On Saturday I got up at six to put on the coffee and squeeze fresh orange juice. I got two guests breakfasted and off on their early train to Machu Picchu, then cleared their tables and began the regular breakfast for Dick, Christine and Cecilia.
Carlos slept over in the lodge last night, and came into the lobby early to observe Ruth arriving at 7:40 (early, for her!), while Christine was already downstairs waiting for her breakfast; Gregorio, who usually does the eggs for the guests, arrived a few minutes later, so I did the egg orders too. Carlos isn't pleased, he's pacing and trying to figure out what he can do about it. The soup ought to be hitting the fan right about now, but no one has any actual "managerial authority", so I'm guessing that this sort of behaviour has been going on for so long that no-one will really be able to do anything about it until Louise shows up...if then. One positive thing about Carlos, though: he appreciates an effort to go the extra mile, and makes a point of thanking you.
Pancha was actually a half-hour early, however. And Christine had been up quite early, running around with her binoculars spotting birds. I was reminded of how badly the lodge needs a comprehensive Audubon Peruvian bird book, and stakes beside the flowers in the garden to identify them to older guests who are delighted by that sort of thing. Keeping an extra pair of birding binoculars would also be smart - many of the older, more well-off, often retired guests arrive knowing that Peru is second only to Colombia in having more species of birds - over 1800 species - and more colourful birds, than any other country in the world. They really want to see those birds when they've travelled so far to see them and are escaping winter at home. Having everything on hand that they need to spot and identify some of those birds right here at the lodge would keep some of them for an extra night, perhaps as much as an astronomy tour would, and would result in word of mouth advertising and recommendations for the lodge.
After doing a four hour breakfast shift, I read for the rest of the morning, napped after lunch, and then hiked around the village looking for fresh corners of interest for guests, in addition to walking down to the market to help Gemma and Cesar carry the shopping - which Ruth and Pancha should have done during their morning shift, having had only one room to clean today, but they didn't. I welcomed our five guests back from Machu Picchu and Ollantaytambo archaelogical site, served them beer. I've sold ten beer in three days; sometimes all you have to do is offer, i.e. plant the thought in their heads. I spent a couple of hours giving them a chance to express their excitement to someone, show the photos they took, and discuss Incan history and architecture. A pleasant day, for them and for me.
Sunday morning was a little crazy. Dick, Christine and Cecilia went to mass promptly at 7 a.m. - a time which was, as all times Peruvian, only a suggestion, even for the priest. While we were waiting for them to return for breakfast, an older blonde lady from Texas breezed into the lodge at 8:10 a.m. asking for Arturo, Louise's ex who still lives in a room off the kitchen. He'd had a busy night - we'd heard a girlfriend giggling loudly from behind the door to his room . He wasn't ready to get out of bed, even to answer our knock. The lady turned out to be a photographer who'd had an 8 a.m. appointment with him, and she was pissed. "They tell us to wait 15 minutes for a Ph.D.,", she said, "and these guys certainly aren't Ph.D.'s!" Then she turned on her heel and stormed back out of the lodge. Still, she showed up later that evening to participate in his sweat lodge ceremony, so I guess she wasn't that furious after all; or he made a charming apology, which seems equally likely.
Dick, Christine and Cecilia made it back from mass by 8:40 for breakfast, almost an hour later than they'd expected. We served up a good breakfast. Poor Ronny grabbed their luggage and waited for them in the plaza. He had a 9 a.m. appointment to drive them to Cusco, and if he parks in the plaza for more than 15 minutes he'll get ticketed.
Right after breakfast, Cecilia said her goodbyes and raced to the plaza to say goodbye to other friends without checking to see if her account was cleared. Dick and Christine stepped forward to pay for their final charges according to the accounts book, which Ruth had written up in a very confusing fashion. She was away, and hadn't left any notes to help with final check-out. Gemma thought Cecilia had run away without paying for her final night. Dick volunteered to pay for Cecilia, but Cecilia called from the taxi later to say that she had paid in full, and had also paid half of the room for Dick and Christine on their first night. So it looks as if they've overpaid; but there is another wrinkle: Cecilia had asked for fresh towels on her second and third night, and hadn't turned in the used ones. When Karina (the girl who only comes in on Sundays) went into her room right after breakfast to collect the linen, all five towels were gone! Who packs wet hotel towels in their luggage? So bizarre...
