"P" and "O" are still for Pisac and Ollyantatambo...

.After lunch at Inkalicious, we headed off towards our next stay, which was in the tongue-twistery named town of Ollantaytambo. Remember that two L's in a word are pronounced as a Y, so it's simple enough to say "oh yan tay tambo", which is the proper way to say it, but for whatever reason, my mind  (and tongue) just couldn't seem to do so. I wanted to say the L's, and it would come out all wrong, like "oh lee LAN Tay ambo" and such. I eventually heard someone say "O-town" and that's what it became.

The drive was beautiful, tall mountains surrounding the lush Sacred Valley, crops of corn and potatoes dotting the landscape as we drove. 

The town itself is like a step back in time. It dates from the 15th century, and has the oldest continuously occupied dwellings in South America. Imagine! Continuously occupied since the time of the Incas.

It's built in a grid formation, with I think 4 main parallel roads that intersect with 7 streets. And in the centre is the main plaza that has a small park in in, surrounded on all 4 sides by little shops and restaurants. It seems like everywhere we went, in Peru, I thought was "my favorite place", but I really think Ollantaytambo was my favorite place.

The streets that branched off of the main plaza were very narrow, and cobblestoned, with high walls and secret looking doors. 

And notice the water rushing down the right side of the picture? That's how the homes get their water to this day. It races through the streets and lanes, and into the homes. Water from Inca aqueducts. Sounds sort of romantic-ish, but I did see dogs standing in it to cool off, no to no doubt have a pee, and there was garbage here and there as well. I'm sure it was a seething mass of germs, but the locals cook with it and drink it with no ill effects. I stuck to bottled water.

This lane had a dry channel. Apparently they block certain sections off for a day, or sometimes just for a few hours, for maintenance and cleaning.

It just seemed so...I don't know, "back in time-ish" to be sitting at a restaurant, and having the water streaming down the middle of the road. I kept wondering how many drunk tourists stumble into these little channels and sprain an ankle as they wander home at night. That's not as touristy-bashing as it sounds, Ollantaytambo is the final stop on the way to Machu Picchu and thus there are a lot of Trekkers who have a day prior to their trek to kick back and relax. 

Another secret looking lane.

I walked and wandered through the streets, just turning left or right as the moment hit me, it would be so easy to get lost if the  place was much bigger, however the streets weren't much more than seven or eight  blocks in any direction, so it was fairly easy to find your way back to where you started from.

I was enthralled by all the doors and what was behind them....from homes to hostels to restaurants and small shops and stores. 

Above: A hostel

Above: Somebody's home.

Above: A cafe.

Above: hmmm...not sure what's in here.

Our hotel was just a couple of minutes walk from the plaza, another cute place.  It was older, and sort of tattered in places, my sheets were clean, but were obviously old as they had some bad thin spots and some torn edges at the corners. My room had a bed, a small night stand and a piece of triangle shaped wood hammered in the corner as a shelf.  You can see the wonderfully luxurious duvet. It sat on top of two incredibly heavy woolen blankets, plus a regular blanket and a sheet. Remember....no central heating in hotels. 

But look at the view!

The Andes!

Even from the bathroom!

Beautiful terra cotta rooftops with the typical Christian cross and Inca symbol.

I was curious as to why every single home that we saw had this same ornament on top. As it turns out, when the Spanish invaded and decided, in all their Christian wisdom to convert everyone, they made sure that every home had a Christian cross on top, to show that they had been converted. However, the Quechua people (because remember? They weren't actually "Incas", they were Quechua with a ruler who was the Inca.) anyhow, they had previously had the bulls on their roofs as a symbol of duality (male and female) and wealth and fertility. Some people say that the bulls were a sign to the gods to ask for protection. Regardless, it became a quirky mixture of Catholicism and Incan tradition.

