Goodbye Cusco!

Thoughts on the way home (May-June, 2024)

Cusco bid me adieu with a surprise $50 charge at the airport and a 45 minute delay on the tarmac before takeoff.

But I feel these inconveniences are cut from the same cloth that makes this place special. It’s quite a paradoxical thing. The charm of this beautiful city emerges from a set of priorities very different from the place I call home. Here, the water cuts out without warning, the service is slow, the traffic is terrible for such a small city, and trash lines the streets of every residential neighborhood. The fact that used toilet paper can’t be flushed makes my young medical mind very uncomfortable. But the people are happy, they’re patient, they’re curious, and they’re caring. I feel no pressure here to be something beyond myself. There is no expectation of perfection to those that care for the human condition.

For someone perceived to be as spontaneous as I am, I am in fact quite the man of routine. At the Spanish school I attended, we would receive a 20 minute break which perfectly bisected our daily studies. During that 20 minute break I would, without fail, dart for the panadería just three doors up the steep narrow street my school was located on. And at that panadería, armed with my poor Spanish and a willingness to practice, I would be met with long waits as the staff leisurely waltzed through the kitchen, preparing my delicious lunchtime snack. But during this time, they would joke with each other, they would chat with me, and they would offer me suggestions to improve my Spanish. I felt no need to receive my food any sooner, and in fact seeing these friendly faces and becoming a part of the daily routine of the urban cusqueñan machine was what meant most to me.

The cast of characters that defined my day included a mother who refused to let me help her clean up after meals, who insisted that I only refer to her dog as her son. It included a soft spoken lead-singer of a metal band who paid for his dreams with a job as a Spanish teacher which he carried out with diligence and humor. It included a short dutch man (self-described) with enough energy to power the city by himself. It included the waiter of my favorite cafe who greeted me with a genuine smile each day, who frowned and insisted I return when I told him that it was my last day in the city. It included a whole cast of characters who were liable to tell you your Spanish was good right after it took you five minutes of fumbling to find the right words to describe what you did the day before.

I think back over all the times I’ve talked with some who wasn’t fluent in English and I realize the power with which these people were able to sit with me through my struggle to communicate. The patience, the presence, the willingness to extend a hand to a stranger that represented no demonstrable value-add for their life. I think my empanada can wait 5 minutes.

So as the plane takes off and begins its initial turn toward Lima, I see from the air this small and oblong city illuminated by street lights, cuddled into a valley completely pitch black outside of the city’s borders. I know that every person that defined my trip is within that small illuminated fraction of my field of view and will continue their lives as I do mine. I’ll miss them and I wish them the best.

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