We helped with breakfast, serving and hosting, and then tried to help Gemma sort out the Strasser accounts by feeding her what we knew of the charges that should have been applied and discussing what a proper accounting system would look like.
The good news (for us, not for Louise) is that we had no guests for two nights. Deb went to Patacancha to take photos of the weaving, and Alan Harman has invited us to have a look at the trout farm there which is one of his Alma Foundation's projects. It had been threatened by the recent flooding. There was only room for one more in the car, so I volunteered to stay home and ask Deb to photograph the trout farm, since she has a great interest in the weaving.
As it turned out, they couldn't get through to Patacancha by car.
Julia of the Kiya Survivors Rainbow Centre brought us her books and receipts to audit, and a week later we went on a field trip to view another part of their operation. We got our Machu Picchu train tickets. An odd wrinkle: you can reserve online for Machu Picchu entry tickets on a Sunday, but then you have six hours to show up at the bank (and there's no branch in Ollantaytambo) to pay for them, or you lose them - but the banks are not open on Sunday! You can't simply pay online and print out your tickets. So we had to reserve again on Monday in order to give Carlos the number he needs to stop at the Banco Nacional in Urubamba on his way to work tomorrow, in order to have the tickets in our hot little hands well before Thursday. What a crazy system.
We put some dining room tables and chairs out on the lawn and had beef ribs cooked in the "horno", the big pizza oven looking thing in the reception area. We could hardly chew them - what is it with the shoe leather that passes for beef in S. America? For side dishes we had rice, salad, guacamole, choclo (very large kernel, starchy corn on the cob), and homemade lemonade. And Cusquena blond beer, which is only costing me $1 a bottle at the lodge's wholesale price. We decided to chip in on a bottle of rum and lemon-lime pop for the evening, and we spent more time dealing with messed up accounts. I did online research into simple accounting systems that might be suitable for small B&B's, while Deb finished the laundry that Karina had started.
As we were discussing accounting and I was just wondering whether our bandwidth would allow me to Skype Mom, Arturo burst in completely out of the blue and invited us to join his sweat lodge ceremony. It seems that he didn't have enough paying customers to create a large enough circle, and wanted the event to look as properly attended as possible. No mescaline or peyote involved, much to Gemma's disappointment and Deborah's relief, but I did endure a traditional N. American campfire/sauna, and got a good sweat on for two hours without even having to exercise.
The only difference between this expereince and a cedar sauna in Toronto was the guy banging a drum in pitch darkness over your head, singing traditional songs and chants, and invoking mother earth and the ancestors. None of it seemed terribly Peruvian, let alone Incan, except that the prayers were in Spanish and the singing was Quechuan (which is a vocabulary well-rounded out with Spanish words as well). Still, there's lots of New Age Tibetan and Ayurvedic stuff happening here, so why not a N. American "spiritual" sweat lodge ceremony?
Every so often the flap would open and glowing red rocks from the fire would slide in on a shovel and be added to the pit in the centre. Water was periodically tossed onto the rocks, and sometimes thrown around at the circle of guests - imagine cold water hitting your chest in pitch black, unannounced. It was refreshing, but still a shock, even the second and third time. The hardest part was sitting cross-legged on leafy sticks for two hours, hunched over so that my back and head would fit the contours of the sapling and blanket construction. Arturo encouraged us to sing, but Deb could only think of campfire songs in English - My Grandfather's Clock, or On Ilkley Moor Bar T'at - which would have fallen as flat as my ability to participate in Spanish ones; a few people did finally engage in some tepid response singing after more than two hours had passed and I had already decided I'd had enough and removed myself to enjoy the remains of the fire outside, which was much more pleasant.
Sitting in a pitch black circular tent with total strangers, some English, some Spanish, makes it a little hard to open up. It's not a very social setting, I'm afraid, in spite of Arturo's exhorting that this was to be an experience of brotherhood and sisterhood and opening your heart and all that. European tourists in Canada are absolutely thrilled with the traditional campfire experience, including weiners, "s'mores", hot chocolate and other beverages, ghost stories, jokes and harmony singing of traditional campfire songs; somehow the sweat lodge experience doesn't hold up in comparison. Maybe with "medicinal enhancement", it might.
