Cusco's Saqsaywaman Hike

As far as Mark is concerned, a "light day" means not getting into the car. It doesn't mean we don't explore and hike any less, or take a thousand pictures; it does mean a nap at some point during the day which really, everyone likes.  On our first "light day," we started the morning walking down to Plaza de Armas for morning drinks and walking straight back up the thousands of steps to visit Saqsaywaman (sounds like "sexy woman" when said by Margo) an Incan citadel that overlooks Cusco valley at 12,142 feet. To use the word "impressive" doesn't quite explain the feeling when you get there. Maybe stupefied, monumental or profound? In any case, the carved mortarless rocks are very cool. We conquered the top of the fortress and upon taking a water break, Deets asked if we could visit Giant Jesus, better known as Cristo Blanco on the neighboring hill. So we did. At 26 feet tall, it's a tinier version than Rio's Christ the Redeemer who is 125 feet tall. 

By now we all reached a threatening point of crabbiness and thirst, so initial plan was to grab a snack then nap. But first we had to go back down the thousands of steps thinking we could cut across the hill and find something on the way. Of course we made our way exactly back to Plaza de Armas and totally distracted: adorable kids in school uniforms running around, music playing, photography exhibits on the square... there is almost always something going on here. Instead, a friendly voice directed us to a Papachos for local beer and burgers, and coloring for the kids (and me). The hostess handed over crayons and pictures to color which offended Deets to no end. He only colors on blank paper thank you very much. Perhaps it interferes with his creative mojo, but every time we have to talk him down from his indignation and tell people thank you for the gesture. Weirdo.

One long walk and several hours later than previously hoped, we made it home- and passed out. We probably ate something later that night but I don't remember. I'm sure it was amazing. 

Saqsaywaman.

Taking a rest. Saqsaywaman.

Cristo Blanco.

Saqsaywaman.

Photo credit: Deets.

Camera standoff with Dad.

All dressed up for the photo.

Saqsaywaman.

Saqsaywaman.

Sacred Valley Tour, Peru

Even though we all were tired enough from traveling and sun exposure, sound sleep was hard to find. In a matter of minutes we all became nose whistling mouth breathers in our heatless apartment. Sure we were provided a space heater and were nearly flattened with layers of heavy blankets, but finding a stable temperature proved quite difficult. Plus we'd later learn that the home owner would charge us over a 100 dollars to use the (useless) heater, which made the house feel even colder. For the first few nights Mark and I ended up playing musical beds (the house did have seven total) in three different rooms to deal with insomniac children, dry coughs and snores, and ice cold feet against overly warm bodies.

Nevertheless, we all woke early from jet lag and the excitement of seeing giant stacks of handcrafted ancient rocks, perfectly placed during the Incan empire. We hired a driver to do a circuit tour around the Sacred Valley- someone experienced to handle steep hairpin turns and navigating amongst the masses of tour buses on two lane highways. I'm prone to car sickness so I won the front passenger seat, but nearly regretted it when the sun hit the dashboard.

Our first stop was a alpaca/cultural site called Awanakancha that introduced us to the many types of even toed ungulates which we could feed with unlimited stalks of greenery. The alpacas were a huge hit and not just with kids. I didn't see a single person frowning there, even if we were in tight quarters with a mess of camera happy and selfie stick jabbing tourists getting herded down to the line to the other end. Past the alpaca pens, we watched weavers, corn shuckers, and jewelry makers present their talents with adorable children right by their side. If the kids were excited about feeding alpacas, I was over the moon looking at the variety of potatoes and corn grown in Peru. I love food so much.

Onward we went to Pisac to gape at ancient terraces, tombs, and fortresses at 10,826 feet. Nothing says fun than walking halfway up the mountain when your daughter announces she needs to use the bathroom in the most urgent way. We could tell on a few less worn paths people unfortunately had marked their territory in ungallant ways. Undeterred, we found the proper bathroom and continued our venture up to the fortresses lined with empty rooms, perfect for playing "cozinha," Margo's Brazilian version to playing house... or rather "kitchen." And as we became champions of the Incan Fortress, we quickly headed back to the van to escape the increasingly congested stairways.

