Ollantaytambo. Mi pueblo corriente.

Throughout my life, I've lived in a big coastal city, small mountain towns, and a place that falls into the peaceful city category in between. Living in the small town of Ollantaytambo has been completely different than anything I've experience. Ollanta, as the locals call it, is a quaint little town of 2,000, settled in the narrowest section of the Sacred Valley. Bordered by steep mountains in the north, and the Urubamba river to the south. Complete with locals relaxing and vending around the plazas and market, a handful of gringos working in the town, and a consistent grip of tourists making there way to the ultimate destination of Machu Picchu. A people watcher's paradise. I've spent a few hours myself, sitting in the plaza, simply taking in the scene. Resident gringos scurrying around to get through their daily routine of life in a foreign country. Backpackers sitting up against store walls, trying to avoid the rain. Tourists taking as many photos as possible before their bus or train leaves within the hour. The locals either conversing in crowds or working off the visitors. Taxi drivers yelling "Urubamba mi amigo!?" or "Cuzco mi amigo!?" towards every single person who may possibly want a lift. Everybody seems to be your amigo. "Choclo con queso!" (corn on the cob with cheese) can be heard multiple times per minute from the older female natives. Everybody needs to be heard. Needless to say, it can be a wonderful source of entertainment when biking or hiking doesn't seem nearly relaxing enough. Additionally, I've learned that regardless of how many times I say I live and work in Ollanta, I will always be a visitor.

This picturesque little town, at 9,120 feet elevation, was once the royal estate for the Incan Emperor, Pachacuti. Later on, during the Spanish conquest, it became the main Incan resistance stronghold, led by Manco Inca Yupanqui. During the Spanish conquest, Ollanta was the only town where the Inca were successfully able to hold off the invading Spaniards. The resistance moved to high ground, upon their terraces, where they knew the Spanish would be unable to use their horses. The Spanish, recognizing the advantage held by the Inca, planned to occupy the town until the Inca starved and would therefore descend from their terraces. Aside from having food growing on the terraces though, the Inca had a very clear understanding as to how the rain and drainage systems worked in their valley.  Damming certain streams and rerouting the flow of water, they flooded the valley and therefore caused the Spanish to retreat. If the Inca would have incorporate this form of strategy in all their battles, Francisco Pizarro would have never made it past the first Incan city. Simply put, the Inca were not skilled in warfare. Wooooah…I just realized I’m giving away all my info that makes me tips on trips! For more…come visit me here!!!

Living here, I’ve found a fairly basic daily routine, into which I can throw different adventures. I’d like to say that each day starts out bright and early in the morning, but that would be far from the truth. Having a wonderful girlfriend back in the states, I choose to spend most of my nights chatting or Skyping until the early hours of the morning. This morning, I watched the sun come up and radiate through my window before I headed to bed. I still haven’t had a late morning that wasn’t worth the late night before, for which I spent conversing with her. It’s safe to say that most of my mornings start around 9am, with an occasional 10am rise. The mornings here are beautiful. While it is the rainy season, most of the downpour occurs through the night. The mornings present with cloudy blue skies, with a consistent drizzle until late morning. The kind of drizzle you can’t see, but can gently feel as it connects its little drops with others on your arms. First thing in the morning, I throw on my flip-flops, avoid the 5’10” doorway, and make my walk across town to the market.

Regardless of what time it is, I see the same amount of people in the plaza, doing the same thing as the day before. They may not always be the same people, but the same tasks are still being accomplished in the same areas. Three guys at the top of the hill asking if I need a taxi to Urubamba or Cuzco. Five older women, in Quechan wares, asking if I would like some choclo con queso. Two police police officers; one at each entrance to the plaza. Ten tourists admiring the center tree of the plaza from a nearby bench. Lastly, about two or three kids riding their bikes around, smashing their front tires into curbs, benches, or each other. They seem fully determined to taco their front wheel, but never find success with it. The boys always seem to be riding girl bikes, complete with Barbie designs and tassels. The girls always seem to be riding boy bikes, which are far too big for them. This morning, while slowly walking to the market, I couldn’t help but dissolve into laughter as I compared it to The Truman Show. Every person in his or her correct place, at the correct time. A daily clockwork of work, pleasure, and play for each involved.