And speaking of quirky, our hotel, the Inka Gardens, was set up in a very quirky way. There were three sections, shaped like an open square, two stories high, except for the newer part, which was three, but basically it was like  a million other motels around the world, but in this place, none of the sections or stairs  connected with any of the other parts. In other words, to get from my section to someone else's meant going down a flight of stairs, around a corner, up another flight, and usually that still didn't get me where I wanted to be. I'd go down again, circle around the little bar/restaurant in the middle, go up another flight of stairs and find myself somewhere else entirely. It was a constant confusion for me. Maybe it was just me. Everyone else seemed to be able to congregate for a glass of wine, and I was left wandering aimlessly up and down endless flights of stairs. 

Margy, in the orange hat, inviting me for wine. I don't think I ever did find my way to her area. I did manage to get on the little sun deck you can see, it was on top of the tiny bar and breakfast area, it didn't attach to the rest of the hotel at all, there were times when I seriously considered taking a running leap to get to where I wanted to be.

This is a photo of the inside of the motel grounds, looking out, and the picture below this one is from the outside, looking in. I got such a kick out of walking back here in the evening, going through our own little secret door.

Once we got ourselves organized in our rooms, Esther and myself decided to walk to the plaza and see what there was to see. Unfortunately we only walked a short distance when she suddenly felt quite ill and decided to go back to her room. I didn't see her for 2 days...she was very sick with something...flu, water problems, altitude, or a combination of all three. So I continued on my own, exploring the plaza and the back streets as well. 

I went into the market, I was feeling the need for some fresh fruit. I figured bananas and oranges were the best best since both can be peeled and neither needed to be washed. The grapes looked so tasty, but it didn't seem wise to wash them with water that came from the streets....

The veggies looked so huge, I've never seen carrots this size before! And they make a pre -packaged salad too, lots of julienned and diced veggies, all in a bag, ready to eat. As a matter of fact, I noticed a lot of small kids running around with a bag of these, eating them as a snack. What a good idea. And you can see small bags of what I assume is some sort of dressing or marinade as well.

Massive carrots.

All kinds of fruit.

So I bought a banana and decided to go and find the craft market that I heard about, which is not at all the same as the fruit and veggie market. It took me forever to realize that  "the market" and "the market" didn't mean the same thing at all. So, I left the market to wander over to the market, but I got hopelessly turned around and ended up back in an alley.

However....this turned out to be a really good thing because as I woefully peered into doorways, looking for a market, a woman saw me and waved me into her doorway, which turned out to be her home!

It was basically one large room. When you entered her house, the bedroom was to the left. Hanging from the ceiling rafters were dried corn and fish.

I know that those look like bats or something even creepier, but its just dried trout.

There was a small step down, to the right, and this was both her kitchen area, this picture shows her "stove" and you can just see the corner of the table.

And running all over the place, but unable to get up that step, were guinea pigs, or cuy, as they are called here,  I think there was about 40 or 50, including little babies. Sweet Eddy had mentioned earlier that most families had 50 or so guinea pigs in their homes, they raise them to eat. I'm wondering in hindsite if the woman expected me to purchase one.

She waved her arms around, gesturing to the parts of her home, and we smiled at each other and then I went on my way. It was quite unusual. I didn't see any place that could be considered a toilet, although I guess with no running water, they don't really have one. A bucket that they empty now and then? I kept meaning to ask Eddy, but I kept forgetting.

I eventually found my way back to the square, and back to the hotel, just in time to join some folks for dinner. We went back to the plaza, to a place called Papas, where I once again wasn't hungry so I just  had a sandwich, a loma saltado. 

Mmmm....strips of sirloin marinated in soy sauce and spices, then stir fried with onions and peppers. A classic Asian-Peruvian mixture. And the ubiquitous potato.

