from 30.06.: Cusco - 3,400 m

June 30th.

I am welcomed in my breakfast restaurant like an old acquaintance. The oldest girl passes me with a quick nod and comes back shortly after with bread and eggs. Tomatoes are still available.

After breakfast, I say goodbye and mention that I will continue my journey and won't be coming tomorrow. A friendly wave from the pass-through window and a hasta luego.

So today I'm going to Cusco, the ancient Inca capital. Rolf has already told me horror stories about it, which overshadow Arequipa. Diesel fumes, steep inclines that my Vespa definitely won't be able to climb, tourists upon tourists - but there's a good campground.
I would prefer to make a big detour around this city, but that would mean simply ignoring Inca culture.
If only I had...

Just before I leave, Rolf gives me the tip to take the detour via Pisac, because then I will come into the city from above - and the campground is also on the way.

The drive through the Urubamba Valley is a pure pleasure. I pass by the Inca ruins again - this time the road is clear and not obstructed by roadblocks. And once again, I have the Puno-Cusco railway line near me and the slowly expanding Urubamba River. I don't notice any slopes, then the turnoff to Pisac comes, which keeps me in the valley for a while, but then leads me into the mountains. But yes! Traffic is still light and the weather - I can hardly believe it - cloudy. I feel like I'm in Austria in bad weather. And then it actually starts to rain. In Santiago, the last time, when gutters and drain covers reached their limits. Fortunately, the roads don't get slippery - actually, it's just a few raindrops.
The road takes me higher and higher in steep and narrow switchbacks. Nevertheless, I'm still faster than the trucks, which I can only overtake rarely. Then again, those beloved speed bumps that also slow down the trucks - but then the Vespa has to give it everything to take advantage of the truck's longer acceleration phase and get in front of it. It's not a show of power, but pure survival instinct. The black diesel fumes surely replace a pack of cigarettes in just a few seconds.

Finally, there is a viewpoint with a view of the Sacred Valley. In the distance and far below me, I can still see the Urubamba glittering.

I check my emails and WhatsApp messages and read that a job changer needs my apartment through Airbnb. High above the clouds and on the open road in distant Peru, I do the correspondence and give the green light. Of course, I take some pictures and am captivated by the fantastic view, a bit hazy, with clouds and growing blue patches, and the lush green of the terraced fields.

The Sacred Valley of the Incas

For those who want to Google, here are a few keywords

In Pisac, the last Inca king lived, who could be defeated so quickly by the Spaniards because the Incas had no horses or firearms, but were only trained in close combat. The Inca king saw his chances of survival diminishing and offered the Spaniards to provide them with as much gold as would fill a room of about 10 m² two-thirds full. The Spaniards accepted the offer, but did not fulfill their obligation, instead they left him hanging and did not mummify him as the Inca culture prescribed.
What do the Spaniards think about it today and about the ruthless extermination of this empire?

The road still leads steeply upwards

In the hope that the viewpoint has reached the zero point of the climb, I now have to realize that it still goes uphill. However, the Vespa is in top form, gains speed again after the tight switchbacks, and leaves the stinking trucks behind - but we have to maintain the distance.

When it doesn't matter anymore because it's going downhill now, I make another stop and receive approving glances from the sprinter drivers who take tourists to the most remote corners of the former Inca Empire.
I don't take much time, but rather get driven away by the tourists taking photos. It's already 4:00 pm and if I want to find a hostel, I have to keep going. I'm not really in the mood for it anymore.
I call up Rolf's link to his campground and let myself roll into the city, more or less concentrated, until I am startled by the navigation lady: please turn left. That's not possible! I think to myself. She'll never make it. I still have some level ground, all cobblestones, gutters, and speed bumps. And as if that wasn't enough: beautiful tight curves and all of this with an incline of what feels like 45 degrees! But she makes it. After some navigation back and forth, I arrive at the place where the campground is supposed to be, and as I stand there looking around, an American woman comes towards me with a pot of tea, and I ask her where the campground is. She is quick and smart and opens the huge iron gate for me, and there I am.

Here I am greeted by a large space with green, mowed grass.