Arriving at the market, my feet arrive in autopilot mode. While it is a very roundabout way of getting to my final destination, I take the same route each morning. Heading in the western entrance of the market, I glide through the crowd of soda vendors, towards the butchers’ nest in the back corner. I have never, nor will I ever, buy anything from the butchers in this dank corner. Quarter cows, chicken feet, tongues, trout, guinea pigs, hooves, and beautiful flanks all sitting out on picnic tables. Completely free from refrigeration from 7am until noon, the same meat will be out the next morning if it doesn’t sell today. Although I’m not sure why, I feel compelled to walk through it every morning. Sometimes I close my mouth and hold my breath, while other times involve me getting caught up in conversation as I ask how to say each cut or presentation in Spanish.  Once I’ve received my daily dosage of meat corner funk, I wrap around the market, walk up the stairs, and arrive at Arroz con Huevo. For those who know Spanish, you learned those words in the first month of any Spanish class. Rice and Egg. I capitalized it originally, because that is what the sign actually says, naming the little place. Essentially a closet, this woman in her forties has a sink, propane stove and small serving area. For a mere three soles, you can try out her delicious plate of rice, egg, potatoes (chips), and tomatoes. Feeling extra hungry? You can throw on a second egg for an extra fifty centimos. Don’t arrive too late though! She doesn’t have business hours, but once that big pot of rice is gone, she doesn’t make anymore.

Days involve whatever the heart desires. Biking, hiking, reading while sitting on a plaza bench, working on bikes, writing, or trying to converse with the locals. It varies greatly, day to day. There have been some days where I’ve done absolutely nothing. Simply enjoyed relaxing and enjoyed the sun. Days I work are a different story. Tour days start anywhere between 7-9am and end anywhere between 2-6pm.

The hikes in the area are beautiful. As you can see from the photos, there are numerous trails right outside, or even within, the city limits. Some are to decrepit ruins, while some are simply pack trails created by animals over the years. There’s a hike for each mood and desire. The cobblestone streets required to simply get to the hikes would even be beautiful enough for most.

 There's much more to be said, but I have to go work the hotel reception desk now. More to come!

Plaza de Truman Show

One entrance to the market.

Part of the corner.

The view out of the market.

River flowing down to the train station.

Cactus: the natural barbwire of Peru.

Cobblestone path for the kids to get to the school.

The view out of my office. This is my method of working on a bike without getting wet while it's raining.

The office.

Arroz con Huevos

My daily 3 soles meal. Peruvians don't use any sauces at all. You eat it as it is given.

Cobblestone area of traditional Ollanta housing.

Northern Ollanta cobblestone.

Cerro Bandolista in the background. Known as Temple Hill.

View from the rooftop bar at the hotel I live at. I live in the door to lookers right.

Garden at the hotel. Wonderful place to write. That's San Pedro cactus (peyote) to the right.

Garden again. The door is to the room I stayed in for the first two weeks I was here.

Beginning of a hike right out of town.

Hike overlooking the town. The facial expression is due to the camera tipping over right as this photo is being taken. Note: while I don't normally listen to headphones while hiking, it's a great way to listen to my Spanish lessons!

Flora overlooking the outskirts of town.

Cobblestone walkway, complete with beautiful overgrowing flowers.

City garden. I eat quite a bit of street vendor food in this park. Wonderful place to read.

Walk out of town to begin a six hour hike to the local sun gate.

Entrance into town.

Once again...entrance.

Musical fuel today:

High Places – High Places vs. Mankind 
Jefferson Airplane – The Worst of Jefferson Airplane   (Thank you pops for raising me on such powerful music) 
John Coltrane – Blue Train   (His best, in my opinion)