The Cusco Incident

Posted on 16. Mar, 2009 by Colin in peru

Jump to the pictures.

I decided to see Machu Picchu before moving to Colombia. I arrived in Cusco at 6 am Monday morning.

I intended to stay at my friend Billy’s hostel, where I stayed when I was in Cusco last year. My taxi driver Lenin immediately tried selling me his own hostel. He asked how much I’d pay at Billy’s place. I answered 15 soles / night. He told me he’d give me a private room and bathroom for that price. I said I’d think about it. As we were passing Billy’s hostel, it seemed closed so I told Lenin the Taxi Driver I’d stay at his place.

While checking in and getting my key I noted this hostel was a shithole. But the price was right. Before taking a nap I locked the deadbolt to my room with the key. I slept for three hours. I woke up and got things together to go see Cusco and buy tickets to Machu Picchu.

When I tried to unlock the door, my key wouldn’t unlock the deadbolt. This same key that locked the deadbolt was turning round and round but the deadbolt was not moving. I was locked inside my room. As I noted earlier this hostel was a shithole, and I could see that this door’s lock was also a piece of shit. In Peru doors have these large metal boxes for locks and handles. This box was such shit that I could probably pry it far enough off the door so that the deadbolt would come free from the wall.

First I banged and banged on the door in hopes someone downstairs would hear me. I banged and banged and banged and nobody could hear me since I was on the third floor. So I went to work on this metal box. I pried and banged and pried and worked on the door for five minutes or so until I had bent the metal box back far enough that I could open the door. The lock was bent into complete worthlessness.

I went downstairs with all my things to find Lenin’s little brother and sister watching TV. They manage the place while he’s driving his taxi and recruiting guests. I told them my lock was broken and I want a new room. The boy gave me a new room and I went out to see Cusco. I decided I wouldn’t pay for that lock and I would leave the hostel if Lenin tried to charge me.

I took a city tour for 20 soles. I was skeptical the tour could last four hours as they said at the tourist agency. How much was there to see? The bus first brought us to Qorikancha – the Santo Domingo of Cusco Convent. The tour guide went into long, boring explanations and I realized how this tour could take four hours.  There were cool paintings, so it was worth the 10 soles to get in.

I wondered how many more places on the tour would charge to get in. I paid for a 20 soles tour, and that’s really all I wanted to spend. Next we went to Saksaywaman, which I had already seen last time I was in Cusco. This entrance was 40 soles. I stayed on the bus with the driver. After all, Saksaywaman isn’t much more than a bunch of big rocks.

After an hour, the group came back to the bus and we drove to a different patch of rocks. The 40 soles paid for these new rocks which I could clearly see from the bus. I asked the driver how many more of this tour’s stops cost money. All the remaining stops were included in the Saksaywaman entrance. I asked how I could get back down to the plaza if I want to skip the rest of the tour. He said a taxi would eventually drop a tourist off at the entrance to Saksaywaman. He also pointed down a forest hill and said I could walk. Saksaywaman sits on top of a mountain that overlooks Cusco, so seemingly quite a walk.

I took off on foot into the forest. I saw more than I on the whack-ass tour. I walked five minutes through a forest of tall skinny trees and came into a residential area with sidewalk alleys instead of roads. I passed through two or three neighborhoods until I had descended into the city.

I found my hostel and asked the kids if they told Lenin about the lock. No word.

I went back out and ate at Rosie O’Grady’s, the Irish bar that boasts the highest elevation in the world, where I have friends. Heidi was managing. She took me to a special office which services tourist agencies so I paid wholesale price for my Machu Picchu tickets, about $150 altogether.

I went back to the hostel to shower before going out. I asked the kids if Lenin had any news. Nothing. I paid the boy another fifteen soles for a second night.

After eating dinner, I bought weed and went back to the hostel to roll it into joints. The two front doors are always locked and a manager has to let people in and out. I knocked and knocked and knocked. Nothing. What a shithole. I rolled one joint on the stoop, ringing the doorbell every five minutes or so. It probably annoyed the other guests, who I could hear, but they couldn’t let me in because they don’t have a key. I went to a restaurant and ate a second dinner so I could roll joints on the table.