There are huge 7.5-ton or more trucks converted into motorhomes equipped with off-road accessories - and there's also a rather small Defender from Stuttgart standing next to them. German license plates dominate here, which tells me that these are world travelers at a five-star level.
I seem to have stumbled upon the afternoon siesta. Slowly, the doors open, Sandra, Rolf, and Bruno are watching a movie in their heated Defender - but now the coziness is over. Sandra knows my preference for a good and invigorating vegetable soup, and I gladly accept her offer. It gets dark, the beers come to the table, and very soon there is also the offer from Rolf that I can sleep in their tent. I gladly accept that!!!! Then the idea of a bonfire with later grilling of a 2 kg loin arises! A German couple from Switzerland, who saw me and waved to me behind Puno - I didn't notice them though - tunnel vision. They travel with their 5-year-old son in a relatively small vehicle with a roof tent across continents, then there is a couple from Dresden, he's a dentist who sold his practice after 20 years of work and now simply travels with his wife, an American couple in their 30s who make hardcore tours through the Andes but also want to have children at some point.... Jeff, an American who has been traveling for a long time and gradually converted his van during his journey - with a 20-year-younger Ecuadorian woman.

An evening by the campfire that reminds me of the temperatures and the unpredictability of the weather in my home garden.

July 1st.

The night in the tent was too cold from below. For the following night, sheepskins and Bruno's dog mattress are added as insulation. Rolf and Sandra don't want to let that go unanswered!! My sleeping pad apparently did a good job with Tillmann in Japan, but a treacherous bicycle patch shows that it wasn't durable.

Today I got a message from Ross in Arica, who informs me that the spare parts have arrived at his hostel. Actually. 4 weeks delivery time. But now they are in Chile and not here. We exchange emails for a while until he has the saving idea. A friend of Glen, the Australian guy, has to go to Cusco and can bring the parts. That's obviously the most elegant solution. We arrange to meet on Monday in front of the cathedral, he will give me the time later.

Rolf and Sandra want to go shopping. A good idea! So I'm not just the taker. We will walk into the city and take a taxi back in the evening with the groceries.
The clouds are still there. We walk the serpentine road to a bend from where we can go straight to Cusco. The view we just had from the road is unique. Where normally metal sheets reflect the light, there are semi-circular clay tiles that are simply interlaid like in Italy. The city has worked its way up in the past centuries, which already looks impressive from a distance. On closer inspection, lots of improvisation, crumbling clay, and multi-generation structures made of concrete that ensure the floors for the children and grandchildren.

Sandra has found a counterpart in Rolf. While Sandra enjoys cooking and savoring, Rolf has a knack for good 'locations'. Whether it's the hostels we have already shared or restaurants, he just knows that they have excellent chefs.
On our way into the city, he simply stops and says, we should eat here. Sandra and I look at each other in astonishment. We just had breakfast and now a hearty meal with alpaca, prepared in a wok? But there is always a solution. Sandra and I share a portion, the wine has to be right too, unfortunately, they don't have a Peruvian one, so we choose the Chilean Cabernet Blanc. There are three tables, one is occupied with the backpack of the chef standing behind the bar, at the other one sits a friend of his, who earns his money in a very special way.
The chef, around 30 years old, takes his chance and turns the preparation of the early lunch into a real show. We ordered a Pisco Sour as an aperitif. The consistency of the egg white is perfect, and the following meal is simply fantastic. The alpaca is not in one piece but cut into small pieces, the vegetables toothsome, and the sauce is simply amazing. Peru has at least 200 types of potatoes - or maybe 400? - left behind by the Incas.
The guest at the first table watches his friend's performance with an approving grin, which prompts Sandra to have a glass of wine brought to him too. As a revenge, he gives insights into his magic tricks, very professional and with precisely coordinated movements.
As always after a very good meal, I don't feel stuffed but could still use something sweet next to the cappuccino... Sandra and Rolf feel the same way.
A nice farewell and just a few streets away - in between there are bakeries with black and stone oven bread, delicious cinnamon buns, French baguettes, and croissants - we meet a colorful-looking Hessian, whose purpose in life I can't quite categorize. He is - like all Hessians - nice and sociable, and when we tell him which restaurant we just came from and that we need a good coffee now, he immediately knows a German pastry chef who makes excellent cheesecake. Just like home! Does he want to offer himself as our tour guide? We don't want that. We say goodbye nicely and actually find Café Sieteysiete (77). The cheesecake is not quite like at home, but still good.

A good thing about adobe construction - at least here in Cusco. The material simply gives way when a car underestimates the corner and can be quickly repaired.