I suspect we were ragingly late on our return, having spent over two hours hiking. Everyone was in dangerous range of hangriness, but still opted to run through Pisac's giant market at the bottom of the mountain. Deets was obsessed with getting a chess board, and Margo wanted to buy her classmates toy alpacas. Those missions accomplished it was another hour fifteen minutes to get to the brewery we'd picked out for lunch. Mark reasoned we could avoid complaints of car sickness if the kids slept on empty stomachs. He was right.

We passed through a couple towns, one being notable for its famous grilled cuy (Guinea pig.) Sure enough, Calca, a town with puma pride, had women waving their cuy-on-a-stick to cars; the shiny taut skin charred to a deep maroon/brown, feet and heads intact. I enjoyed this so much I didn't think to take a picture. Once out of their town, Mark muttered something about my responsibility to look for the brewery that may or may not be directly on the roadside; or possibly across the river and past the railroad tracks. Knowing how late we were for lunch, I was freaking out that I'd miss it, saving all my attention to blurry buildings and unreadable signs. We lucked out, and the driver deftly turned into the parking lot for Sacred Valley Brewing Company (Cerveceria del Valle Sagrado). Beered and fed with ample time to play with rocks and harass the local cat, we were all fit for another stop: the Ollantaytambo Ruins at 9,169 feet.

Our driver gave us 45 minutes to ascend and return to the van. Craning my view to the top, I doubted this to be feasible. But the kids all but ran up the steps, nary a complaint to be uttered. We traversed across stone irrigation channels, up the terraced layers, and past thousands of tons of carved rocks with spy windows in between. We made it back filthy to the core and only ten minutes late!

I was certain this was the last hurrah for the day, especially since it was 4:15pm already. But some time later the driver abruptly turned left into Chinchero at 12,343 feet. He gave us thirty minutes, but with the dropping sun and cold temperatures, we kept on schedule, giving Margo exactly five minutes to make her (losing) case not to see rocks anymore. Deets however gained his second wind and was climbing on anything he could make purchase on, followed by sprinting across a terrace field which quite frankly was irresistible even for me. When Margo caught up, she ran too. And 28 minutes later we collapsed in the van watching the sky turn red, orange and purple- a twilight comparable only to a Colorado version. We arrived home around 8pm, with the bus depot across the street already filled with empty tour buses from what was likely a full day for many others.

Alpaca saying hi at Awanakancha.

Weaver at Awanakancha.

Potatoes of every shape and size.
Awanakancha

Incan ruins in Pisac.

Pisac ruins.

Pisac Market.

Pisac Market.

Mmm. Beer.

Ollantaytambo Ruins from below.

And above.

And from the side. Expert terracing.

Needing no encouragement.
Ollantaytambo.

My Margo, so fearless.
Ollantaytambo.

Chinchero Ruins.

Chinchero field that drops off to nothingness.

Chinchero at sunset.

Chinchero Champion Climber.

Chinchero local. 

Cusco, Peru

According the Lonely Planet Peru, "the Incans deemed Cuzco and the Sacred Valley the belly button of the world." Now, I have worked as an operating room nurse and I have pulled some strange and very gross things out of belly buttons so I found the book's description nauseating and well, wrong. Cusco et. al is anything but, and we could feel this the moment the plane broke through the fog of Lima, rising against the grain of the Andes Mountain Range. When I first saw the snow peaks I was so excited that I jumped out of my seat and across the aisle, scaring the man dozing against the window. He accepted my apology and adroitly went back to sleep despite the wafting dung bomb in the bathroom, and my children (and me) cheering over the fact we were flying over 25 million year old mountains.

In less than 90 minutes we found ourselves wandering past baskets and baskets of free coca leaves, eager taxi drivers jockeying for customers, and into the parking lot to meet our Air BnB hostess who hired a van to take us across town. She marched us inside our home for the week to discuss not only the house, but to assist us in planning transportation and timelines to make the most of our time here. We'd have a few big, napless travel days to tour the valley mixed with a few milder days exploring around Cusco. The kids, already adept to Schlink Family Fun Hikes went along with the plan more or less. We tried to focus on all the awesomeness that granite rocks, forts, and llamas bring to the table, and less on the long curvy roads, elevation challenges, and the inevitable amount of walking we'd do.

