Machu Picchu and Cusco
I visited Machu Picchu yesterday. It will be among my most memorable days in South America. I had no mystical experiences, and I’m not going to rave about the rock-stacking skills of the Incas. Moreover, although I read a guidebook the night before, I couldn’t care less which building was used to observe the stars or which one looks kind of like a jaguar from a certain angle. None of the details are important. I think what makes Machu Picchu an extraordinary experience is aesthetics.
You just want to look at it.
The dark green mountains, the mists and clouds, and the organic stone architecture complement each other in outlandish display of dramatic serenity. And yes, I intend the tension in those words, because it strikes me that at least part of the reason it’s so mesmerizing is the juxtaposition of tranquility and harmony with an over the top “wow" factor. It’s timeless beauty turned up to 11. Hollywood would be proud.
That you get to climb through it discovering new angles, even as the sun filters through the mist adjusting the lighting, adds an element of engagement no museum can offer. It’s an amusement park of scenic awe.
The best part of the day was climbing the adjacent mountain. Machu Picchu is situated on a plateau in the center of a U-shaped canyon. At the bottom of the U is Huaynu Picchu, the largest spire you see behind the site on every postcard, but on the open end of the U there’s Machu Picchu mountain, twice as tall. Both have stairs from the site to their tops, and entrance is limited. Hyanu Picchu is the glamour mountain, and it sells out long in advance, but Machu Picchu mountain is the longer climb. That’s my route. It takes roughly an hour and a half of stair climbing to reach the top. The peak is over 1600 feet higher than the site itself, well over 2000 stairs. At the top, I found a quiet place; I pulled out the Mac and wrote a bit (I take the computer everywhere), and then I finished a set of postcards. The climb up was excruciating, but the climb down was fun, at least until my legs gave out. I was going for the speed record. Today my legs are on strike; I think they are petitioning to work for a different brain.
There’s lot’s more details I could mention, but thousands of others have written the facts about Machu Picchu. For me it was a wonderful, exhausting day of climbing, picture-taking and sitting in various places trying to absorb some fragment of the beauty before me.
I might mention that the day started at 4:30am with the intent to beat the crowds. The first bus from the tourist town below to the site above leaves at 5:30am. My guidebook says you should be in line by 5:10. I’m pretty smart so I decided to be there by 5:05. To my astonishment, everyone else got there by 5:04. Who knew tourists could get up so early? Fortunately, the line moved very fast, and I was in the site before the sun peeked over the mountaintops. The day ended back in Cusco about 11pm after two hours on the train, and a 90 minute taxi ride. Most people take the bus after the train, but I decided to splurge for a taxi (only $40) so I could lay down in the backseat.I didn’t really sleep, but I drifted in and out of consciousness.
One more comment: From what I said about the line for the bus, you might worry that the site was packed with people, and in certain places it was. The hordes of pale-skinned tour groups were the one blot on the landscape–so many bored eyes politely listening to the broken English of semi-literate guides repeating dubious facts and awkward jokes. Fortunately, none of the groups climbed the mountain, and even in the site itself it was possible to get away from them. I found a sort of alcove near the center of the site where I was able to lay in the grass for 20 minutes without even seeing another person. Moreover, I brought my iPhone and a pair of earbuds so I was able to create my own soundtrack. Turns out Jimi Hendrix makes mountain climbing easier. Maybe if my feet had ears, they would have understood. Of course, if they’d had eyes they wouldn’t have complained at all. Though I suppose if they had eyes, they’d have objected to their unjust captivity in shoes, and they’d probably want me to walk on my hands… I’m sorry legs, you’ve been born into a hard life, you must accept your situation and serve accordingly. Perhaps if you acquit yourselves well in this life you will be reborn as arms. If not, you’ll probably come back as an anus. So enough with the complaints, and please start functioning again.
