Sundays.

Sundays are my favorite days in Cusco; I like the volunteering the best each day but that’s only for a few hours, so Sunday takes the blue ribbon for days. Each Sunday I down my breakfast of fresh juice, fruit, bread & one fried egg before I head out to walk about a mile up the valley hills to San Cristobal Church. No, I’m not heading to mass, I got my time in during Easter, this Church only services weekday masses. Like every other church in Cusco, it’s old, built of brick & stone, a rusty bell tower & aged crosses that signal the faith is still strong here in Peru. As far as churches go, this is one of the least impressive ones in Cusco, but to rest on the grass slopes that protect it, suits my purposes perfectly.

I typically am up there before 9am so I can hear the city wake up; the bells from the various churches start to ring in the believers, or wake the heathens, while there is barely a taxi horn in earshot. I love hearing the organ from the main cathedral as I read, watching the procession of students who march the streets each Sunday (I’ve seen 17 parades so far), a friendly soccer game being played in the square next to me, and eventually the tourist all coming to walk the ruins; I see it all unfold each Sunday.

This past Sunday was especially wonderful, after I flew through a few chapters of East of Eden, I returned home to meet a couple housemates, Connor & Ryan, as we were heading out to Pisac. This town is in the heart of the Sacred Valley, 45m from Cusco, which is where Quechuan people are found after the Spanish settled the area once they destroyed the Inca Empire. For Gringos, it houses an incredible market on Sundays; every exotic vegetable you can imagine, jewelry, pottery, clothes, art, antiques; if it is found or produced in the Andes, you will be able to find it here. We strolled the market for a while & then decided to head to see some ruin of the Incas.

There are two things I figured out this week; one I will not becoming a painter when I return (our incredible project manager on the site, told me in Spanish today I paint like I’m drunk) & I don’t think my lungs are made for anything over 12,000ft…10,000ft…the second level of Dodger Stadium. Seriously, the work of climbing these mountains is no joke; my legs are fine, but its stifling trying to catch my breath. I’m not going to let a little thing like oxygen depravation hold me back, so we pressed on, and made the summit where the ruins of The Citadel laid. The amount of effort it took to construct such a display is rightfully mind-boggling, but I can’t take my eyes from the view. The lush mountains stretched to the clouds on either side of us & left the narrow cranny for Pisac to be born, while on one side a river ran & kilometers of fields helped shape its fame. I sat on the edge of an ancient Incan room of worship, read, and relaxed as the sun set over the ridgeline while my mates kept exploring the complex.

We returned a few hours later, a sense of accomplishment, but a greater sense of hunger. Luckily there was a café open with balcony seating, as we munched on Alpaca Cheeseburgers & watched as the market shut down for the day. A taxi home lead us to staying up way to late, as we sipped on Pisco & Coca Cola Lites while we played cards with one of our Quechuan house attendants. Niyda, made up a game, that was news to Connor & I, until we figured out she could speak enough English to explain that she was cheating the whole time. Hustled in another language; I told her I’d teacher her poker next week!!!

Like I said - I love Sundays (aka Domingos). I’ll see what next weekend brings…