I smoked one on the way to the bars. As I entered the first place, my jaw dropped as I took in the scene. The dance floor was packed … with white people. Wall-to-wall gringos. Where the fuck was I? Cusco. I was stoned and had a beer while pondering all these white people. I split.

I was out all night drinking and got back to my hostel around 4 am. I was supposed to wake up at 6 am for Machu Picchu.

I woke at 7:30 and panicked. I definitely missed the train to Aguas Calientes. I worried I’d have to buy new tickets. I packed a few things in my backpack and put on my Machu Picchu clothes. My plan was to run to the office where I bought the tickets to see if they could do anything.

The two little brats downstairs said I had to pay for that lock. Lenin told them not to let me leave until I paid. The girl was particularly annoying in how loud she kept yelling “Tienes que pagar por la chapa” and “Tu la rompiste.” I told them I’m not paying for that lock and went back upstairs to get all my things into my backpack. I was leaving the hostel.

I came back down and told them to let me out. They said I had to pay for the lock first. They called Lenin. He’d be at the hostel in seven minutes. All too familiar with Peruvian time, I set my phone alarm for exactly seven minutes. I paced back and forth, fuming.

I had missed Machu Picchu. I was still drunk. I only slept three hours. And now I had to deal with this. My plan was to stay close to the two glass doors and, when Lenin unlocked them to come in, I would push him out into the street and start yelling at him. If he offered any resistance I’d knock him out in front of all his neighbors.

My alarm went off. I told the brats seven minutes had passed and I was leaving. They refused. I told them I was going to throw their computer through the doors. I grabbed the boy by his shirt and pushed him against the wall. I wouldn’t hit a kid, but I wanted to scare him a little. I grabbed the handle of the door and said, “Si tu no abres esta puerta …” and I banged the door a little bit to make some noise …

And both doors shattered into hundreds of little pieces of glass. As soon as the last piece hit the ground, I leapt over the pile and sprinted down the street. My backpack weighed at least 30 pounds thanks in large part to my 965-page hardcover copy of The Snowball: Warren Buffett and Business of Life (I highly recommend).  I turned after three blocks and sprinted two blocks up a sharp, Andes Mountains hill.

I wasn’t running or jogging, but sprinting – on my toes, chin tucked, full-range arm-swinging. After five blocks, I slowed and started panting. I needed water. I needed to get off the streets. I saw an old man sweeping the stoop of his hostel. I asked him how much for a room. 35 soles. I’ll take it!

He showed me to my room, which was nice. This hostel was no shithole. He even brought me a towel, toilet paper, and bar of soap.

I changed clothes and ran to the office where I bought my Machu Picchu tickets. I was super-paranoid of every police car. The lady who was supposed to meet me at the train station said she called my hostel and the kid who answered the phone said there was nobody by my name at the hostel.

The ladies in this office devised a way for me to change the date of the train ticket. One of them went with me to the train station, where I was to explain that I got robbed early that morning so I couldn’t travel. I felt nervous about lying but I pulled it off.  I acted like a dumb gringo who only speaks English, not much of a stretch. They changed the date on my train ticket to the next day. After leaving I kissed the girl that accompanied me to the train station several times on the cheek and invited her and the other girl in the office to lunch later.

But now I had to worry about this whole Cusco Incident. Normally I wouldn’t worry because I got away with all my stuff. However I gave Lenin my NAME and PASSPORT NUMBER when I checked in.

So Lenin had a description of me plus my name and passport number if he were inclined to have the authorities look for me. While I have a good grasp on Peruvian culture, I have no clue how police and the authorities work in Peru. Would they look for me? Will they hold me at the airport if I try to leave the country? Will they even care? I needed to consult some Peruvians.

I emailed Carlos an abbreviated version of the story. He replied saying it’s probably not a big deal but that I should get out of Cusco as soon as possible. I met Ward in Cusco, who thought Lenin may not even call the police.

