Moray and My Last Days in Peru

The latest installment of my month in South America.

I last left off while enjoying the view from the top of Inca ruins in Ollaytantambo. I trod back down the numerous stone stairs and explored a bit more of the city below. The patchwork of souvenir stands looked pretty basic from above with rusted metal coverings exposed to the sky, but on ground level there was some fun stuff to look at.

Its funny because I love markets to death, but I don't ever buy very much. For me, it's the colors and sounds, the fast paced atmosphere, and the people watching that necessitates a trip to the market.


I was very tempted to pick up one of these dancing terrorist clown masks, but I knew there was no possible way I would ever wear it in public.

My least favorite souvenir from the trip. The bites weren't from mosquitoes because whatever it was left an open wound that then scabbed up. Not only did it look awful but it was quite scratchy.

Here I walked into an amusing scene. Someone apparently saw a big fish swimming through some sort of a drainage ditch. A group of locals was very interested in catching this fish, but the little guy was too smart so he stopped swimming while in a part of the ditch that was covered by pavement. With 5-8 people excitedly talking about the fish and holding a bucket or something to catch it in, a little girl threw rocks into the large ditch opening to scare the fish towards the waiting group. It was great entertainment.

Ollantaytambo was the starting point of the most interesting little journey of my time in Peru. If I had been alone, I most definitely would have simply hired a ride from one of the many cabbies constantly harassing me. Angelica's Spanish ability really shined at this point. She asked around and got us a ride on the public transportation of the area, a cramped little van.

This was super cool. Until this point I was in places that, while interesting, were pretty usual places for tourists to go. Here we rode on several little buses and vans to get to our destination, and it really started to feel like an adventure. There were no other tourists around, and a ride cost (if I recall correctly) like 25 cents. I love sort of seeing a small peak in the lives of average people from other places, and this was it.

It was funny, because I had only been out of Japan less than a month. In Japan, I experienced many instances where locals would avoid sitting next to "foreigners" on the train. In Peru it was pretty close to the opposite. Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed like people I met on my little expedition here had no issue squeezing into the seat next to me. One person on a jam-packed bus was practically sitting on my lap.

One time I will never forget was sitting next to an older man with a worn face. He talked to me in high speed Spanish until the van came to his stop. I understood maybe one out of 50 words that he said, but that didn't seem to bother him. He would pause, I would say something so painfully basic like "Do you live in Cusco?", and he would start back up again, probably giving some philosophical excellent answer to my question. Angelica, who had previously interjected in moments like this, didn't say a word. I'm sure she was laughing to herself.

Our game of musical vans brought us to this little bus station. I bought a Gatorade from a couple of very cute kids running a snack stall. They were very good salesmen.


Many of the sodas sold in Peru still use returnable bottles. These dead soldiers are a couple of my favorites, Fanta and Inca Kola, which is a fruity Peruvian soda.


This Gran Mustafa chocolate covered marshmallow bar is made by the Peruvian candy company Winter's. I think it's interesting that although Colombia and Peru border each other and are both small relative to the US, their candy, beer, and snack selection seemed like it didn't overlap much at all. There were certain industries that felt pretty nationalistic down there, but whether that is due to consumer preference or some sort of government intervention I don't know.


This little ad on the side of an ice cream freezer is a good example. It reads "experience the Peruvian flavor". I think it's interesting because I don't often see these sorts of patriotic appeals in American food advertising.


Our public transporting took us to this little three walled, bus stop in the middle of nowhere, also known as Maras. Here Angelica's bargaining skills were put to the test.


There were only two cars nearby. This really felt like swinging from one vine before we could see the next. What if there hadn't been anyone waiting here to pick people up? My cellphone didn't work, and there was no other evidence of the presence of humanity in sight. And we still got a good price. Baller.

We stopped as the road was engulfed by a funeral procession. Notice many of the women wearing the tall hats. No one in the city wore this sort of dress. An excellent reason to go to the country.

As we drove, the road became more basic, and the scenery more beautiful.

We were forced to a stop by livestock crossing the road several times.

Our destination was Moray, an Inca ruin thought to be an agricultural testing ground. "A series of inscrutable ringed terraces sculpted in the earth, the deep-set bowls formed an experimental agricultural center to test new crops and conditions. The different levels produce microclimates, with remarkable differences in temperature from top to bottom," reads an article in the New York Times.


