I eventually got up at 09:30 hrs. and tottered out into the blinding sunlight. I had a great breakfast of good yoghurt whisked with fruit in the Ayllu Café, next to one of the huge churches on the Plaza de Armas. Cusco’s main square, the Plaza de Armas, is a busy and vibrant space that marks the colonial centre of the city. The plaza, which features wide stone pathways and well-kept colourful gardens, is home to two iconic buildings: the Cusco Cathedral and the Church La Compañía de Jesús.
Back on the Plaza I heard a shrill whistle and a familiar voice yelled “Steve, ya English bas”! Jackie, the Scottish cyclist had a fair old tale to tell so we went to a café for a Coca Cola. In northern Peru approaching Trujillo he had been cycling along at about 19:30 hrs. when a pick-up van had bumped him off balance.
The next thing he knew three guys with pistols were upon him. He was bundled into the back of the van, together with his bicycle and gear with a gun barrel in his mouth and another at his temple and a foot on this throat.
“When they put the gun barrel in my mouth I thought, this is it, I was away”! he said. They took him into the desert 2 kilometres away from the road. Here they tied his ankles and wrists behind his back with a rope linking the two.
They tried to pour some drugged Coca Cola down his throat and eventually left him tied up in just his shorts. “Die gringo”! they called as they drove away with all his worldly goods and possessions. He managed to detach the line between his ankle and wrist bonds and wriggle to the road.
Next morning, he was spotted by passing cars and finally the police arrived and untied him. They supplied him with some plimsols and an old T-shirt and enough money to get halfway to Lima. He hitch-hiked the rest of the way and over the next week he managed to get a replacement passport and new travellers cheques.
Now he was in Cuzco, still as irrepressible as ever, with rope burns on his wrists and ankles. He carried his few new possessions in a plastic carrier bag. Now Jackie wanted to buy a new wardrobe (!) and essentials such as socks, underpants, soap, toothpaste, etc. We went down to the market for a browse around. Jackie wanted to buy on of the bizarre local hats which were multicoloured pixie affairs with ear flaps and tassels. He bought a T-shirt after a round of all the stalls scoffing at their prices.
At lunchtime we had a dodgy Almuerzo in a dingy local café. I had a disquieting after taste and contained an assortment of strange animal parts. I left half of mine uneaten, but Jackie ploughed through his and felt a bit unwell afterwards.
We continued our survey of the market and as we were haggling from stall to stall I pointed out two huge 6’+ Americans in full combat camouflage outfits. As Jackie turned to see who I was talking about one of the Yanks shrieked “my lens, it’s gone”! and they charged down the street in a vain attempt to locate the thieves.
Some crafty Peruvian pickpocket had whipped the expensive photographic zoom lens out of his vest pocket and had had it away. They weren’t fussy about who they robbed here. We went on to explore the music cassette and postcard shops, asking to listen to tape after tape in our search for typical Peruvian folk music.
We had some delicious apple turnovers from the bakery on the main street, Avenida Sol. Jackie decided against the local woollen hats in favour of a new Arab headdress/scarf. For this he wanted a piece of soft cloth about 2 metres long by 60 cm wide. This would seem to be a simple ask but turned out to be a major event in the material shop.
Other shoppers gawped as he wrapped some black cloth around his shaven head. A scruffy grubby kid in a long-pointed hat and carrying a box of frogs came in off the street to watch the spectacle. Jackie then went to see if they had a room ready for him in the Samari Hotel.
They had a single room in this dark, rickety old wooden building which looked like some place from a Charles Dickens novel. I returned to the Hostel Sueciad, picked up my Rohan trousers which had been repaired, grabbed my transistor radio and a mug and went to the hotel where the people who accompanied Jackie on the Inca Trail were having a party.
We ate potato crisps and raw carrot slices dipped in a puree of avocado and garlic. Drinks consisted of rum with a squeeze of lime, and we were all quite merry when we went over the road for a steak dinner.
The next stop was a Peña on the plaza called The Quatuchay. In this upstairs barn-like structure a local music group were hammering out local music on flutes, pan pipes and small guitars. It seemed very much like an old 18th Century tavern.
From here we went on to the legendary Kamikaze Bar to dance and drink lethal cocktails until the small hours. Jackie and a drunk Welsh bloke cavorted enthusiastically to the old rock records, while I danced to “Sign of the Times” by Prince, The Police and Talking Heads records in between beers.
A good time was had by all. It was a shame that there were so few women there.
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