I found him in one of the tourist restaurants on the plaza in Chivay. He was the most expensive item on the menu: Cuy Chactao. Fortunately I had done my research; I recognized the name as fried guinea pig. I was worried that he would be served indistinguishable from pork or chicken, but as you can see from the photo, he was fully present at the table. To be honest, he could have been a rat and I suppose I wouldn’t have known the difference, but at least I could seel he was a rodent. His tiny sharp teeth were the giveaway.
It seemed a shame to eat the little guy without paying proper respects so I decided to name him Gerard. And then, since he was my rodent, I decided to canonize him as well. I offered a little prayer for Saint Gerard before I pulled off his legs.
You might not think there’d be much meat on a guinea pig, and you’d be right, mainly there was the largish flap of skin across his back, which tasted like crispy leather, but I did my best to honor St. Gerard by gnawing on all his little parts. I was only slightly distressed to discover some blackish things which were probably his internal organs. I think I ate his kidneys and his liver, but I rather wished Alexis was there to confirm the anatomy. I also nibbled on his ears, but I decided he would forgive me if I didn’t peel the skin off his face.
After dinner I went to use the restroom. It was outback. Well, I wondered where you buy guinea pigs, but I suppose the freshest thing is to raise your own. There was a hutch with all of Gerard’s little squeaky brothers and sisters. I told them I had had the chicken, but the way they hid as I approached, I don’t think they believed me.
You probably wouldn’t guess this, but the whole experience was a little grisly, and not very filling. Afterwards I went for pizza.
On the road to Alaska I had the great good fortune to come across a Giant Beaver. I recommend the experience. I suspect I may be among the luckiest human beings alive, for only yesterday, on the road Cusco, I encountered a Giant Guinea Pig (see photos). Two giant rodents in one lifetime is more than I deserve. I am humbled by the honor bestowed upon me. I pledge to do my best to keep sacred this holy trust.
What I’ve been trying to do so far in the explicitly philosophical part of this blog is to give something like an intuitive motivation for my project. But I’d like to be far clearer than I have been. Ultimately, i want to give good analytic arguments for my position.
Here’s an outline of what I wish I could say:
1. There are obviously indeterminate relations, like vagueness, in language.
2. If there is indeterminacy in language, then since language is part of reality, there is also indeterminacy in reality.
3. It’s implausible that there could be indeterminacy only in that part of reality which involves language and other forms of representation.
4. Moreover, there are independent reasons to believe that there is indeterminacy in the non-representational part of the world. Ignoring quantum physcics, one type of example is that ordinary objects, like tables, are only vaguely related to their parts. At any given moment it is indeterminate at the boundaries which molecules are part of a specific table and which are not. (Credit Peter Unger and his paper “There Are No Ordinary Objects."
5. Indeterminacy in language and elsewhere is made possible by “gaps” between things, especially gaps between levels of organization. Gaps are ubiquitous. What I say and do right now in the Andes has NO immediate effect on what’s happening in Houston.
6. These gappiness of existence is appropriately thought of as a lack of structure. Full structure would exhibit connectedness between all things in all possible senses.
7. Lack of structure makes possible authentic emergence. As I will put it, new property spaces emerge which are in important respects independent of the property spaces they are indeterminately dependent on. If they were entirely determinately dependent on other property spaces, there could be no emergence. I’m over-simplifying, but here’s some examples: Mass emerges from the interaction of massless particles. The solid smooth surface of a table emerges from the from the interaction of molecules in which neither solidity nor smoothness exist. Consciousness emerges out of interactions in a nervous system. Color emerges out of interactions between conscious beings and external stimuli. Morality emerges out of interactions between conscious individuals.
8. To better understand emergence it’s essential to realize how wedded we are to reductionism. It’s very hard for us to get away from the idea that every event is somehow explicable by, or decomposable into, the behavior of its parts. It’s as those we start with the presumption that the “engine” animating reality has to operate at the lowest possible level and percolate up. Physics seems to lend confirmation, but I suspect this is confirmation bias with a vengeance. It’s what we expect, and so it’s what we’ve discovered. I suggest we try to imagine that the “engine” animating reality operates at all levels simultaneously.
