The driver pulled up in front of the hotel. We tipped him well, as we always tried to do. "You guys. You are good guys. You deserve some cusqueñas. Get out there and find some." He waved his hand and drove off down the cobblestone street, weaving around the clusters of tourists and natives out enjoying the evening.
*********
We had discovered Películas my second night in Cusco. As we walked around the Plaza de Armas somebody gave us a flyer, and we ended up there. Películas ("movies", literally translated) was a unique establishment. I had never before been in a place quite like it, nor have I since. It was part eatery, part bar, part dance club, part movie club. Películas wasn't its real name; it was the shorthand that the three of us used to talk about it.
Rosa was the hostess. She was a short, industrious young woman with the rosy cheeks and lilting Spanish typical of cusqueñas. She constantly wore a heavy parka and spoke halting English, which allowed her to communicate directly with all three of us. That first night, she explained how Películas worked. The first floor was mainly a sports bar, with a couple of TV's that we watched the Copa América on. The stairs led up to a third floor, eventually; but it seemed like there were floors between floors, where they had crammed in tables or viewing rooms.
Besides a drink menu and a food menu, Películas had a movie menu, a list of the thousands of movies they had on DVD (pirated, of course: that is the only way in South America). You and your friends could choose a movie and order food and drinks and they would install you in a viewing room, depending on the size of your group. The second floor, Rosa told us, also became a dance club after 10:00 or 11:00 in the evening; we had not been in Películas late enough to see that happen. In fact, the only time we had been out late in Cusco was my first night, when we accompanied our new European friends to Club Asia, directly across the street from Hotel Suecia 2.
It was probably sometime between nine and ten on June 28, 2007, when Rosa installed us on a second floor table between the landing and what would become the dance floor. We hadn't changed upon returning to Cusco; we were dressed in hiking garb and dirty from the expedition to Machu Picchu. More significantly, we were exhausted, and Cody and Adam had to catch a flight back to Lima at the crack of dawn. We ordered Cusqueñas and some food; Rosa was happy.
"Finally, you guys will be here to dance," she said.
"I don't know," I said. "We're pretty tired, and we're leaving tomorrow."
"What?" she asked. She looked genuinely sad, even though her livelihood consisted of people constantly coming and going. "Already?"
"We've been here a week," Adam said. "We have to see Lima before we go home."
"A week? That's all?" Rosa said. "You should stay longer."
We laughed. "We have families, you know," Cody said.
"Well. I don't know. You never got to dance. You said you know how to dance salsa," she said, to me.
"I do."
"I don't believe you. If you did you would stay and dance."
"I'll dance," I said. "Let's dance right now, before our food is ready."
"You and me?"
"Sure. Why not?" We had switched into Spanish.
"Okay. Well, I have some things to do, and I'm going home at 10:00."
"Well, let's dance at 10:00. Right after you get off work."
"That should work," she said.
Rosa left. The three of us put our bottles of Cusqueñas together and said "Salud". These would be out last beers together in Cusco and we were already reminiscing on an incredible seven days (six for me, due to my Mexico City detour).
Cody spoke of his and Adam's first night in the city, when they were on their own with limited Spanish. Cody had had a rough couple of years before our trip, which I think he saw as a sendoff of those tough times. He had been a little nervous without me to translate, he said, but when they had gone out for pizza, the waiter befriended them, took them out on the town, and insisted on buying rounds for the three of them. He said it reaffirmed his faith in humanity.
Adam recalled the young woman who worked in the diner across the street from Hotel Suecia 2. My first meal had been there; when she asked me to translate a sign into English for her and I agreed to do so, she literally jumped with joy and gave a bear hug. "She was so happy just to have a sign in English," Adam said wistfully.
So much had happened in such little time: meeting our European friends at Hotel Suecia 2, from England and the Netherlands. Walking the steep streets and looking at the Incan walls, still perfectly together after hundreds of years. A spontaneous six-hour overnight bus ride to Puno, on the shores of Lake Titicaca, and a night there. An ill-fated purchase by me of a cowboy hat on the way home. And of course, the 15 hours we had just experienced.