Luckily, our apartment was only a fifteen minute walk to Plaza das Armas, the big famous square of Cusco. Adorned with giant churches, gaping tourists, shops, and restaurants, there's plenty of comforts to be found. We marched the kids directly there in search of food, but first and foremost to watch the 2016 Champions' League Final. The entire city was busting with sounds of soccer fans, and nary a seat to be found- which didn't bode well for exhausted and hungry kids. We ended up at a pub with a surly bartender where we (I) ate a lack luster plate of tapas: pickled meats, spicy olives and cheese. Perhaps it wasn't the best choice, for the kids lasted about twenty minutes before I tugged them back up the hill to take a much needed nap. Luckily, they bounced back for another trek into town at dinner time, where Deets picked a Peruvian restaurant called Deva that boasted its famous "chicha de jora" a sweet and frothy fermented corn beer. To make matters even better, we enjoyed pisco sours and Cusquena Quinoa Beer to wash down ceviche and roasted alpaca tenderloin. Verdict on the alpaca: chewy. Perhaps grilled might be better?

The Plaza on the way home was crammed with spectators watching a traditional music dance show. The kids danced to stay warm in the quickly cooling night while I jogged off to pick up necessary ground coffee for the morning. We made it home around 8pm and... by 8:30pm, we had all passed out. 

Andes Mountain Range

Peaks estimated to be around 20,000 feet.

Big.

Just outside Cusco

Overhead view of Saqsaywaman Ruins
overlooking the valley in which Cusco sits.

Cusco, Peru

Plaza de Armas
Church of the Society of Jesus

Quinoa beer. Clean taste but you need to
ignore the smell of silo corn storage.

Porto de Galinhas

In Porto de Galinhas, before you even get out of your car the vendors will find you. They stand in the middle of the road, frantically waving down cars promising a full day of adventure, leisure and wonder. The enthusiasm is no less upon the cobblestone pedestrian streets lined with restaurants and vendors, or the beach... lined with restaurants and vendors. I love that I could buy myself a wooden boat, or eat myself sick with fresh-shucked oysters. I love that I can drink a cocktail from a cored out pineapple and pick out fabric for the dinner table and only get up from my chair to pee in the ocean. The quest for lethargy is equal to the enticing snorkeling, surfing and SUP lessons opportunities. I will admit though, that the constant milling and prodding can get annoying but my kids have the "thanks but no thanks" gig down pat so that helps. I just need to teach them not to yell it before the vendor even arrives.

This Saturday's excursion was no different except this time we did an overnight stay at a local pousada owned by one of Margo's classmate's moms: Perola do Porto. There were 5 other school families already there so my kids paired several hours of swimming at the beach with several hours of pool time while the parents drank caipirinhas and beer will into the night. With all the sun exposure, I used Deets' 8pm bedtime as an excuse to pass out early because going to bed with Margo (who asked to go to bed) at 6:30pm would've been unseemly. The next day my kids woke up right on time (crack of dawn) for several more hours of swimming completely unbothered by pruned fingers or chlorine reddened eyes. They are so hardcore.

Lounge, boat, swim, repeat.

Buy, buy!

Sell, sell!

"Mustache Kiosk"

Snack, snack!

Eat, eat!

Tablecloth vendor.

Voice vendor.

Fresh pressed sugar cane juice vendor.

Chickens, roosters, hens...

Porto de G around the bend.

Girlfriends. 

The Fearsome Four.

February March April in Recife...

Over the last eight weeks, the Schlinks have fallen into a comfortable routine mostly consisting of school, work, and beach. Deets started kindergarten and joined a soccer team. He's been tasked with reading and math homework nearly every night at an impressive pace of curricular expectation. Margo isn't far behind with twice weekly homework assignments such as learning how to tear pieces of paper, rolling them into balls and gluing them down; a development of fine motor skills for three year olds. Glue is probably her favorite thing at the moment. That, or lipstick. She and her brother both swim twice a week at school too. Last Friday I broke the news to David that his back ordered sunga (bikini brief swim suit) finally arrived and he'd be required to wear it from now on. His response: but it's so tiny! Sure is, kid.

