The last leg
We took it easy in the morning and headed into the city centre around midday, wandering up past the restaurant we’d gone to the night before. There was a small park and an old church nearby and the church in particular had a look about it that warranted further exploration. In an effort to get some change, we bought some ice creams from an old vendor who had a limited range, though he was probably the last person to have change anyway.
We walked around the church for a while, looking at the different pulpitos down the side and admiring the stonework. The museum attached to the church was closed at that time, so we went for lunch, and came back when it was open. As we moved around the museum, the building was filled with the sound of a string orchestra rehearsing for a performance later that evening.
The vestry had similar gowns to those we’d seen in various cathedrals in Spain, though in Spain they were more impressive. The point of interest here though was in the painting and sculptures of the region. There were a number of examples of the unique perspective the native artists of Peru brought to religious artwork, fusing the two styles into a unique, and more graphic representation of the Stations of the Cross.
At the rear of the church was the cloister and habitaciones of the priests who had tended the church in earlier times. We got to see a few of the small, cramped rooms, set up with a modest bed, library and study. The life here would’ve been far more modest than that of the nuns in the Monasterio de Santa Catalina. It was also a vastly different view on daily life to that of the royal family and high society we’d seen in similar historical sites in Spain.
Eventually the day started winding down, and we made our way back to the hotel to ensure everything was packed and ready to go. When we were in Chinchero, I’d had a strong urge to buy more than just a couple of scarves. I kept telling myself there would be more opportunities to buy some of the local craftwork and weaving, despite having the nagging voice on my shoulder telling me this was the opportunity to buy the best quality at the lowest price.
By the time we got to Arequipa, I was more convinced of this, and new that if I decided to visit the markets in Lima in my last days there, I would pay double, and get half. So we spent some time checking out a number of the stores with their range of large weavings. Many of them were colourful, and had reasonably nice designs, though none anywhere near as intricate as those we’d seen in Chinchero, and none of them were finished to the same standard. Already the quality was dropping, though the price had only drifted upwards a little. I walked out of a store with a couple of large cloths to come home with me as gifts for family, still wishing I’d got something more in Chinchero.
When the time came, the hotel called a cab to take us to the airport, and we sat in the departure lounge waiting to be called. The airport itself is not especially impressive, but the uninhibited view from the runway of several large volcanoes rising high in the near distance is spectacular. We didn’t get to El Misti this time, but I promised myself I would get back here again, and that I’d get to see the view from the top of that cone. Maybe next time it’d have a snow cap.
We boarded the plane, and I found myself once again with my nose pressed to the glass as I attempted to soak in the last images of the sojourn, as this was the last clear view I was going to have of the Andes. Eventually, the fading sunlight coloured the ranges orange, and the sunlight gave out and we sank into darkness as the plane began its descent into Lima. Back at the apartment hotel in Lima, it felt as though we’d never really left, that the past few weeks had been nothing more than a day trip.
I’ve just a few more days in Lima, and then I fly home.