We may be penny-pinchers, but we are most definitely interested in the strange and curious sites, especially the unintended spectacle, and across Saksaywaman, we find odd to our heart’s delight. Not only do we stumble upon Cusco’s protector and larger-than-life savior, Jesus, but we catch a glimpse of three festive crosses, each more decked out than the last.
How timely, our arrival here, as it is Easter Sunday, after all, and a little QT time with the JC might do us a world of good.
We take a seat and watch it all unfold, Cusco below us, our Quechuan peddlers to our left, decked out in colorful local gear and armed with a host of gimmicks to attract the tourist dollar, from little girl with her pet llama to old man and his troubadour guitar, broken English enough to lead a posse of twenty-year-olds into a never-to-forget song atop the Jesus hill.
For three whole waves of visitors we watch it unroll like a dog-and-poney show, unsuspecting visitors the new blood for old pros used at turning the inauthentic into an authentic, money-making moment.
When a double-decker bus pulls up, Graham and I take it as our cue to trudge into the Cusco labyrinth, lungs full of fresh, mountain air, curiosity appeased.