Christmas in Peru

Cusco

Dec 23, 2023

As the hour strikes 6pm on a cold and windy Monday evening my balcony doors open up to the Andean mountain range and a crisp breeze is moving through the room. The twinkling lights dancing across the city skyline of Cusco are spectacular. I have a clear view of the blue lighted Christmas tree in the nearby park from my studio. It is the week before Christmas in Cusco, Peru.

Cusco is a place that has taken me completely by surprise, in a way that is difficult to explain. A couple of months ago it was never in my plans to be here. And yet, it seems that something drew me here to this deeply spiritual place.

Of all of the places I have ever traveled, Cusco is among the lowest in average income and standard of living. Every day on my walks through the cobblestone streets I am confronted and overwhelmed with what we in modern civilization would call poverty. Endless people lining the streets hungry for a meal, selling their colorful woven goods, selling their fruits and vegetables, bracelets, some even selling their bodies for the price of a dinner out in America. Some simply begging. Two dollars would get them a solid meal for the day. But there are so many looking you in the face, asking for breadcrumbs. How does one choose among the masses.

And yet, as my friend put it, this is not poverty to them. It is and always has been their way of life. I see more smiles and soul-filled eyes than I have ever seen in the offices of Corporate America. There is a peace and contentment and happiness among the people I have met.

Because of the discovery of Machu Pichu, Cusco is one of those beautiful and spiritual places on the planet that has now become overlayed with tourism. It is bizarre to see American chains like KFC and McDonalds standing out of place amidst the Inca and Spanish architecture. There are now fine dining restaurants and luxury hotels amidst the masses of locals and indigenous people just making their way through the day to survive. And yet, amidst it all there is an undercurrent that runs through Cusco, beneath the tourists coming in and out for a few days and a handful of selfies. I find myself very comfortable here for some yet undiscovered reason. As an American with U.S. dollars it is so far the cheapest place I have ever lived.

My original plan had been to stay in Cusco for the month of December before continuing on to Buenos Aires, Argentina. Now I find myself drawn to explore more of this sacred place such as the Inca Sacred Valley and of course, Machu Pichu. I find myself comfortable among the people here, enjoying regular smiles with the ladies who make me fresh juice in the San Pedro Market, on a first name basis with the girl at the nearby coffee shop and becoming a regular customer of the local man that shines my shoes like an artist. Each day I am appreciating the luxury of what I have and wanting to contribute in some small way to the people here.

I will spend Christmas here this year, overlooking the dancing lights and the lighted Christmas tree in the nearby park. I am once again alone in the greater world, but yet not alone. I have yet to discover how Peruvians spend their Christmas.

In years past, I have written about Christmas in Kyoto and Christmas in Boquete, Panama. Last year was a time of reflection at Christmas on a mountain in Costa Rica. This year something new and different awaits me.

As I write these words I can hear a car passing through the neighborhood blasting “Tamales for Sale” over the loudspeaker.

Feliz Navidad from Cusco, Peru.

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Field Notes

Ode to my Alpaca Socks by Pablo Neruda

Maru Mori brought me
a pair
of socks
which she knitted herself
with her sheepherder’s hands,
two socks as soft
as rabbits.
I slipped my feet
into them
as though into
two
cases
knitted
with threads of
twilight
and goatskin.
Violent socks,
my feet were
two fish made
of wool,
two long sharks
sea-blue, shot
through
by one golden thread,
two immense blackbirds,
two cannons:
my feet
were honored
in this way
by
these
heavenly
socks.
They were
so handsome
for the first time
my feet seemed to me
unacceptable
like two decrepit
firemen, firemen
unworthy
of that woven
fire,
of those glowing
socks.

The moral
of my ode is this:
beauty is twice
beauty
and what is good is doubly
good
when it is a matter of two socks
made of wool
in winter.

Wishing you a Peaceful and Happy Season from Cusco, Peru

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