“I am the artist,” Armando said, smiling broadly as we took a photo of him holding the works we had just bought. “See. This is my signature. Armando.”
Armando had approached us the same way many vendors had, but he carried a portfolio complete with various artworks. All nice stuff, ranging from monochrome reflections on Cuzco to colorful celebrations of Andean culture.
“Give me your camera,” Hernan said as we approached the stone gate on Santa Clara. From there, the road continues up the hill away from the main plaze in Cuzco, toward the San Pedro Train Station.
I thought he wanted to take a photo of the gate, but he really wanted to tuck it into his backpack for safekeeping. The area around the market is rougher than the central plaza, where the police keep a vigilant eye on things.
The altitude hit me really hard Saturday night in Cuzco. There were several times that I awoke gasping for air. It was similar to the feeling I get during an asthma attack, but my inhalers offered no relief.
Apparently, Hotel Monasterio will pump extra oxygen into your room for about $30/night, but by Sunday morning I had acclimated and wasn’t having problems.