“To boldly go where no tourists have gone before.” That was the offer made by Jimmy Aguirre, the official guide/go-for/handyman of AmeriSpan’s language school in Cusco, Peru. Jimmy is also a tourism student at the Instituto Superior Tecnologico Antonio Moreno. As part of their thesis project called Jakuchu (“Let’s Go!” in Quechua), he and two friends organized a weekend trip to a remote archaeological site near Jimmy’s parents’ hometown of Yaurisque. They had been planning the trip for months, down to the last detail. All they needed was a group of Guinea pigs (also a Peruvian specialty dish that does NOT taste like chicken!) to make it happen. So, a few gringos, some Dutchies, a German, an Englishman, and a man from Iceland volunteered for the adventure.

Our trip started with a bus ride ... only about 35 kms from Cuzco, but a fairly long ride to 3,900 meters. There, in the middle of nowhere, we mounted our bikes and headed down, down, down. The spectacular view of sprawling countryside and jagged mountains helped take our minds off the pain of having to tightly grip the semi-functional breaks as we descended the hairpin curves of the rocky road. After an hour or so, I couldn’t have cared less about the view and just wanted off. Luckily, right about then we rolled into our lunch stop ... Jimmy’s grandparents’ house. And seemingly in celebration of our arrival and joy at getting off the bikes, a colorful street procession with dancers and musicians passed in front of the house. Of course it was not for us, but it was nice to pretend. We were then ushered into the altar room where we were fed sandwiches and fruit while Grandma lit candles and prayed for our journey, which seems to have worked!

After lunch, it was time to hit the dusty trail again, but this time on four legs instead of two wheels. We were a bit surprised that our trusty steeds did not actually have saddles but rather blankets and rope. It turned out to be sufficient gear for our leisurely stroll along the Eucalyptus wooded riverbank. Of course, no gain without pain ... soon my inner thighs were screaming with saddle soreness. There it was again, that simultaneous feeling of physical torture and visual ecstasy. As I was trying to figure out which pain was worse, the bike or the horse, we finally came to the end of that leg of the journey.

This time, no procession or sandwiches awaited ... this time, it was a mountain to climb! The climb was steep, but not too bad ... and anything was better than being on the horse any longer. So up, up, up we went along with about ten guys who effortlessly carried all our gear. After about an hour, we breathlessly arrived at the archaeological site Maucallacta ... recently discovered and uncovered and previously visited only by archaeologists and locals. We were the first group of “turistas” to tread that sacred ground. You should see the campsite they set up for us (complete with circus-style big top dining tent!) just below the ruins overlooking the valley from whence we had just climbed.

That night, the local shaman came to perform a Pago a la Tierra (Payment to the Earth). After meticulously placing little packets of stuff (sorry for the lack of detail, but I have no idea what all those powders and plants were) onto wrapping paper, he asked each of us to place a coca leaf in the right spot on the pile. We then “blessed” the package by dabbing a wine-soaked flower on each of the four corners. Then we each took a shot of local wine, wrapped up our present and threw it on a cow-dung fire (not as smelly as you might think). Once it started burning, you could see the “stuff” coming out in purple and blue flames. Truly magical.

As you might imagine, we slept like the dead until we were awakened by the faint sound of live music. We woke up and were brought hot (!) water to wash up with. We were treated to a fabulous breakfast of local-made cheese, fresh papaya juice, and REAL coffee (not the instant nonsense that hotels try to pass off as coffee). We then discovered the source of the music. A group from the neighboring village of Mollebamba (pop. 500) came to present us with a gift. Dressed in well-worn handmade traditional dress and playing homemade instruments (including a gorgeous harp!), they performed traditional dances in the courtyard of the ruins. They were so sincere and beautiful, it brought tears to my eyes. This was not a tourist attraction, but a real gift to us. The tears soon turned to laughter, however, when they dragged us to the dance floor for a little payback. What a sight we were, especially the 6’ 7” Dutchie dancing with the 4 ft. Quechua woman!

We were invited to their village to learn about how they live. So off we went, up and down the slippery slope to Mollebamba. We gringos were slipping and sliding all the way while grandmas, kids in flip-flops, and the guy carrying his homemade harp seemingly glided along. At least we were able to return their kindnesses by offering ourselves as entertainment. Upon arrival, we were invited into the town “mayor’s” home. A cozy adobe affair complete with guinea pigs and chickens running around. And don’t think the mayor is above the people ... pretty much all the homes were about the same. Once they overcame their shyness, they were very eager to have foreign ears hear about their lives. Luckily we had Jimmy to translate their stories for us from Quechua to Spanglish.

There was more. After doing the town, we hiked to Pumaocco, the supposed birthplace of the three brothers who gave birth to Quechua people. Standing on the edge of this giant, jagged, flat-topped rock overlooking the river and the alley below ... it was easy to believe that something quite powerful was created there.

Then it was time to go home. Down, down, down yet another slippery slope. I fell at least three times, but was not the only one. Exhausted, frustrated, and dirty, we finally arrived at the bus. And who should be waiting? Our friends from the village ... including the harp guy (you’d think that thing was a mouth harp the way he carries it around!). We were invited to a picnic lunch accompanied by the ancient sounds of the harp. They wished us a safe journey and invited us back again. A perfect ending to a perfect trip.