I never have written about our day in Hermann, Jefferson City and Sedalia, Missouri. I guess it’s not going to happen. Let’s just say on this interesting drive from St. Louis to Kansas City, that I had my second bratwurst in about 40 years in German Hermann on the Mississippi River (the first was about 10 years ago in Viroqua Wisconsin – details on request), that most of the state capital Jefferson City seemed vacant or closed and the liveliest place was the library, and that Sedalia was bigger and more active than I thought it would be. Sedalia is the home of the Missouri State Fair and, if you used to watch Wild Bill Hickok on television, you might remember that Jingles (Andy Devine) was from East Sedalia.

I thought I would probably write today about Prof. Lauren Strauss’ excellent presentation last night for the Haberman Institute for Jewish Studies on “Jews and Social Protest on Broadway”, a fascinating look at the Jewish aspects of the history of the American musical theater and how it presaged and/or reflected social issues facing the country throughout the 20th century. But that isn’t going to happen now, either.

Instead, I am going to talk about Pisac, a town nestled in the Peruvian Andes, about 20 miles from the old Inca capital, Cuzco. A town I visited about 50 years ago, one fateful day.

Why Pisac? Because, in this week’s Washington Jewish Week, there is an article titled “Israeli’s Flock To This Tiny Town in Peru”. Apparently, this town of fewer than 10,000 residents, an Inca market and crafts center, and significant Inca ruins, attracts hundreds of young Israelis, some of whom are settling there for rather lengthy periods. Although the article’s explanations are far from complete or perfect, it appears that the biggest attractions (other than the fact that the surroundings are absolutely beautiful, and the climate invigorating, and the prices cheap) are the availability of various types of psychedelic drugs that are derived from the natural vegetation and that I assume have been used by the Incas for centuries. There are so many Israelis in Pisac, it appears, that some have started their own businesses, that restaurants have Hebrew language menus, and that there is a Chabad, which feeds 50-100 people every Friday night. There seems to be a spiritual quest going on here, with Chabad competing with the drug culture. Go figure.

I think it was in 1974, when I was in Pisac. There were no Israelis, I am sure I was the only Jew, and everyone else seemed to be Incan and Quechua speaking – I remember the lack of Spanish as surprising to me. I had been on a trip up the Amazon with an old friend, and after we spent some time in and around Iquitos on the river in Peru, we went our separate ways. I wanted to stay in Peru and see Machu Picchu. As I recall, he wanted to visit friends he had in Costa Rica. (He can correct me if I am wrong.)

I had flown from Iquitos, an isolated but interesting colonial-feeling town of about 500,000 (now – my guess is less than half that amount in 1974). It is still the largest continental city in the world that you cannot drive to. On the upper Amazon, you can only reach it by boat or by air. I remember the tiled architecture, the 19th century feel, and a small women’s clothing store called Tienda Edith (I photographed the sign over the door – it must be somewhere).

When I got to Lima, I was quite disappointed. Obviously a large city, I remember it at surprisingly unattractive, and the weather was cloudy, cloudy, cloudy. I was told it was always that way. I remember really be amazed at the Gold Museum, but nothing else. I remember a rather chaotic city, overly crowded, filled with food carts and retail street vendors. In 1974, food carts and street vendors were unknown in most of the U.S. and I viewed it as a sign of poverty and underdevelopment. And I decided to leave Lima the next day and make my way to Cuzco, the ancient Inca capital.

Cuzco was to Lima as night to day. It was a step into the past, as atmospheric as a sizeable city could get. If you haven’t been there, Google it. But my goal was not to stay in Cuzco, although it would have been a good idea. My goal was to continue on to Pisac and then to Machu Picchu.

Why Pisac, other than it was on the road to Machu Picchu? Because, I was told it was the Inca town to visit, and that it’s Sunday market was famous because it was so extensive. So off I went (I think by train. I think).

It was an attractive, old town, small and very atmospheric, set in the Andes. It was already clear to me that rural Peru was one of the most beautiful places in the world, with fascinating people. As soon as you leave Lima, the clouds (really, I guess it is haze) vanish and the sky becomes as blue as the sky can be. You really do see alpacas and llamas, and the people (the character written on their faces, the colors of their clothing, the variation in the women’s hats, and the tough soles on their barefoot feet) are unforgettable. As proof, you see I have not forgotten.

I checked into a small hotel. It looked new, which surprised me as it seemed out of character with its surroundings, but it looked comfortable, and I did want some comfort in such strange surroundings. The market was a promised, very extensive with a mix of art, crafts, textiles and food. I bought some cheap watercolors (still have them, unframed in a drawer), and ate some food. I recall the food as being contained in something like a corn tacos shell, but I wouldn’t swear to what exactly it was (if I knew even then).

The food was a big mistake. I should have known better. That night, I woke up in the wee hours sick as a dog. It is tough to be sick (both vomiting and diarrhea) in the middle of the night in a place where you know no one and the only language most people speak is Quechua. But it is infinitesimally tougher, when you learn that, during the night, both the electricity and the water power disappears. You can’t see anything, you can’t turn on a light, you can’t turn on the tap, you can’t flush the toilet. Apparently that happened there then every night, but, as they say, who knew? The only thing that gave me optimism at all was that I knew that sometime fairly soon, day would come.

The next morning, after I was able to clean things up a bit, I felt better (not best, for sure), but weak. But I decided to continue on my way and get on the train to Macchu Picchu (I skipped breakfast, as I recall, and was living on Imodium, or something similar, that I must have brought with me). At that time, the train was the only way to get to Machu Picchu – perhaps now you can drive, I am not sure.

I remember sitting on the train wondering if I had made a mistake, sipping my Inca Kola. If Pisac was isolated, just think about Machu Picchu. Things are a bit different now, but then there was a guest house at Machu Picchu with four rooms (I had reserved one), but no hotels, nothing else. What if I continued to get sick there?

I tried to put that out of my mind, as I enjoyed the mountains, the river valley and everything else. Shaky as I felt, there is no way I regretted this trip.

To be continued (maybe even tomorrow).