And: traffic signs do not have THE meaning

We let ourselves be "rolled" into the city, look here, look there - I'm not really impressed with the city so far. Everything that was once Peruvian or influenced by the Incas has been painted over with a broad brush of tourist colors. Everything colorful and exaggerated, trying to please everyone, but the original no longer exists. Shops everywhere, promoters trying to sell tours or sweaters, massages apparently offered - elegant restaurants with shiny large shop windows with Visa and Maestro stickers, small squares that used to be beautiful but can no longer live up to their flair, the large Plaza de Armas with the cathedral in the center, framed by arcades that also house expensive shops or an Irish, a Norton pub and Starbucks. The yellow M is already in sight - without regard for the cathedral in the field of view!

Hello? Where is Cusco? Where is the administrative center of the Incas? The Spaniards made nail-headed decisions here too, erasing Inca architecture and replacing it with their sophisticated architecture from the 16th to

So it's not easy to find the Incas: only by looking very closely can they be recognized

17th century. You can admire the seamless Inca masonry, from which, upon closer inspection, you can see leopards, condors, etc. - but are they real? Everything has been sandblasted to perfection,

The stone is carefully examined for its breaking points and then split. It is ground and made to fit with hard volcanic stone. Duration: 1 month

We're stocked up with delicious things, but I won't cook anymore. But I'll have cheese, wine, fruit, etc. on the table. The tent, connected to the Defender, is quickly heated, pure luxury!! And after dinner, Sandra sets the foundation for my bed.

July 2nd.

I didn't freeze! Rolf's first task of the morning is preparing the tea. Only then do preparations for breakfast begin. Bruno is looking around the breakfast table for a moment until it becomes clear to me that he is expecting his dog bed back.

'That's definitely my mat!'

During breakfast, Rolf announces that he wants to watch the Confederations Cup match between Chile and Germany, and specifically at the Norton. This bar at Plaza de Arma is his favorite because he himself rides a Norton, and he has to take advantage of the fact that he can find this bar here in Cusco.

The day's program revolves around the start of the final match - at 1:00 pm. We arrive around 2:00 pm and just missed Germany's goal against Chile. The bar is crowded, the tap is constantly flowing, trays of hamburgers are passed around, we are hesitant about how to behave if Germany scores another goal. But soon we realize that the Peruvians are not on the side of their continent, but they cheer when the Chileans are hit and boo when the Germans are censured.

Emotion pure!!! There is a lot of laughter, no deadly seriousness, and even if it had been different, we could have come out in any way.

After the match, we stand on the narrow wooden balcony of Spanish construction and more or less lazily look at the Plaza de Arma and the cathedral diagonally opposite. A massive building that I definitely want to take a closer look at.

The game was exciting

When the white, sharply contoured clouds cover the sun, it immediately gets cold, and we retreat. The whole way steeply uphill again? Preferably a taxi. The rest of the taxi ride is determined by the unusually early beer, in the evening a bit of cheese with wine and fruit. The preheated sleeping bag is waiting.

July 3rd.

With the more stable weather, there is movement on the campground. After much back and forth, I have decided to visit Machu Picchu. Aguas Calientes, the town at the foot of Machu Picchu, is about 6 to 7 hours by sprinter van from here to the northwest. A good offer that includes transportation and two nights' accommodation. The reason why I'm hesitating lies in the masses of people who all want to go there, the now quite high level of organization that dictates that you cannot move around there without a guide, that you have to have already ordered the ticket online, that the stay in the park is limited in time, and the ascent of Machu Picchu itself requires an additional fee. It's also not possible to do the 4-day Inca Trail spontaneously, but it has to be booked weeks in advance. Everything has two sides, and if there were no regulation in this direction at all, there might soon no longer be Machu Picchu in this form...
And this cumbersome 'must-see' disrupts travel principles. The activist for gentle travel finds himself in a long line of photographing, yawning, coffee-to-go-drinking people in the early hours of the morning...

