Living in Cusco, I can imagine, must be like living in a place like San Francisco in the Free Love/Hippie days. Backpackers, Rasta guys in dreads, gypsies, upscale tourists and locals blend to make Cusco the mecca of Peru's nightlife scene on the route to Machu Picchu. It is more uncommon than not to be heading out to the bar at eleven at night, and many of the hostel guests are just wandering home after the breakfast hour. Live music is everywhere, from Pearl Jam tribute bands to salsa music, small bars to discotechs, you can envelop yourself in a Cusqueña (local beer) and whatever your sounds of choice are any night of the week. This, of course, suits me well, and I've spent many of my nights here out Gringa dancing...aka trying to salsa dance, but let's not kid ourselves, I have zero rhythm. Although the salsa music here is likely unmatched by what one might find in Colombia, I continue to find my hips involuntarily moving to the beats of the jovial music.
Brief summary of hostel living: mostly hot showers, people from nations that I have certainly never been to, and the threaded common bond of the love for wandering down the less travelled road. I teach my first pottery class (to children, in English) on Saturday morning, and in the meantime am bartending at Yamanya.
Thus far, I continue to be left breathless by the terrain of the Andes. Coming from previous travel in tropical and jungle areas, I was initially taken aback by the lack in greenery. But the more time I spend getting lost in the narrow streets of Cusco, I am finding the terra cotta and earth tones endlessly dimensional. I started by day today with a brisk morning hike up to the edge of Cusco, passing llamas and alpacas on my way, and finishing at the blanco Jesus Cristo that overlooks Cusco for it's continued protection.
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