Inside the train, Mark again rested his head on the glass. This time, he was smiling. If he was really going to do this whole God-thing, he realized, he had to remember people talked about Him (or Her) (or It) (or Whatever) in lots of different ways. Sometimes they used words for hours on end. Sometimes they just gave a thumbs-up.
The train lurched into motion. They were making the stretch run into Cusco. “Good,” Mark thought. He was tired. And fucking hungry.
**********
The cabs were lined up as far as we could see when we exited the train station. We picked one and jumped in. The cabdriver was probably fifty years old, short, like most cusqueños. He was in the mood to talk and we shared, essentially, the same conversation I had had with the cabdriver 15 hours earlier. It seemed like weeks ago.
"So, what do you guys think of the Cusqueñas?" the cabdriver asked.
I laughed. "We love them. We drink a few every day. In fact, just had three on the train."
Now the driver laughed. "No, not the beer. The women, from Cusco. Las cusqueñas. Or did you just have three of them on the train?"
I laughed too and explained the misunderstanding to Cody and Adam, who also laughed. "We love them, too," I said, "but we don't know them nearly as well."
"Oh, you have to get to know some cusqueñas," the driver said. "Wonderful women. And they love foreigners. They love gringos. You guys go out, go to some bars, meet some cusqueñas."
I translated for Adam and Cody, and then I said, "But we barely see any cusqueñas when we're out. It's all these Europeans. Where are they?"
The driver waved his hand dismissively. "If you look, you will find them." (I had a flashback to Field of Dreams here). "They are all over. Just ask them to dance. They love to dance. Dance with them and they will fall for you."
We were approaching the Plaza de Armas, and as we got close we could observe a giant, inflated Inca towering above a temporary stage. "What the hell is that?" Cody asked.
"It's for Inca Raimi," the cabdriver said. "Big Incan festival."
"But wasn't that last Saturday?" I asked. "I mean, we saw this huge parade...."
The driver waved his hand dismissively. It was his signature gesture. "In Cusco no party is just one day. You see? The cusqueñas will be out tonight. Big time."
We continued to chat as we neared the hotel. It was dark and beginning to get cold on June 28, 2007, and literally thousands of people were out on the streets, listening to the live music emanating from the Plaza de Armas, bundled up in parkas or at least heavy sweatshirts. It was a decidedly more modern festival than the one we had observed the previous Saturday.
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.
"That guy was fucking awesome," Adam said. "We better do what he said. Find some cusqueñas."
"Well, we gotta eat anyway," I said. "Where do you guys wanna go? It's your last meal in Cusco. You're leaving first thing in the morning. My bus doesn't leave until 2:30."
"I can't believe you're taking the bus," Cody said. "How long is that gonna take again?"
"19 hours. Supposedly."
"Jesus Christ. Why don't you just fly with us?"
"I hate flying. And it's cheaper. Besides, I don't mind. I'll just pop a sleeping pill."
Cody shook his head. "You're one interesting dude, Mark Plum."
"Yes, I am. Now. Where the fuck are we gonna eat? I'm starving."
"I don't think there's a choice," Adam said. "We have to go to Peliculas."
I laughed. "You love that place."
Adam laughed, too. "I do. I love that chick. The hostess. Rosa. She's super nice."
"She's pretty nice," I agreed. "Fine with me. Cody? Películas?"
"Let's do it," Cody said. "I fucking love Peliculas."
We locked the door to our hotel room. Películas was four blocks away, on the other end of the Plaza de Armas. We walked out into the cool, dark night, and weaved through the crowds on the way to our last meal together in Cusco.
To be continued...
**********
The cabs were lined up as far as we could see when we exited the train station. We picked one and jumped in. The cabdriver was probably fifty years old, short, like most cusqueños. He was in the mood to talk and we shared, essentially, the same conversation I had had with the cabdriver 15 hours earlier. It seemed like weeks ago.
"So, what do you guys think of the Cusqueñas?" the cabdriver asked.
I laughed. "We love them. We drink a few every day. In fact, just had three on the train."
Now the driver laughed. "No, not the beer. The women, from Cusco. Las cusqueñas. Or did you just have three of them on the train?"
I laughed too and explained the misunderstanding to Cody and Adam, who also laughed. "We love them, too," I said, "but we don't know them nearly as well."
"Oh, you have to get to know some cusqueñas," the driver said. "Wonderful women. And they love foreigners. They love gringos. You guys go out, go to some bars, meet some cusqueñas."
I translated for Adam and Cody, and then I said, "But we barely see any cusqueñas when we're out. It's all these Europeans. Where are they?"
The driver waved his hand dismissively. "If you look, you will find them." (I had a flashback to Field of Dreams here). "They are all over. Just ask them to dance. They love to dance. Dance with them and they will fall for you."
We were approaching the Plaza de Armas, and as we got close we could observe a giant, inflated Inca towering above a temporary stage. "What the hell is that?" Cody asked.
"It's for Inca Raimi," the cabdriver said. "Big Incan festival."
"But wasn't that last Saturday?" I asked. "I mean, we saw this huge parade...."
The driver waved his hand dismissively. It was his signature gesture. "In Cusco no party is just one day. You see? The cusqueñas will be out tonight. Big time."
We continued to chat as we neared the hotel. It was dark and beginning to get cold on June 28, 2007, and literally thousands of people were out on the streets, listening to the live music emanating from the Plaza de Armas, bundled up in parkas or at least heavy sweatshirts. It was a decidedly more modern festival than the one we had observed the previous Saturday.
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.
"That guy was fucking awesome," Adam said. "We better do what he said. Find some cusqueñas."
"Well, we gotta eat anyway," I said. "Where do you guys wanna go? It's your last meal in Cusco. You're leaving first thing in the morning. My bus doesn't leave until 2:30."
"I can't believe you're taking the bus," Cody said. "How long is that gonna take again?"
"19 hours. Supposedly."
"Jesus Christ. Why don't you just fly with us?"
"I hate flying. And it's cheaper. Besides, I don't mind. I'll just pop a sleeping pill."
Cody shook his head. "You're one interesting dude, Mark Plum."
"Yes, I am. Now. Where the fuck are we gonna eat? I'm starving."
"I don't think there's a choice," Adam said. "We have to go to Peliculas."
I laughed. "You love that place."
Adam laughed, too. "I do. I love that chick. The hostess. Rosa. She's super nice."
"She's pretty nice," I agreed. "Fine with me. Cody? Películas?"
"Let's do it," Cody said. "I fucking love Peliculas."
We locked the door to our hotel room. Películas was four blocks away, on the other end of the Plaza de Armas. We walked out into the cool, dark night, and weaved through the crowds on the way to our last meal together in Cusco.
To be continued...
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