Posted by 
012405
Sleeping in the clouds can be hard on a drinker. But I make my own bed (metaphorically, of course. I don’t in fact make beds.) But hurtin’ or not hurtin’ I still get up on time, and in this case on time was early enough to be out in front of my hostel when José pulled up at 9:30am.
After wheeling my deals with José the day before he’d offered to take me on a free tour of the local ruins so he could practise his tourism English and adventuring cheapskate that I am, I leapt at the opportunity. And here he was, right on time. José greeted me with some well-rehearsed morning pleasantries and soon we were off, driving his rickety car up one of the mountains that tower over the already heftily-elevated city of Cusco.
As we pulled off the mountain road José asked if I had much experience riding a horse. “Of course,” I replied, only half-lying. Much to my surprise José led me to a small pasture behind his friend’s house where a pair of horses stood waiting for us. We each hopped in a saddle and spent the next four hours riding throughout the area visiting a number of astounding Inca ruins.
I can’t really describe just how amazing the day was, and I’ll hardly try: José and I and our two unnamed steeds moseyed slow and relaxed from one incredible ancient site to another, and what sights they were! We visited Tambomachay and marvelled at the immaculate doorways and staircases, then we rode along quiet forest pathways until we dismounted at Saqsaywaman, where we were almost alone with the miraculously precise serpentine walls and mysterious stone circle. We rode to a couple of other remarkable ruins as well (I believe one was Puka Pukara), and all of them were within easy view of the overtly picturesque mountaintop city of Cusco. My goodness it was all so beautiful and so blatantly interesting, and doing the whole thing on horseback just pushed it over the edge of cool. I can’t believe the excursion cost me exactly zero dollars. Unfortunately for José I think the only English I taught him was “wow”, but at least he go to hear it a lot.
By the time José returned me to my guest house I was exhausted and starving (I hadn’t had time for breakfast) and I couldn’t resist another trip back to the Irish pub for a heaping serving of shepherd’s pie. Though I enjoyed my meal to the point of delirium when I paid the bill I told myself that I just could not go there again. Not only were the prices too high for my budget mind, the place was simply not “Peru” enough.
When I visit Ireland I’ll go to Irish pubs. Sure I might go to one or two of Dublin’s finer Peruvian steakhouses while I’m there, but I’ll mostly try to stick to the Irish places when I’m in Ireland. And so.
After the pub I killed some time in an internet cafe until my friend Steve arrived in town. We’d had some formidable times in a variety of oasis-side bars after meeting in Huacachina a week earlier, and while we had ostensibly agreed to meet up to go white water rafting together, the moment he stepped off the bus we were ready to do a number on a number of bars that line the cobbled streets of Cusco.
By some coincidence Steve ended up buying me a few pints of Guinness back at that same Irish pub I was so weakly trying to avoid. Though he shook off my warnings about the dangers of altitude drinking so I tricked him into taking a break for a walkabout that brought us to José’s shop, where we added Steve’s name to the rafting trip that I’d already booked for the following morning.
Afterwards we found another bar – a Peruvian one this time – for a few more nightcaps than either of us should have had, but especially Steve.
Though ironically it was I who went to bed a dozen hours before damn near dying.
Todd Man Out 