certification

Monday 18.7.2016

Our stay in Cusco has charmed us.  The grittiness of poverty is never far from view, as are examples of architecture displaying historical injustice – flat land for the rich, steep land for the poor.  Walking up and down these streets gives us an appreciation for those peoples who have to carry their children on their backs to spare them the haggard breathing bestowed to all untrained lungs, but as for Molly and I, we are able to simple taste this lifestyle without fear of assimilation.  Our families don’t live at the tops of these hills, after all.

We find ourselves charmed through osmosis.  Peruvians smile much less frequently an Colombians, and their leathery-brown faces and hands reveal little time for play.  But even the youngest Peruvian is going somewhere, following in her mother’s footsteps by tracking down the next court to kick a ball around in or the next snack from a kind older shopkeeper.  Peruvians seemingly look at the white faces that stare on such a daily basis and shrug, because what else can they really do?

Learning to not care and ignore the unignorable sights around us seems to be the challenge of the Peruvian traveler.  Like those around us, we are inclined to buy in to the turista Magic: we are young, bold people in an ancient land that rewards the young and bold.  This land, from the curve of the hill beckoning a climb to the glint of old-gold sunset light on brazenly white shop walls advertising Adventurous Spirits, seems sculpted into an ideal travel destination.  The Magic permeates all transactions, from the mirror seller who admonishes us about local earrings in nearby Aguas Calientes to the waitress telling us to live a little and splurge on the local treat.

As privileged backpackers we are undeniably integral parts of this magical ecosystem.  We are young and relatively attractive, and we have socially provocative tattoos, and we talk about injustices in abstracts with ease.  We have our pictures taken with other tattooed relatively attractive young people who are also answering this primordial call to Go and See the rest of the world.  Our pictures become the front pages of foreign-owned hostels, Facebook banners, and punchlines about bar crawls.  And like those before us, those images are utilized to create the idea that this place – Cusco, ancient Incan heartland, Peruvian metropolis, Quechua origin story – is somehow made for people like Molly and I to get up and go “explore.”

The entire start-to-end process is an insidious marketing campaign at best and a puzzle missing pieces at best.  More so than in past countries, I can feel the corrosive effect of my presence on the local ecosystem.  Young boys grow up without Internet and see a tall, blonde white guy roughing around and making the most of his youth: I become an example of why these children should strive to leave their homes and forsake their culture.  Restaurants tortuously explain to turistas why ice isn’t readily available nor pizza isn’t made with mozzarella cheese but proceed to serve the same tested sopa to returning customers for a tenth as much as a traveler would expect to pay: we are customers, and the customer is always right.

I’m rambling now. Gonna sign off.