9. The properties and entities at all levels exhibit indeterminacy, both with respect to relations within the property space and especially across property spaces, but all entities and properties at every level are “real."For instance, tables are “real” even though they are not reducible to their molecules. But then so are linguistic meanings, human purposes, and even morality. For the purpose of metaphysics, sub-atomic particles, tables, and moral imperatives differ more by degree, than by kind.
10. Meaning, purpose and morality are more important to us than things. They are also more responsive to our intentional construction. We have abundant reason to consciously embrace the effort to create a functional framework of meaning, purpose and morality.
11. To this end, it’s likely we need to be able to relate ourselves to the world in something like an artistic, holistic, spiritual way. This should not require rigid doctrine. On the contrary, I suspect it needs to leave room for extraordinary individuality of need and experience, perhaps similar to the way Hinduism allows multiple interpretations. I advocate pantheism, embracing it’s intrinsic contradictions.
Two nights after Machu Picchu I awoke from a dream. I was on a dark green mountain climbing, and in the distance there appeared a wispy sort of Winnie the Pooh. In fact, he faded in and out, and at one point the mountain itself was merely expressing his smile. I resisted waking, but then from my sub-conscious I heard Jack Kerouac reading from the final passage of On the Road, “And don’t you know that God is Pooh Bear.”
Well, yes, of course, we all know this.
Machu Picchu is about 50 miles from Cusco, Cusco was the Incan capital before the stupid Spaniards came and destroyed it in the name of God and gold. Some guide books refer to Cusco as the most popular tourist destination in South America. A person I met in San Pedro raved about it, as though it was the greatest place in the world. When I arrived I could see why someone might be charmed. There’s a large open plaza, and an abundance of impressive colonial architecture. But tonight, searching for an Indian restaurant I read about, I discovered the smallish San Blas area. In the upper regions the streets are so vertical and narrow cars are impossible. It’s full of cool hostels, boutique hotels, art galleries, restaurants and bars. There are lookout points from which you can view the entirety of Cusco below. Now I see why someone could fall in love with Cusco.
Places like this do sometimes make me feel lonely.
I found the Indian restaurant. It was hopelessly romantic (despite the fact that it had guinea pig curry on the menu). At all the other tables couples sat whispering to each other; I sat typing this crap. There’s no doubt that some experiences are better shared.
Perhaps the loneliest I’ve felt was in Buenos Aires just a couple days into the trip. I was walking the streets in the downtown, and out of a music store they’re blaring Eric Carmen’s anthem of despair, “All by Myself.” That song hit the radio in the mid-seventies when I had a crush on Jeanette Norvick. I remember hearing it at a party in sixth grade when she was ignoring me. Those desperate feelings of emptiness rushed back in the narrow streets of Buenos Aires.
But normally I don’t feel that way. Normally, I am happy to be alone with my thoughts, observing and thinking. It makes my life easier and far less chaotic to be alone, but it also makes it more mine. If I was with others my thoughts would be much more shallow, and I would write nothing.
Sometimes I fantasize that I will buy the house next to mine and give it to some deep thinking, fiercely independent woman with nice breasts. We will see each other once or twice a week for dinner and conversation and sex, and travel together occasionally. Hopefully she enjoys board games. But I don’t want to live with her. I don’t want to have to make space for her clothes in my closet, and I don’t want to see her junk piled on the kitchen table or negotiate with her about how to arrange the furniture.
Does this make me a bad person?
I recognize the importance of people. In fact, I recognize that in the creation of purpose and meaningfulness relations between people are the most important element. More practically, I recognize that my own family is essential to my own well-being and even my sense of self. I know how important a few words from one of my brothers can be. (At the moment, I’m thinking of an email from my brother, Randy. Thank you.) I know how important the few people in my life are. I know how important it is to me to be a good teacher for my students.
But at the same time I like being independent and self-contained.
I’m not sure where this is going, and I’m tempted to delete it, but I suspect many people wonder about this. People I meet often express surprise that I am alone, even the hotel clerks.
