After my fab horseback riding trip, I took a long, soothing shower at the hostel and then departed to visit the infamous Gringo Alley. This alley is filled with restaurants, cafes, hippie shops (including one named patchouli), internet cafes, and even a dutch movie house. Pretty cool! It must be pretty strange to be a resident of a city that has a whole area devoted to another culture, filled with transients. It´s different than a China town or a Japan town. Instead of being filled with other Cusquenos who happen to come from a different part of the world, but now live here, Cusqo is filled with a constantly changing horde of backpackers from all over the world. Odd.
I cruised the alley, repeating, "No, gracias. No tengo hambre" to all of the restaurant touts. I came close to buying some garish pink suede boots with suede applique in the shape of a condor. Pretty styling! I visited the movie house, but there wasn´t a show that night. Then, I stopped by the Israeli shwarma restarant. There, I was crammed into a tiny room with a bunch of other travellers all eating yummy falafel wraps. We had an enlivening discussion comparing ayahuasca to the local hallucinogenic cactus, called San Pedro.
A guy from Chicago had just had a shaman guided ayahuasca experience and shared the whole experience. Oddly enough, any niggling interest I had in trying it died after hearing his story. Apparently, he and 3 friends had been put in touch with a local Shaman, who had picked them up at 10pm, driven them out to a shack in the hills somewhere. There, they each had individual bedrolls and blankets. The shaman prepared the ayahuasca mixture, fed it to them, and then rubbed their backs when they puked it all up a half an hour later. Apparently, after the vomiting is when the visions begin. Each person curled up in their own little worlds, dreaming and hallucinating while the shaman drummed and chanted, "Ayahuasca es bueno, ayahuasca es medicina." They spent about 5 hours like this, not talking, in complete darkness, with the shaman rubbing them with strange oils and chanting the whole time. Then, for the next day, they all felt like absolute crap, but were cleansed and rejuvenated.
A good story, and the guy was raving about the experience. 3 German kids were raring to go out an buy some ayahuasca that very moment. However, the idea of lying in a dark shack all night, letting the village crazy man rub oil on me had very little appeal to me. Oh, fun fact...traditionally, the shaman is the village crazy person. It´s the guy with schizophrenia or the epileptic, someone with some mental or physical trait that made him stand out from the group. The office of shaman allowed this person to be an integral part of the society. As part of his training, he was required to sit around drinking and doing drugs all day and going off into the jungle by himself. All this, and he was one of the most respected members of the group. Gives an interesting twist to our point of view of mentally ill drug addicts.
After this conversation and a stop at the internet cafe, it was time for bed. Good night!
I cruised the alley, repeating, "No, gracias. No tengo hambre" to all of the restaurant touts. I came close to buying some garish pink suede boots with suede applique in the shape of a condor. Pretty styling! I visited the movie house, but there wasn´t a show that night. Then, I stopped by the Israeli shwarma restarant. There, I was crammed into a tiny room with a bunch of other travellers all eating yummy falafel wraps. We had an enlivening discussion comparing ayahuasca to the local hallucinogenic cactus, called San Pedro.
A guy from Chicago had just had a shaman guided ayahuasca experience and shared the whole experience. Oddly enough, any niggling interest I had in trying it died after hearing his story. Apparently, he and 3 friends had been put in touch with a local Shaman, who had picked them up at 10pm, driven them out to a shack in the hills somewhere. There, they each had individual bedrolls and blankets. The shaman prepared the ayahuasca mixture, fed it to them, and then rubbed their backs when they puked it all up a half an hour later. Apparently, after the vomiting is when the visions begin. Each person curled up in their own little worlds, dreaming and hallucinating while the shaman drummed and chanted, "Ayahuasca es bueno, ayahuasca es medicina." They spent about 5 hours like this, not talking, in complete darkness, with the shaman rubbing them with strange oils and chanting the whole time. Then, for the next day, they all felt like absolute crap, but were cleansed and rejuvenated.
A good story, and the guy was raving about the experience. 3 German kids were raring to go out an buy some ayahuasca that very moment. However, the idea of lying in a dark shack all night, letting the village crazy man rub oil on me had very little appeal to me. Oh, fun fact...traditionally, the shaman is the village crazy person. It´s the guy with schizophrenia or the epileptic, someone with some mental or physical trait that made him stand out from the group. The office of shaman allowed this person to be an integral part of the society. As part of his training, he was required to sit around drinking and doing drugs all day and going off into the jungle by himself. All this, and he was one of the most respected members of the group. Gives an interesting twist to our point of view of mentally ill drug addicts.
After this conversation and a stop at the internet cafe, it was time for bed. Good night!
1 comment:
Bon Voyage! What a wonderful journey you will have. Hope you meet some nice (amenable) folks on the trip. None too ennervating ;)
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