I went back to Rosie O’Grady’s and bought lunch for the two ladies who helped me. Billy was there. After the ladies left I told him the story. He didn’t think it’d be a problem, but he did believe Lenin called the police and lied (leaving out that he was in effect detaining me illegally). Billy said the police would look for me at the airport and main bus terminal over the next few days. He recommended I go to the Zorro Estación (bus station for poor people) and catch a bus to Sicuani, a tiny pueblo two hours out of Cusco. In Sicuani there’s another terminal where I can catch a bus to Arequipa. Billy said the police wouldn’t be looking for me at either of those stations.

I went to the hostel for a nap and worried Lenin might check all the hostels in the area. I’d used a fake name and no passport number at the current hostel. But as I said, I am easily describable and my check-in time corresponds exactly with the Incident. Then I thought, “I hope he does find me. I want to knock him out just for putting me through all this.”

Although I wanted to stay off the streets, I took a long walk after my nap. I passed through a peasant part of town, crowded with markets and poor indigenous people. Arequipa has peasants, but nothing like Cusco. This was the Incas’ capital city.

That night I went out drinking. I got just as drunk as the night before. At one point I was in a bar with a reggae / punk band. I got a picture of us getting high. At another point I told somebody trying to sell me drugs that maybe his mother’s for sale, I might be interested in that. Then I was drinking at a table with three Germans when I didn’t like the tone from one of them. I stood up on him, ready to scrap. He didn’t want to. In some discoteca I was dancing salsa and twirling Peruvian girls. When it was time for bed I was too drunk to make the three-block walk home without stumbling like a wasted idiot. I had to sit down at a park bench in Plaza de Armas for ten minutes with my head between my knees to muster up the energy to walk home normally.

I hadn’t even set my alarm for the train. Luckily, in my drunken stupor arriving at the hostel I tipped the guy at the desk 5 soles to wake me up. I went to Machu Picchu. I’d planned to catch an overnight bus to Arequipa afterwards but I was dead tired. I paid for another night at the hostel.

The next day I executed my plan to escape Cusco. I ate at Rosie O’Grady’s and talked with Maca’s cousin Paolo. He told me about a collectivo service that goes to Sicuani. I wouldn’t even have to show my face at the Cusco bus station for poor people. I took a taxi to the collectivo parking lot, an operation with five vans that leave once they fill up. 9 soles for a two-hour ride to Sicuani, and it arrives faster than the bus.

Billy was right. The authorities definitely wouldn’t look for me in Sicuani. It’s the smallest, poorest little pueblo I’ve seen to date. I get stared at in Arequipa, but I got stared at in Sicuani. I imagine there are more speakers of Quechua than Spanish. I had three hours to kill. I asked at five different places; none had cold beer. Every single woman in the town had the custom indigenous pigtails, hat, dress, and blanket backpack (with or without baby inside).

The bus was just as poor and peasant as the town, but only 18 soles ($5.63) for a seven-hour bus trip. The family in front of me spoke Quechua. One woman slept in the aisle on the floor, her head to the right of my aisle seat. We got to Arequipa around 3 am. I got away.

Cusco Quick Facts:

• Cusco is an extreme case of tourist towns with little other industry (New Orleans, Las Vegas).
• Everything is over-priced compared to the rest of Peru.
• There are a million and one ways to spend money and Cusqueños are good at getting you to spend it. I was constantly hounded to buy snacks, shoeshines, massages, drugs, oil paintings, crafts, etc. I said “No” no less than fifty times a day.
• Although over-priced, the food is EXCELLENT.
• Saksaywaman isn’t worth it.
• City tours aren’t worth it.  Here is a point-of-interest list to do your own city tour:

1. Museum of pre-Colombian Art
2. Inka Museum
3. Museum of Religious Art
4. Musuem of Natural History
5. Cathedral
6. Triunfo Church
7. Sacred Family Church
8. La Merced Convent
9. San Blas Church
10. White Christ

• If you went to Cusco and stayed around the plaza, briefly seeing Machu Picchu, you didn’t really see Peru.
• If you really want to know the Cusco area, get into the rural surroundings (like Sicuani).

Conclusion: I may need to give another run at sobriety. One of these days I’m not going to come out on top.

Pictures

(other pics of typical Cusco)

Buy organic Maca from Peru.

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Tags: crime, cusco, debauchery, machu picchu, marijuana, pictures, tourism, violence