"Do you think Lima will match up?" I asked.
"Fuck yeah," Cody said. "We're gonna take over that city."
"Miraflores. Avenida del Avión. Irish pubs. Tequila Rocks. Barranco," Adam recited. He had nearly memorized the relevant parts of our Fodor's Travel Guide to Peru.
As we talked we began to exchange eye contact with a pair of cusqueñas who were at a table 10 or 15 feet away from us: far enough away so it wouldn't be natural to talk with them, but still to close to talk about them. One was very short, her dark hair cut just below her neck. The other was a little taller, thinner, fairer, her hair a bit longer, with a pair of black glasses. They were both cute in their own way and bound up in parkas; they would look at us, look away and talk to each other, then look back and smile.
"Guys, there they are," I said. "The cusqeñas our cabdriver told us about."
Indeed, Películas was hopping; it was busier than we'd ever seen it. It was Thursday, and the concert outside in the Plaza de Armas was drawing to a close. Our food came and we ate like cavemen. As the food began to settle a great weariness began to set in; the alarm had gone off so early in Hotel Suecia 2.
All of a sudden Rosa was back at our table. "Okay, I'm done working. Do you still want to dance?" she asked. I think she still really didn't believe me.
"Let's do it," I said and stood up.
"Go Mark!" Cody and Adam said and tipped their beers at me.
I laughed as Rosa and I walked to the dance floor. Luckily for me, the song was salsa; the only Latin music I know to dance to is merengue and salsa. Rosa and I danced and chatted; she was mainly concerned with what our impressions were of Cusco. I once again admired the strong pride the cusqueños had for their city and state.
"It is amazing," I assured her. "The nicest people in the world."
When the song ended we walked back to our table.
"How was he?" Adam asked.
"Pretty good. Better than I thought," Rosa admitted. "Hard to believe he is a gringo."
We all laughed.
"Well, I am going home," Rosa said. "You guys. Thanks for coming. I wish you were staying longer. Have a great trip."
Rosa walked around the table and gave all of us a strong hug. Then she bounced down the stairs with her signature energy.
"She was fucking awesome," Cody said.
"Absolutely," Adam and I agreed.
As Rosa disappeared at the bottom of the stairs, the two cusqueñas who had been sitting near us stood up and began to go down the stairs. Both of them looked back at us; one made some sort of odd signal with her hands and then they, too, disappeared.
"What was that?" Adam said.
"No idea," I said.
"Well, maybe that's our cue," Cody said. "Our flight is at 6:30. We should probably get back. Adam?"
"Yeah. I guess. Although I wouldn't mind getting to know some cusqueñas. And drinking some more, too."
We laughed.
"Adam, if you want, I'll stay out with you. I don't leave until tomorrow afternoon," I said.
"No, I better not," he said. "Got to have energy to conquer Lima."
Him and Cody stood up and I did, too. But then I paused. "You know what, guys? I am gonna stay out a little while. What the hell. When's the next time I'm gonna be in Cusco?"
"Are you sure?" Cody asked. "I guess we can stay a little while."
"No, go ahead," I assured them. I knew how early they had to be up. "I'll be fine. I'll probably just drink another beer, then head back. Hopefully find somebody to dance with."
"All right, dude," Cody said. "You made it all the way here from Mexico City on your own. I'm sure you can handle yourself in Películas."
We fist bumped and I sat back down as they descended the steps. My short dance with Rosa had sparked me, not only physically, but mentally and emotionally. I was anxious, in a good way; I felt something in the air that I could not yet define. I wanted to dance and drink, but it was something more than that: I realized, as I sat there, that when I had lived in Venezuela, I had been fortunate enough to build the kind of relationships that allowed me to experience Venezuela not as an American, but as a native. Mark had gradually morphed into Marco. I realized that I had not truly gotten to know even one person from Cusco in a relationship that was not based on commerce. All the relationships I had built were with Europeans, Australians, Californians. I wanted to experience Cusco, but not as a gringo. I wanted to be cusqueño, before it was too late, even it were for one night, for one hour, before I left this enchanted city in the mountains.
To be continued...
No comments:
Post a Comment