I've rapidly latched onto Patricia's inside joke with her sister, whenever they vacation together. If one makes a solid move, like taking a screenshot of gelato translation, or asking a waiter how he spices his own meal before loading up yourself, the other uses the best new compliment you can get: "good travel."
Today was a day of smart decisions -- many good travels. First off, I ate some guinea pig at Gaston Acurio's local restaurant. But I think I'll soon blog about my food adventures, so I'll let that marinate for awhile. Back to the day.
Despite a late night of schedule-making (more on that later), an early morning start was key. It got us to Cuzco's cathedral with plenty of time to spare for our tour guide, Gorky. Yes, like the Russian political activist. He didn't explain, and we didn't ask. What he did do is show us the most famous painting in Cuzco, which appears next to the altar. In it, Jesus is clearly celebrating the Last Supper, although a few things are different. Instead of fruit, there's a stack of potatoes. Instead of bread, there's a guinea pig, feet obediently up in the air. And clutching a sack of silver is Judas...whose face looks suspiciously like the feared conquistador, Francisco Pizarro. Even the affable Gorky couldn't find a nice thing to say about Pizarro: "he's...not a very good person," he admitted reluctantly.
Our next good travel was grabbing a cab to Saqsaywaman, which lies only half a kilometer away, but over 1,000 feet above the Plaza. And with two of us, cabs costs are cut in half! Good travel. After serving as a stand-in tour guide, and after sliding down some big rock formations like slides, and after getting unnecessarily close to some alpacas and their shaggier cousins, huanacas, we were able to quickly walk down the path back home.
While we saw a few more sites -- the slightly smaller yet far prettier church on the Plaza, the Qorikancha museum of precolonial artifacts -- the best find of the day was an outdoor basketball arena, tucked away in a courtyard and complete with stone bleachers and soccer-style bench covers. In the afternoon, some basic after-school coaching was going on -- boys and girls, having a total blast. But our best travel of the day was returning to the courts after a bizarre Peruvian dance show (here's a link, but it doesn't include the dance where dudes act like alpacas mating), was sticking our head back in the stadium at night. A game was going on. We found seats next to a woman anxiously watching by herself. I asked who she was rooting for.
"The blue team is winning," she said, glancing at the scoreboard, which read 14-3. "But I cheer for the yellow."
The yellow, it turned out, were a local club team that included her sister, a 25 year-old Cuzqueno. She was currently riding the bench, watching her team get annihilated by a much taller, more skilled team of university students.
According to Patricia, a former basketball player, they were very decent. "Great passing, good vision," she said. "But will someone please teach these girls to shoot." It was true. The girls could juke each other into the popcorn machine, but would then throw the ball at the basket in manners reminiscent of chest passes or discus throwers. Before she could go down to center court and offer the coaches her services, our neighbor grabbed our arm.
"There she is," she said excitedly. "Numero quince." Number fifteen was Paula, our friend's younger sister. She barked into her phone. "Que tal? Donde estas?" she demanded. Paula strode on the court, the arena silent except for her one fan. "Vamanos, Pau!" it rang.
We joined in the cheers -- a rebound here, a nice defensive read there. "Nice rotation. Up to the high post," Patricia observed as Paula moved up to the top of the key. Suddenly, for the first time, someone passed Pau the ball. She turned, and shot.
Swish.
After a night of worry about the state of Peruvian shooting skills, Paula had put them to rest with a beautiful jumpshot. The ball rolled off her fingers, effortlessly, as it should. We freaked out -- screaming, fist pumping. When I say "we," I mean all three of us. The rest of the stadium was still bored with its 25-8 blowout. Good travel.
