filled with terraces, overlooking a small village, and flanked by a river.
I just never get tired of looking at giant stones cut flat and assembled with perfection. The idea that a society could do that 500 years ago still astounds me - huge chunks of granite ten feet tall, hoisted up and assembled like they were beamed there by aliens or something. There aren't a whole lot of practical theories, so aliens sounds good to me.
The village below is an archeological reproduction; walls are carefully rebuilt, and much of the original structure is maintained. As with the ruin visited in Cold Showers and Giant Flesh-Eating Birds, the town had some reasonable semblance of indoor plumbing. As usual, those downstream get the worst end of the deal.
Since my squad was tiring quickly of ancient rocks, we headed out through the obligatory gift shop, which in this case was a few acres of open market. Two kids pointed wooden guns at us, and yelled, "Hands in the air, Gringos!" in Spanish.
Normally, I play along, but not today. Something chapped me about the way these kids are being taught to see Americans as a cash cow, and not much else.
A short ride to the train station, and we were straight back into a 1950s movie. This was a new experience for all of us, on any continent. I had never ridden a train before, at least not for the purpose of getting somewhere (meaning the one at the zoo doesn't count).
Angel told us he would meet us tomorrow morning. We were a bit surprised that he wasn’t going with us, but he said he would be taking the red-eye train for locals, it was much cheaper than the tourist train, and a lot more like a cattle car.
"This reminds me of the train station in Harry Potter, said Middle.
"You have to run really fast and jump into the wall," said Youngest, without emotion.
"I would knock myself out," Middle replied, giggling.
In her best Wednesday Addams, Youngest replies, "Then you didn’t run fast enough, and you have to try it again. Let me know when it works." There is no doubt that youngest has my DNA.
The train was so obviously made in 1960: Our seats reminded me of a booth at an old diner, the four of us facing an aluminum table, two on each side. The scenery of the valley was fantastic, when it was visible. Much of the time, I stared out my window at the riverbank. The water itself was sometimes visible on the other side, but it was much of the same. We got a light snack service on the way, but overall, I think this was a part we would have skipped. We arrived in Aguas Calientes, the small town at the base of the mountain of Macchu Pichu, and surprise, the train station was surrounded by a souvenir market. The commercialism of this was starting to get tiresome.
Sometime between entering the station and exiting the market, the sun had set, and since we were nestled in a steep valley, the tropical sun went off like a light switch. A young lady with a small sign was there to guide us to our hostel, although the whole town stretched 200 yards along a roaring mountain river.
"Doesn’t Aguas Calientes mean hot water?" Asked youngest.
I answered her in the affirmative.
"I hope our room has it," she answered flatly.
Read the final chapter in the series, The Magic of Macchu Pichu.
Read the final chapter in the series, The Magic of Macchu Pichu.
No comments:
Post a Comment