As I've mentioned before, I'd love to run a small Rocky Mountain tourist lodge with traditional campfires and music, lendable instruments on the walls, and a menu of the most amusingly traditional menu items: Peter's River Chili, hash, pancakes, baked beans with ham in molasses, cook-your-own hot dogs on a stick over the fire, and so many more. With mountain hikes and trail rides, horseshoes and other daytime activities that European visitors never get to experience, it would be quite a happy place.
On Monday we had light rain, but I began the day by washing a kitchen full of dishes, Deb did the fresh bread run, and when the others emerged we had breakfast. Deb left in the car for Patacancha with instructions to take photos of the trout farm and chat with anyone who happened to be around. They were to leave at 8, so we got up early to be ready, but Ruth, as usual, didn't arrive until 8 (and brought Samir), and they actually didn't get out the door until 9. That's 8, Peruvian time. Mark Adams, the author of Turn Right At Machu Picchu, has a Peruvian wife and in-laws. He tells several amusing stories that illustrate their sense of punctuality, including a Peruvian friend who is an executive at a major corporation and was to be married at 4 p.m. in Lima. He told his own mother the ceremony would happen at noon...she came puffing into the church, red-faced, at ten to four - and was on time for the ceremony!
Gregorio also didn't come in until 8, but apparently he has nothing to do today - no guest breakfasts, and it's raining, so it is not a day for a gardener or for varnishing (although the dining room floor certainly did need refinishing). He and I held down the fort alone. He surfed the net all morning, doing Facebook and whatever other activities interest him while I write my diary. He's my back-up in case I can't handle a phone enquiry in rapid-fire Spanish. When the rain stops, I hoped to finally varnish my new brochure rack, which Gregorio had said he'd do for me on Friday while he had the varnish brush in his hand doing other woodwork around the lodge exterior, but he didn't. When we asked him about doing it a few days later he said he'd be too busy. "Busy" is defined as sitting in front of the computer, snacking and chatting with a friend who has dropped in to visit. I generally admire Gregorio's work ethic, but not that morning; I came travelling with one backpack, and that didn't include a set of clothing I can get droplets of varnish on.
They told me Pancha wouldn't come in at all, but she jogged in at exactly 10 (shift starts at 9!) and immediately left again, to do some fast shopping. I had done a lot of her work already, sweeping and washing up. By 10:35 she was off again, at a run, to a meeting of some sort at the municipality offices. I read and studied Spanish most of the day, and manned the reception, and of course any English enquiries, until Carlos returned at 2. Carlos was usually punctual.
Deb was back by noon. They couldn't get through to Patacancha - too much mud on the road for driving or even walking. She brought me some photos which I added to the slideshow. I varnished my own brochure rack. After we took him to lunch and walked back, Gregorio disappeared for the rest of the day even though the sun had come out! He stayed only long enough to provide me with some varnish but no thinner to wipe the darn stuff off my fingers when I was done. Gemma suggests that he was depressed and sometimes just goes off somewhere and sits. His mother died this past December.
Carlos asked me to try to find some Cusco hotels and tour agents for him to follow up on and make connections with, but I can't figure out what he's doing with his own paid time today. As far as I know, he only had one email to answer, and then had to review the reservations books since December, at Louise' request. This marketing research is something he ought to have been doing for himself, quite frankly. He was the only one who really knew what he was looking for, and which businesses he'd already contacted. He left at 7 p.m. because "there are no guests in the lodge", but he expected us to cover the final two hours of his shift that he was getting paid for, which was only a seven hour shift to begin with, as well as doing his marketing research for him. The staff were all left with strict instructions not to take advantage of the presence of Helpx volunteers. I had already done more than my requisite hours cleaning, varnishing and minding the shop until he got back. I considered that maybe I'd do some research for him as part of the next day's shift assignment. Maybe.