So this day has two tasks: meeting my Australian friend on Plaza de Arma and getting the ticket.
The Swiss family is also considering going to Machu Picchu but wants to first check prices. So we arrange to go to the agency together later. First, I want to arrange the appointment with Andrew. And once again, the dependency on internet technology becomes apparent. I can't synchronize my emails and therefore don't know if Andrew is already waiting on the plaza and has sent a proposed appointment. Uncertainty that annoys me. With Rolf's technique, I get access to my server in Oldenburg, but no emails there either. So he hasn't written yet. But then everything falls into place. We just start walking, I charge my phone on the way, I decide to do the Machu Picchu tour in two days, we eat delicious French chocolate croissants along the way, and while we are immersed in enjoyment, a message from Andrew comes in. Manuela is still shopping, and at the agreed time, we are at the meeting point. Blind date - we look and search for one who could be Andrew, and after 5 minutes, a strong man emerges from the crowd. We exchange the 'merchandise' - conspiratorial and quirky like at the Glienicke Bridge at dawn - and I want to invite him for a beer, but he is not feeling well and on his way to the clinic.
We take a taxi back, and I am glad that the spare parts have made the long journey from the post office at home to Cusco, Peru.
The hectic atmosphere of the morning has subsided on the campground and is replaced by a calm bustle. Rolf and Sandra have a big plan for tonight. It can only have something to do with an exceptionally good meal... and I'm not completely wrong because the two have something to celebrate and want to share the occasion with me.
It's a message they have been waiting for a long time, and anyone who knows Germany's bureaucracy can imagine how relieved they are when they finally find the long-awaited email in their inbox - and exactly according to their wishes!
Peru is known for its high and demanding cuisine - at least I didn't know that until I met Rolf and Sandra, but today's menu also surpassed all the records we have experienced so far.

A gentle tap with the tip of the knife on the ball. Caramel dreams are revealed...

Glass shards in the good dessert! ...dissolved in a few minutes

Sandra feels it's important to meet the chef. Chef? Artist!!! All the guests are gone again. We were the first and are now the last. Rolf, himself a connoisseur, is horrified at how quickly and almost dull - the Smartie next to the plate!!! - the laboriously created creations of the chef were devoured. I observe a table of four, it's different there. Apart from a junior around 12 years old, there are three adults sitting at the table who have decided to teach the youngest table manners, involve him in table conversations, give him the word and opportunity to appreciate the dishes or ask what exactly these delicacies are. Everything is balanced - not treating an only child, but very natural.
The chef - off with the chef's hat - it's celebration evening - is delighted with the invitation to our table, and we drink a digestive Pisco in his honor.

Receives recognition for his work with a request for it to be passed on to his assistants!

No one expected this, although it doesn't seem so far-fetched when you walk through the Centro Historico of Cusco with open eyes. The streets are steep and narrow and require concentration and fine motor skills from the taxi driver.
But it is not to be. There are two ways to our campground, and the taxi driver chooses the short and therefore steep, very steep variant with a 90-degree left turn.
At the wrong moment, he slows down, quickly shifts into first gear, and the clutch has some play, the front wheels spin and pull the car onto the pedestrian stairs leading upwards.
That's the end of the line, let it roll back, start again, gas, clutch, no success.
Finally, the taxi driver, Rolf, and I get out, adjust and push - which actually has an effect - to a point where the taxi can continue on its own.

Experience worlds can be so close together:
just feasted like princes, now hands-on and exhaust fumes for reality...

Rolf is suffering... is it from the pisco or from muscle soreness from pushing?

July 4th.

The new day begins for Rolf with big stones in his head that find a new source of pain with every movement. He looks at me critically from head to toe - waiting for me to lose my self-control, sigh in pain, and join his suffering. Unfortunately, I'm feeling fine. No headache, slept well, not cold - except for the slight gray haze that draws across my field of vision after such an evening. It's the kind that I only notice when it's gone - the next morning when I'm back in rhythm.
Rolf is not influenced by this in his tea ceremony.

Tomorrow morning, I have to be at Plaza de Arma very early to take the three-day tour to Machu Picchu. That means I have to have a hostel for the Vespas and for myself upon my return. But I don't take the challenge seriously, I doze in the sun with Rolf, and finally, the correct nozzle is in the carburetor. Finally, the wire drawing factory is over! I have a hostel in mind that offers scooter parking, but I soon realize that this won't be easy. Finally, the easier way prevails: I ask if the Vespa can stay here and already know a hostel that I will book for myself. Everything works out, and I am booked into the Supertramp. On the slope of the city with a great view, a large terrace - I don't need to see the rest.
We take another stroll into town. I have a delicious ceviche, although it is very small, a delicious fish salad with onions. The length of the evening suffers from its predecessor and also from the fact that I have to be at Plaza de Arma at 7:30 am tomorrow. Nevertheless, a nice ending, and I am glad to turn my back on Cusco.