After we ate, we walked back to the motel, it was dark out, very few street lights exist in these small towns, and so the stars were magnificent, I stopped to gaze upwards and to my pleasure I realized that I was in a new hemisphere and thus the constellations were different! And there was the Southern Cross. I can't tell you what joy that gave me to see. When I was a kid and my parents were teaching me about the stars, the first constellation I learned was of course, The Big Dipper, and I remember being told that kids on the other side of the world couldn't see it, but they saw, instead, The Southern Cross. I was quite jealous, The Southern Cross sounded much more exotic than The Big Dipper, that just sounded like a kitchen utensil. Anyhow, I asked Sweet Eddy, just to make sure, and yup, sure enough, there it was. How lucky that it was a clear night.

I slept like a log in my woolen blanket laden bed....no barking dogs, or at least they didn't bark much, not compared to the carrying on they did in Cusco. Between the the dogs, the partiers, the drunks and the police, it was hard to sleep in Cusco. The dogs here had a bit of a go around for a half an hour or so, and then I guess they must have all gone to bed. Small town life...even for dogs. However....at about 4:30 AM the rooster started, I think he may have had the room beside me. Damn rooster.

My feather duvet and the two heavy blankets. There is seriously no need for heat in these motels.

The pretty lamp in my room. The duality of the sun and the moon is everywhere here.

In the morning, at the breakfast bar, I had my first experience with coffee syrup. That's not what it's called, I think they just call it coffee. I walked in and looked for the coffee pot, or, the Nescafé (of which I was really heartily tired of) and a few of my co-travelers were already there and explained to me how this new form of coffee worked.

You pour a bit, and I mean just a bit, like a tablespoon or so, of this...coffee extract I guess you could call it, in to your mug and then add boiling water, and then your hot, frothy milk (I really did love the hot milk part) It wasn't instant coffee, it was genuine coffee, and not like a condensed coffee, just the extract from the bean, i guess it could be called a concentrate. I think that every "batch" was different, maybe depending on the bean, or the method of extraction...I don't know, all I do know is that it was virtually impossible to figure put a decent mixture...it was either too weak, too strong, too bitter....once....once....I got a perfect mix and it was the best coffee I think I have ever had...but only the once.....usually it was too strong so I just added more and more hot, frothy milk until it was almost a latte, which isn't a bad thing, it's just not what I crave first thing in the morning. But it's ok....it was still caffeine.

However, the next day was all well in my world when I walked past this place:

and saw a woman drinking coffee, and the coffee looked good. I asked her if it was Nescafé and she shook her head and smiled blissfully and said that it was not, that it was the best coffee she'd had in weeks, so went inside and saw this:

And I got one of these:

I can't even tell you how much I enjoyed sitting there, drinking a good coffee, enjoying the view...both the Andes above me and people wandering through the plaza, kids playing in the park, it was just a perfect and peaceful hour. Until a fellow sat at the table beside me, asked me where I was from, and when I said British Columbia, he said "I'm from Colorado...so as long as you're not a Canucks fan, I'll talk to you...I don't ever  talk to Canucks fans." I didn't figure he was serious, but still...rude.

And the funny thing is, I'm not a Canucks fan, I am, as a matter of fact, a Colorado fan....but he screwed any chance of a decent conversation with his opening gambit. Arrogant ass. So I smiled and said "Canucks all the way!" And we finished our coffee in silence....I guess he was serious. But it didn't ruin my day, I actually felt smug and superior to him, I'm not sure why, I just did.

Kids in the park, leaping off the back of the bench and climbing in the tree.

I finished my coffee and wandered through the shops some more. 

Doors within doors.

Colourful walking sticks for sale, but you can't take them up Machu Picchu, to prevent damage tomthebsteps and grounds, only certain types of rubber-tipped sticks are allowed past the gate.

A little pharmacy which ended up being well used as we had a few sick travellers during our time here...luckily they sell electrolytes, antibiotics and upset tummy remedies everywhere.

One side of the plaza.

This afternoons hike was up to the old storehouse/grainery that overlooked Ollantaytambo. Once again, it was quite a hike, but first we walked to the market. That would be the craft market that I couldn't find by myself. It was just behind the plaza, across the bridge and beneath the ruins.