Gemma and Cesar, used to Spanish wages, were offered jobs in a local bakery by a friend they'd made since they got here...at one Euro an hour. That's about $1.30/hr. That's not even the average minimum wage in Peru, and they can sell in fluent Spanish and English, as well as cook and bake, and keep cash and accounts professionally, without mistakes. For shame...that's the Italian baker I mentioned in a previous diary entry, with several ventures on the go, who charges $2.50 a slice for pan borracho. He'd hoped to take advantage of a young travelling couple, knowing that they were running out of cash. They refused, of course. By mid-March they'd be off to the coast of Ecuador to work two hours a day farm-sitting for a couple of weeks, and then visit Colombia before heading home to Spain and hopefully a job in France that pays enough for them to save toward their next trip - possibly the Philippines, next winter.
On Tuesday Ruth arrived at 8 a.m., only an hour late. The power went out at 9:30 and was out until after four. I took my brochure rack apart and added little wood strips at the back of each shelf so that no-one would push the bottoms of the business cards and brochures and make them fall down behind the shelf. The staff were suddenly in high gear: Louise would return on Friday, so they were suddenly cleaning the kitchen, the windows in the reception, and cleaning out the frig. After I washed Pancha's load of dishes for her - and she said "thank you"! - we spent the afternoon moving furniture around in the reception, trying to dream up a better arrangement. After hours of discussion we couldn't find anything better than we'd had already, except that I'd moved my new brochure rack to the opposite wall. Hmmph. What a waste of time.
On Wednesday Gemma talked a local artist into letting us hang her paintings on the lodge walls, with tags that show the name and price. One has been sold. It's a great way to decorate a B&B or a lodge. Last night we walked down and selected a new one that will grace a space we've created on the wall. It looks great - a cheerful, colourful painting of Quechua women in the flower market. I think I'll put a photo of it in my slideshow. Unfortunately, it looks so great that I think it'll sell quickly. Good for the artist, not so much for the lodge.
Ruth (in at 8, again) had several confusing emails from English speaking clients, including one who was arriving at the Cusco airport in an hour. The driver Ronny was already at the airport waiting for him, and learned he had to wait another hour. Deb and I figured out the email, looked at the AA site to find the correct arrival time, and helped Ruth compose email replies in English that make sense. Her English is about as good as my Spanish, woefully short of begin able to correspond, although I use Google Translate as a starting point for my attempts. I was reminded of how critical English speaking Helpx volunteers are to the lodge, where precise communication of travel details can make or break a trip. In spite of the template email replies they have in folders on the computer, there is always some new wrinkle that just isn't covered by a cookie-cutter response. Even Carlos' templates are sometimes poorly constructed in writing, although his spoken English is fairly good. Deb spent an hour constructing a new template response for Ruth, related to a hurried purchase of tickets to Machu Picchu, for which they need to receive money in advance from the client. The whole exercise is an impromptu English lesson as well, as Ruth typed out and learned to spell all the words Deb dictated to her.
Ruth left even before lunch, ostensibly to pay an electric bill (how long could that take?) in Urubamba. Work continued on my brochure rack, which had its third coat of varnish. We expected Julia from Kiya Survivors at 11 a.m. and she finally showed up at 1 p.m. just as lunch was being served, so after a quick bite, we spent a couple of hours verifying receipts and checking balances. She turned out to be a bright, highly organized young graduate from Vancouver who grew up in Edmonton, so it wasn't the same as the accounting we reviewed in Malingua Pamba, but we still managed to find a half-dozen discrepancies which she went away to correct. She intended to take us to one of her projects next week, and give us the corrected copy to deliver to Alan Harman upon our return to Toronto.
For the rest of the day we met the incoming guests and explained everything we'd learned that would be helpful to them about booking Machu Picchu, and other local attractions they can choose from. One group of three was there for five days...doin' it right!
My morning was brightened by discovering and reading the reference that Pam Gilbert left for us on the Helpx site:
"Steve and Deborah are an awesome duo! We have never had such an incredible pair and SO impactful. They transcribed and translated Water Board meeting notes for our Engineers Without Borders-Denver Chapter and Rotarian Project(s); inaugurated duo lingo.com; provided photo documentation of things needing attention which we were able to turn to our advantage; researched and reported on all of my requests; and positively impacted and improved our educational goals. They are worth their weight in gold! Sincerely, pam CEO/Founder".
Cool, eh?
Next entry: Machu Picchu, a peak experience
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