This article appeared
in Volume 18: No. 2 of the Orient
Express magazine.
PERUVIAN DIARY
HRH Princess Michael of Kent recently visited Peru with a group
of guests invited by James Sherwood, Chairman of Orient-Express Hotels,
and his wife, Shirley. During the trip the Princess kept a diary
of her adventures, extracts of which are reproduced below.
February 2001. Arrived in Peru’s capital city, Lima—steamy,
misty, hot. Apparently it never rains here—the mist supplies
all the nourishment the vegetation needs and irrigation does the
rest. Fortunately, the new Orient-Express hotel, the Miraflores Park
Plaza, was a haven of air-conditioning and cosseting.
I set out to visit some of Lima’s museums. First came the
privately owned Museo Rafael Larco Herrera, which contains the most
dazzling collection of pre-Columbian art, particularly from the Mochicha
era. At its entrance I met a Peruvian dog. As my husband is President
of the Kennel Club as well as Battersea Dogs’ Home (“there
is another place you know”, I threaten when our labradors misbehave),
I love and take an interest in all canines. Now, the Peruvian dog
is a very strange creature. Black, with shiny skin, he is totally
hairless except for an upright Mohican fringe on his head and some
hairs at the end of his tail. Had he not been so charming, I would
have found him quite repulsive. Must make enquiries (and resist the
offer of a puppy.)
Lunch with the Peruvian premier Perez de Cuellar. A workers’ demonstration
in the street made this more exciting. Two things struck me especially
in the marvellous old building where we met. Over the premier’s
desk was a 16th-century, very graphic religious painting of a circumcision
(was it Christ’s?). The other fascination was the row of caryatid
plinths supporting the entrance ceiling. This consisted of nine busts
of a beautiful woman, rather like figureheads on the prow of a ship.
Each was presented in a monthly degree of graduating pregnancy. I
felt sorry for the labouring effort of the ninth and almost fell
over the step gazing up at her upon leaving.
Spent the next day travelling to Cusco, legendary city of the Incas,
dating from about 1200ad. Known as the most beautiful city in Latin
America, it is 3,326m above sea level. A network of temples and palaces
of stone, its original Inca plan had the form of a seated puma, its
navel centred in the main square. (Indeed the name “Cusco” literally
means “the earth’s navel”.) This plaza was where
the Inca priests concentrated their worship of the sun, the moon,
the stars and other divinities. At its heart was the Temple of the
Sun and it was from here that conquistador Pizarro took the gold
and silver intended to ransom the Inca leader Atahualpa whom he had
captured. The Temple of the Sun was also used as an observatory for
solstices, equinoxes and eclipses, important for the Inca’s
religious ceremonies and especially for the planting of crops. Through
this knowledge, the priests controlled the people. The church of
Santo Domingo was built on the ruins of this temple and there was
no denying a special atmosphere within.
Today, Cusco is a Hispanic colonial city where you can see impressive
Inca stonework, Spanish colonial architecture and many Baroque churches—the
best in Peru. Streets are cobbled and there are (polite) hawkers
everywhere. We stayed at the Hotel Monasterio, a converted Spanish
monastery dating from the 17th century, which has enormous charm.
(Though I have to admit, my Catholic upbringing could not quite reconcile
drinking a welcoming Pisco Sour in the reception area—a former
church.) Did the monks know such comfort? I doubt it very much.
The hotel also serves as a museum with many examples of the Cusco
school of painting. Pictures of saints predominate, somewhat two-dimensional,
with faces painted like pretty dolls. Their magnificently decorated
robes descend from the neck and are almost triangular in shape, denying
a bodily presence. Much gold paint and even real stones are sometimes
stuck on to the canvas. The paintings are usually bordered with flowers,
birds and butterflies. As the Jesuit and Dominican orders were strongly
represented in Peru from the 16th century onwards, St Francis of
Assisi, with his associated flora and fauna, features regularly.
The city is built in the old Inca style using the seated silhouette
of the puma as its plan. Temples were built where the puma’s
organs would be, and its head was the city of Sacsayhuamán
(pronounced “sexy woman” the guide told us proudly) some
30 minutes’ walk from the centre of Cusco. The Spanish destroyed
the temples and built their churches on top, often using several
rows of Inca stonework at their bases. The Indian Baroque buildings
in Cusco are among the most elaborate in the world, the decoration
is so intricate it resembles lacework. Inside, the altars reach to
the top of the church, carved from cedar wood and gilded with 24-carat
gold. Reaching up to the ceiling through several levels, the tall
altars are adorned with statues of saints, imitating the Inca habit
of placing idols in niches. Statues throughout the churches are adorned
with real hair and clothes, the Madonnas often wearing hats.
Many churches had altars made entirely of silver thanks to Peru’s
abundance of silver mines. Some of these altars are on wheels so
they can be rolled out into the streets for the great parade on the
Feast of Corpus Christi. Every church seems to have a large depiction
of the Last Supper with a roast guinea pig on a platter at the centre
of the table.