I had a work trip to San Diego where I spent the week dealing with buckets of fake blood, asphyxiated babies, mass casualty situations, and meeting my nursey cohorts literally from all over the world. I filled up a notebook, agonized over my IV placement skills, and drank a ton of beer with old friends to soothe all that learning. When I got back, I got talked into joining a ballet class. While I have yet to purchase a tutu, I love the regiment and conformity of it all. All the women coif their hair in tight buns and present themselves in chest popping leotards. They couldn't be any nicer. It's not a class where we perform recitals which is a double bonus- sorry to disappoint those looking for a good laugh. I know I would if I saw me dance. I'm quite awkward.

Mark travelled a little too. He flew to Rio de Janeiro where he participated in what I can only imagine as nail biting, collaborative, show-and-tell work meetings. In classic Mark fashion, he trekked along the beaches, hiked Pão de Açucar, and blasted through the city on foot. In a downpour. He too, drank beer and ate fancy food with old and new friends. He continues to work his tail off and looking to the future, mostly about the big move to Namibia and fantasizing about grilling zebra meat. 

Back in Recife and between the work trips, we rekindled our motivation to do the beach thing, heading out nearly every weekend to surf, boogie board, and/or snorkel. Most of our trips focused on Maracaìpe for the big waves. I'd hide under the umbrella and nag my children to put on more sunscreen to the point that Deets tried to avoid me altogether. Mark and Deets would fight waves or go boarding- heck even Margo tried it a few times. We'd wash out the taste of sea water with coconut water and beer, and do it all again the next weekend.

One weekend we decided to branch out and went to Serrambi, a swanky, isolated, and tranquil beach good for snorkeling. The catch: there are no services aside from the occasional ice cream vendor or the price gouging services at the Serrambi Beach Resort. Going rate to use their umbrellas: 100 Reais/person. Unprepared yet determined to have a good time, we endured the cloudless, breeze-less sky. While Mark snorkeled with the kids I wallowed in the disconcertingly warm water and pretended to love it. Margo exfoliated my hair with handfuls of sand while she waited her turn to snorkel. It was 100% my fault, but since I didn't jump onto the snorkeling train soon enough nor express my desire to leave, I morphed into an angry cur, yelling my indignation to anyone who'd listen. Good thing everyone else was also too hot and tired to pay me any attention.

I swore off beaches. Until the next weekend when I got talked into going back to Maracaìpe with some friends. So we returned with smiles and everything. Now this weekend has passed and we spent today at Porto de Galinhas, the most popular beach in the northeast. It's a huge touristy sandy spread one hour south of Recife, known for "piscinas naturais" (shallow pools good for snorkeling) and scuba diving. There's boat tours, dune buggy tours, vendors and curios available from the moment you make eye contact. You don't ever have to leave your chair. The busyness and milling of people has its own charm, and the collection of colorful sail boats add to the atmosphere of eternal optimistic paradise. I still need and want to spend more time in the town itself, which is a mixture of quirky, hippy, and tropical chic. Unfortunately our trip got cut short due to a down pour so we opted to drive home soaked and crusted in sand, but for the first time ever- not hot. Perhaps obviously I will return for a do over but with a proper camera and dry clothes in tow.

Despite not being a huge fan of the beach, I am glad we resumed taking advantage of the weekend day trips. So much so, that I've begun planning the next several weekends with enthusiasm: a return to Porto and uncharted territory north of the city: Maria Farinha. We will see. It breaks up the week, though I relish the monotony of homework and projects- it's like our kids are turning into real people. 

Deets' new sunga.
Yes- we feed this kid.

A snapshot of nursing fun.
For more: https://goo.gl/photos/RsTguagSK18rpDnX8

Zinka's awesomeness. Maracaipe Beach.

Dancing. Sorta. Boa Viagem.

Master of the boogie board.
Maracaipe Beach

Porto de Galinhas

Porto de Galinhas

Carting snorkel gear to the boats:
Porto de Galinhas.

Scuba tanks: Porto de Galinhas.