We walked down into the rings to check things out, although honestly it all looked much cooler from above. I haven't been able to find a reliable reference, but Moray's wikitravel page hypothesizes that the Inca might have used their superior knowledge of seed technology to entice neighbors into peacefully joining the empire. A bit of Inca imperial soft power.


There wasn't much in terms of amenities at the site, but who cares?


We hired the same guy that drove us from the bus stop to drive us back to civilization. Not only was that probably an excellent bit of work for him, but his family could ride in to town on the gas I was paying for.


So we stopped at his house and picked up his wife and daughter.

Somewhere during my numerous transactions I was passed a Peruvian nuevo sol note that had a bit of tape on it. It was worth a significant amount, because I bought Angelica and I some last snacks with it the night before we were due to leave the country. We were out of the store and in another store several doors down when the shopkeeper found us. He was holding that nasty bill and asking for different payment, because he was sure that one was fake. Fake? Wow. I'd never had that happen before. I futiley tried to get rid of the crumbled paper once more before heading back to the hotel. Dirty taped bill in hand, I decided that Peru had given me this fake money, and before I left Peru was going to take it back.

But we had an early flight back to Colombia, and few chances to buy anything along the way. The next morning Angelica and I packed up our bags and paused at the front desk for check out and payment. Most people pay for hotels with credit cards, but today I was paying in cash. I handed the man at the front desk a small stack of money for the hotel, a mixture of both soles and dollars. He counted the money slowly, probably calculating the exchange rate simultaneously. Angelica and I both glanced at eachother nervously. Was this going to work? "Wait a minute. This one won't do. I need a different note," said the man at the desk. I thought the ruse had failed, but no! The man was holding one of the US twenties I had given him. "The bank won't take them if the edges are torn," pointing to a tiny little ruffle in the paper. I quickly retrieved the newest, crispest 20 I could find. He said that we were settled, and Angelica and I quickly and quietly walked out the door.

Amusingly, according to this Reuters video, Colombia once accounted for 70% of the world's counterfeit US currency, but crackdowns there have caused the printing business to move to Peru.

Go check out Peru. It's a nice place.

Wendy's Gives Up on Japan

America's No. 3 burger chain has ended it's 29-year presence in Japan. Zensho Co. Ltd., which operates the restaurants in Japan, will end it's agreement with Wendy's/Arby's Group Inc. and close its 71 locations by the end of the month. I couldn't find the exact reason for the decision, but in an AP article(here), a Zensho spokesman gave a canned response to reporters. "[We] will focus our resources on beef bowl restaurants and others." An article in Newsweek points out that Japan is going through a bit of a food crisis: it imports 60% of its yearly caloric intake, 90% of its corn comes from the United States, and 70% of its farmers are over 60 years of age. Those are all interesting figures, but Japan would do well to consider that 100% of Wendy's hamburgers are square and juicy. Surely that could solve a problem or two.

In Ashikaga, the smallish city where I lived, McDonald's and KFC were the only American fast food places available. My frequent trips to Tokyo were my only chance to see other familiar fast-food chains from home. I ate at the restaurant near Ebisu station lots of times on the way to and from parties and whatnot. It's the only place in the whole country I knew of where I could eat chili, so on a cold day that was the place to be. Add in frosties and those spicy chicken sandwiches, and you had gold. Gold! Why does Japan hate deliciousness?

Tokyo Vice: An American Reporter on the Police Beat in Japan

Jake Adelstein, author of Tokyo Vice, has popped up in a couple of my favorite places to get news. His life story appeals to me as being both very entertaining and inspirational. He picked up and moved to Japan, living for three years in a Buddhist temple, then working as an English teacher and part time as a Swedish massage therapist, then eventually becoming a reporter for the Yomiuri Shimbun, credited as having the largest circulation in the world. At Yomiuri he worked as a crime reporter and his book reveals the depth of his knowledge on the Yakuza, or Japanese mafia.

His little interview on the Daily Show was my introduction to his work. The interview is a bit offbeat and has a few amusing bits. My favorite quote is "[Liver Damage] is the number one cause of death for yakuza.... other than being shot or beheaded."