Following the great Cusco earthquake of 1650, it became a tradition
to parade a huge crucifix around the city. This crucifix became known
as the “Lord of the Earthquake” and He is often represented
in paintings as well as sculpture coloured brown or black to please
the Indians.
As in all Catholic churches, we lit candles for our dead loved ones
or for the absent living. One could choose a different coloured candle
for every day of the week. I picked yellow for happiness, but there
was even a black candle available to light against an enemy! Shades
of voodoo?
In the Church of La Compañía, on the Plaza de Armas,
I saw a painting of the wedding in the 17th century of a Spanish
nobleman, a relative of St Ignacius Loyola, to an Indian girl, a
granddaughter of the last Inca. Somehow it was most unexpected. In
the same church there is a large painting of God the Father, God
the Son and a huge cosmic Egg of Creation or the Universe. The ancient
Indians knew the earth was round and observed the stars for five
thousand years.
Next day we left early for Machu Picchu, one of the world’s
great sights. Constructed in the 15th and 16th century by the Incas,
it was never finished and undiscovered by the Spanish. The city was
eventually found by an American professor, Hiram Bingham, in 1911.
Buses brought us from Cusco to the “Inca Orient-Express”,
a new train for rail aficionados. Sitting in old carriages, beautifully
re-modeled, with ceiling viewing, we wound our leisurely way alongside
a swollen river. I was not the only passenger to use up an entire
film on the roaring, brown torrent alongside. On a number of occasions
we thought we could not continue through the water-covered, narrow-gauge
track. (We were travelling during the rainy season.) We passed through
many tunnels and gasped at the sheer, green steepness of the gorge.
We flashed by a number of little boys with pigs on leads, like dogs.
Lush vegetation and wild flowers were everywhere.
Machu Picchu station: a welcoming band in bright, striped ponchos.
Buses took us to the top, winding slowly as a rainbow appeared over
the river below. Tried not to look at the drop and concentrated on
counting the fabled 300 peaks surrounding the ruins. The Incas, I
was told, chose the site of Machu Picchu primarily for fertility
worship. There had to be a good reason to build at this height. On
arrival, we climbed the high steps of the ruins, and were silent,
engulfed by our wonder at the beauty and the mystery of the place,
caressed by the soft rain. What a sight dawn or sunset at this spot
would be.
On the way down, little boys raced our buses, fearlessly taking
the vertical route and greeting us with whoops on every terrifying
major turn. They were rightly sure of their reward at the bottom.
Next day—Sacsayhuamán, the huge, 15th-century temple
complex of Inca engineering and astronomy, it was the site of the
people’s last stand against the Spanish. Dry-stone walling
of such precision that a credit card could not pass between the stones
(I tried), and building slabs of a size that their carving and means
of heaving and placing still astounds. The walls of the complex include
a triple line of massive zigzag stone. Sacsayhuamán’s
role is known as a fortress but, in its day, it was a “storehouse
of the Sun” with many religious functions.
As we drove home to Cusco, I noted that the soil was a deep red,
as was the setting sun, glowing on the snow-capped peaks of the high
Andes. In the morning, an early start again, this time for Lake Titicaca,
which, according to myth and legend, is traditionally said to be
the place of origin of the Inca people. The journey was to take the
form of yet
another memorable train ride. This second “Orient-Express” still
had “fresh paint” signs, (hastily whisked away as we
arrived). I broke a magnum of champagne over its last carriage in
a traditional christening, and we set off.
A dream of a train, with an observation car at the rear where I
watched as we crossed and re-crossed the Urubamba river on its way
to join the Amazon. Although we were slowly climbing, the countryside
appeared flat and green with lazy hills. Alpaca and sheep roamed
in abundance. We arrived after nightfall and many Pisco Sours.
Early starts had become the norm—there was much to see. Many
of us embarked on small boats to visit the floating reed islands
on the lake, shrouded in early morning mist. By 11am the sun appeared
as we all re-grouped on a splendid lake steamer built in Hull, in
northern Britain, in the 1920s (as a polished, brass plate proudly
proclaimed). This traditional craft is another new addition to the
Orient-Express stable. Why was I disappointed in the lake? I suppose
a surfeit of treats. Yes, it is amazing lying so high at 3,820m above
sea level, but apart from a little giddiness thanks to the altitude,
how can you tell? I felt none of the spiritual sensations I had from
the Inca ruins. It was just a lake. Perhaps I was spoilt and satiated.
A little tired but content, we flew back to Lima for our farewell
gala. In a few days we had been privileged to see one of the world’s
greatest man-made marvels in Machu Picchu; the unique, elaborate
Baroque churches of Cusco; and the largest lake in the world above
2,000m, all the time opening our eyes to a culture and era long gone.
We heard informed lectures from experts on the history of Peru and
chose not to make judgments on the tragic tales of colonial conquest.
How could we? The people’s warm smiles and clear welcome to
strangers were evidence of contentment with their mixed ancestry.
So ended my Peruvian journey, which I shall cherish forever and never
forget. I highly recommend a visit to all.
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