All phenomena is infinitely complex, but with respect to the realms of psychology, emotion and human desire, we stand so near the reality we have no perspective. Self-reflection has much in common with trying to look into your own nostrils. (By the way, mine have fully recovered from rabies, and only contain the standard quantify of appropriately colored snot.)
Peru is very different from Chile and Argentina. One might almost say that Peru is to it’s southern neighbors as Mexico is to the U.S. But there are a couple things Chile and Argentian could learn from Peru:
1) My experience in the Peruvian post office was exemplary. There was a single form for international shipping, and the process was fast and painless. They even accept refrigerator magnets! Moreover, the post office allowed an individual to set up shop within the building to sell boxes and packaging services. For $3 he chose the perfect sized box, packed it, addressed it, and wrapped the whole thing in plastic. It made me so pleased I went and bought more junk to do it again. Listen up national tourist boards: Make it easy to send packages home and tourists will buy more crap! Actually I’m serious about this: If all of these tourist markets would add a booth for home delivery, I’m guessing they could sell twice as many plastic llamas.
2) Peru has figured out gas stations! The trick is to put them on the highway, and it’s OK to have more than one gas station per town. Brilliant. In fact, something here clearly invites investigation. I’m sure there's more cars in Chile and Argentina, and yet there’s more gas stations in Peru. I want answers.
3) I’ve heard virtually no American music in Peru. In tourist joints they tend to play that damn Peruvian new age flute music, but in regular people places they play apparently indigenous regular people music. (OK, I actually kind of like the new age flute music, but like anything embraced by the money makers it gets abused and perverted. Do they have to play the ”sacred music of Machu Picchu" in the restroom at the train station?
It’s possible that I experienced the effects of altitude more than I realized. I've spent 11 of the last 12 nights at altitudes above 11,000 feet (over twice the elevation of Denver). During the first couple days at high altitude I had mild nausea and one minor headache, but I think the more significant effects were subtle and cumulative, stemming from disrupted sleep. I started to become aware of this after a few days. I would wake up somewhere between 3 and 5 AM and not be able to get back to sleep. I was experiencing altitude induced sleep apnea. According to websites this is one of the most common effects of high altitude. Low levels of oxygen mean low levels of CO2, and in turn breathing mechanisms are’t triggered appropriately. Whatever the details, the result for me was that a couple minutes after falling asleep I would suddenly awake needing to inhale. I wasn’t gasping for air, but I would be aware of the need to breathe. I’d take a couple long deep breaths, then I’d settle back into a normal pattern, fall asleep, and do the whole thing again. This could happen as many as 15-20 times an hour.
The cumulative effect is lethargy, muddled thinking, depression and anxiety. I felt various levels of uneasiness from the moment I arrived in the Andes, and now that I’m back at lower altitudes with a couple of solid nights of sleep, I feel significantly more relaxed and energetic. I have to wonder what role altitude played in my misadventures on the dirt/gravel/mud roads? Would I have tackled them differently at lower altitude? Would I have even made the decision to pursue that route if I’d had better sleep?
(Is there a fact of the matter about the exact contribution of altitude to my decision making processes, and my mental state? Is there some “science-god’s eye view” from which it would be possible to tease apart altitude from my biology, the foods I ate, the exhaust I inhaled, my childhood nightmares, etc., etc., etc.? I think not.)
Sunday I rolled out of the Andes and into the jungle. It was a 9 hour ride from Cusco to Puerto Maldonado on the twistiest road I think I’ve ever ridden. So long and curvy I got blisters on my left palm from using the clutch so often. (Yes, it sucks.)
But what a road! During one two hour stretch I descended over 8000 feet. From snow-capped peaks through barren rock into stubby grasses, on through cloud forest and plunging head long into full blown crazy jungle. From freezing, barren stillness into wild chirping, howling, bug-infested, hot and humid, chaos.
Forget about deserts, mountains are passé, the jungle is where it’s at. I may need to google for some new superlatives.
Tomorrow I enter Brazil. My project this evening is to learn Portuguese. Stupid Brazilians don’t even know how to speak Spanish. (Please don’t tell them I said that.)