Perú: Day 9 in Cusco
Cusco. We had arrived! Sadly, the last stretch of the trip was upon us. We were 11,152 feet above sea level. It was difficult to walk and talk, climb stairs, or even use the bathroom in the middle of the night due to the elevation. Neither my heart nor lungs fancied the altitude which caused physical activities to feel extra challenging due to the lack of oxygen.
That didn’t stop me from enjoying the city tour. Cusco, like the other towns, was special in its own way but filled with much more history. Never before had I come home to search information about a place, event, or subject because I needed clarification or wanted further understanding by choice. Peru did that to me. For the first time in my life, I appreciated, enjoyed, and learned some history. In school, I considered myself an auditory and visual learner but in South America, I discovered I could be a kinesthetic one too.














John explained that the Incas followed the philosophy of the 3 S’s when it came to their work ethic. These were: simple, symmetrical, and solid. They formed windows and door frames in shapes of trapezoids to prevent the structures from collapsing during earthquakes.


The Incas used limestone and granite to build their temples. They made groove impressions using iron to lock the pieces together like puzzles to protect the buildings against crumbling in case of quakes.
















After our morning exploration, the rest of the day was free to do as we pleased. Since we couldn’t agree to lunch or afternoon plans with our friends, Jackie and I took off on our own. It was the second and last time we hung out alone but the longest and most pleasant.



We were starving and Flor, our tour manager, had recommended a restaurant in the area of San Blas, the hippy arts district, uptown. But being the efficient planner that I was, I tried convincing Jackie of visiting the cathedral beforehand because it was on the way. Jackie was not the practicing Catholic that I am, per se, nor did she agree with the church’s beliefs; she cringed when I planned local getaways around any of the California Missions I had yet to see (nine, in case you were wondering). But how could I pass up the opportunity to see such a historical structure in the former capital of the Inca Empire? I would most likely never make the trip again and was not about to let go of the idea. The only way to drag her inside the Cathedral Basilica of Our Lady of the Assumption in Cusco was by purchasing her entrance for 25 soles. But once inside, she was completely enthralled.
A group of people was sitting at the pews waiting for their tour to begin. Jackie and I were approached by a guide offering their services. I knew we’d learn so much from them but I was cheap. The guided walk cost the same as the entrance fee and we were in a rush to eat anyway. We couldn’t afford to be held back by tourists. We gently declined and began our walkthrough.


The Cathedral was composed of three different sections, each hallway filled with dozens of gold-encrusted altars. The statues were painted with light skin tones and blue eyes. Jackie, who didn’t need more aversion for the religion we’d been raised in, questioned the pallor of the Gods and saints who looked down on us from their platforms. It was undeniable that fair skinned complexions had always been the standard of beauty. Sadly, not much had changed in 500 years. Except now some figures had broken fingers while other sculptures had cracked mirrors. A few altars were off limits to the public, kept behind bars, and we wondered why. Perhaps they were more valuable or better yet, more holy.
“How?” Jackie asked. “How did they make this?”
We walked past giant double doors that allowed the crowds in on Sundays, I assumed. We bent low to get into the mausoleum underneath the main floor. We also got a peek of the empty catacombs through a clear glass tile on the floor. But the most breathtaking view of all was the dome in the last wing of the church. The ceiling was the highest I’d ever seen on any mission or cathedral, and I’d visited quite a few between my home state and Peru.
“How?”
Raised above a set of pews, the dome went up to the sky. Stained glass at the peak allowed beautiful natural light in through the white tunnel. We stood there, heads tilted back at 90-degree angles, wondering, imagining, inquiring how anybody five centuries ago could have built such a magnificent place. How big had their ladders been? How tall had they stacked their scaffolds? What had they carried their materials in? How had they carry their materials? Jackie and I had endless queries frozen under an umbrella of history and architectural wonderment.
“We don’t build like this anymore,” I said. “We’re lazy now.”
Whether Incas or Spaniards, those men had outdone themselves and the evidence was everywhere to be seen and admired.

After finishing in the cathedral, Jackie and I had lunch at the restaurant Flor had suggested. Then we spent the rest of the afternoon shopping for souvenirs back in the marketplace. Despite everything I saw and learned, the memory that stood out was the lovely time I spent with my sister. We hardly hang out alone and when we do, we usually argue. But this day in Cusco was an uncomplicated peaceful one to add to our own history books.