One of my favorite newsy podcasts is NPR's Planet Money. Here Adelstein "talks about how the business of the yakuza groups has changed over time and how tighter government restrictions have pushed the Japanese mob into more "traditional" investments." You can listen to or download the podcast here. My favorite part of this one is the story of how the Yakuza hired actors to pose as Japanese bank execs in order to trick Lehman Brothers into loaning a front company $300 million. It's pretty golden. Fresh Air has another longer program with him as well as an excerpt from his book here.

And finally, Jake edits the blog www.japansubculture.com. A notable recent post here is entitled "Eating sushi off a naked girl: yay or yuck?"

I'll be putting his book on my Christmas list.

Greek Cookies at St. Anthony's

Last Saturday, the 5th of December, was the annual holiday sale in the basement at St. Anthony's Hellenic Orthodox Church. It's a small building but on this one day a year it is packed with delicious. For lunch you can choose from among steaming gyros, poorboys, and spinach pies. The reason I love this place enough to return every year, though, is the cookies. Greek cookies are freaking awesome.

A volunteer stood behind the table and packed a box full of all the unpronounceable honey and nut laden treats I over-indulgently pointed at.

I should have someone read the cookies' names to me next time. I've eaten enough of these that at this point we really should be introduced.


By the time I'd gotten them home the honey from the baklava and one or two others had pooled in the bottom of the box. I couldn't hold that against them.

The other reason I like visiting St. Anthony's is that it is a cozy, good looking little church. I'm not at all familiar with the orthodox tradition so the patriarchs and the pictures and paintings are all interesting to admire. Everything is written in Greek, and there are a couple of giant golden chandeliers with pictures of saints 'n friends on them.

This little festival only happens once a year as far as I know so if you've missed it you're SOL and most likely Greek cookie-less until 2010. If you'd like to attend a service though, I'm sure St. Anthony and the gang would be happy to see you.

Here's the program and-

View Larger Map

-here's their location.

I think my work here is done.

Ollantaytambo

"Continuously inhabited for more than 700 years, Ollantaytambo is one of the few settlements that 16th-century Spanish conquistadors had trouble sacking, thanks to its magnificently preserved Incan fortress", writes Paul Brady in an article on the New York Times website(here).

Once out in the Ollaytantambo station we started walking. There were plenty of offers of taxis to be sure, but after sitting for so long I think we both wanted a little exercise.

The empty taxis would always slow down or honk their horns at us to drum up business. I laughed when I saw the dreaded tuk tuk style taxis that are popular in Thailand. I hated these especially because they never have meters, making the fare open to interpretation.


Ice cream apparently makes people in Peru very happy.

Many of the gift shops in the area were these awesome mud hut looking structures. It was exciting to see a bit of Peru that's more rural.

Here I finally got a picture of this little object. I'd been seeing these little bulls and crosses all over the country. Usually they were on the tops of buildings. I couldn't find much about them online, but it's a mix of Catholic and indigenous religion apparently. People pour wine in the little holes as an offering.

This man was maybe the only beggar I gave money to in the whole country. I'm against it in principle, but this guy was blind, playing an instrument, and had a little sign in English. I couldn't resist.

When I saw what we were in town for, I may have said some bad words. My legs were still jell-o from a ton of ruins walking the day before and this place had stone stairs galore. The view of the town below and the ruins on the neighboring mountains was worth it though.

In the US we would probably deck this thing with handrails. If someone slipped on the top step they'd pretty much be hamburger by the time they got to the bottom. You're welcome for that little image.

At least when walking in a real desert, there aren't any stairs.

The ruins.

This was one of those moments. I was walking and doing my tourist thing when all of the sudden the world shows me a few seconds of perfection. It feels a bit like walking into a postcard. There's a bright sun overhead and this cactus on a dusty dry Peruvian cliffside. A bird of prey with wings outstretched was flying so low and directly overhead that I could see its shadow wingspan moving around on the ground in front of me. A prefect little moment.

Once back on the ground, I met these people. I get the feeling that this little group was a bit overdressed in order to attract tourists, but otherwise they were the real deal. Everyone was speaking so fast that I couldn't tell the difference, but Angelica said that one of the little girls was translating Angelica's Spanish into Quechua for the others. I gave the few little coins I had to the woman on the left, sort of assuming she would share the wealth, but one of the little girls later motioned for money so pathetically that I wished I had distributed the money myself.