As my plane was descending over los apus of Cusco, it was as if the fear and trepidation I had held the last two weeks melted away. The newfound sensation of calm was more likely a result of exhaustion- I had spent nearly two days en route to my future home- versus truly coming to terms with the end result of my decision to brave this new world. Whether due to the lack of sleep or the lack of oxygen, as Cusco is more than 14,000 ft above sea level, I disembarked the plane with confidence. I know this place, I know this language, I know that I am brave.
Well, maybe I am still trying to figure out the brave part.
Either way, this blonde gringa (with hair as unruly as ever after dos dias sans shower and plane-sleep) gathered my luggage, negotiated with the taxi driver, and made my way to Yamanya, my new home for the next month. My bartending/whatever-the-heck-they-want-me-to-do position at Yamanya was a result of some savvy blog-stalking of Cam's blog, where the ex-pat Aussie reveals the ups and downs of her journey infiltrating the social and economic life of Cusco and the opening of her own hostel, Yamanya. After some pretty lengthy e-mails (and having dear Cam call me una loca on a few occasions), she agreed to give me room and board here in exchange for work while I get my feet wet in Cusco.
Living in a hostel: best. decision. ever. To give those of you an idea of hostel living, it's not always a cardboard box situated next to a rooster farm (see: Paracas, June trip, not so fun). Hostels in Cusco can be anywhere from a twenty-four hour rave party to a dirty room with anti-social travelers. Yamanya falls in the middle, keeping quiet hours so the staff can get some shut-eye, but also a beautiful bar boasting happy hours, mojitos, and a healthy helping of laughing staff at any given moment. The hostel is a mosaic of colors and paintings, courtyards, even vessel sinks in the bathrooms. Yet, dirt cheap, it attracts the best of backpackers from all over the world.
Bunked in the staff room with my fellow Yamanya-ers, I hadn't been here more than an hour before I crawled into a top bunk and proceeded to pass. the. f. out...not two hours later I was awoken by my now friends laughing at how I must sleep all the time. Crawling out of my feather-nest, I felt as though I made friends for a lifetime in minutes. Re-reading that sentence, I take full responsibility for the lame-ness that I just exhibited, but it's the truth. Sara from Seattle, Niall from northern England, Nivas from Peru, Rielly, also from Seattle, and another man from Chile- with all of us combined we could write our own version of a South America Lonely Planet book.
So far I have gotten lost, spent my first night in Cusco dancing in a bar to salsa music until 3:30 in the morning, eaten as much street food as I can get my hands on (whilst avoiding traveller's diarrhea, thank you stomach of steel), wrote journal entries in the Plaza del Armas under the shadows of the looming basilicas that frame the square, nursed Cusequena hangovers with peach-filled croissants for s/.1, spent nights with my Peruano friends laughing at my gringa dancing, learned to play Sapo, purchased a cell phone that is worse than my 1999 Nokia (that I still haven't figured out how to use)...and throughout all of this, I have felt a greater sense of peace and happiness than I've felt in a long time.
Or maybe it's the lack of oxygen.
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