Woke up early, went for a pre-dawn walk around Cusco. The city was active
already, partly with brisk-looking women and men purposefully walking toward
their day, partly with somewhat less fresh-seeming men (yes, all men)
stumbling out of doorways or staggering down the tilty cobbled
streets, sometimes holding on to walls for support. In retrospect I’m
surprised by how little thought I gave that, by how depressing I find
it now but how unremarkable it seemed then. Is it my puertorican
upbringing? It’s been decades since I’ve lived in PR or experienced
that kind of alcoholism; shouldn’t I have reacted with more shock
or at least surprise? I didn’t. I mostly felt the cool air, watched
the lightening sky, smiled at the the industrious passersby (none
smiled back), and avoided the slippery wet patches on the sidewalk
and roads — half of Cusco hoses down their housefront in the early
morning, making it keenly important to keep one eye on the ground.
There’s probably some sage life advice to be found there.
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