Portugal 2024

The timing of this post is a case study in procrastination. Not your ordinary first-level procrastination either, but the next-level kind where you eventually forget you even had been working on something. Going through my backlog of posts, I was chagrined to find this one from over a year ago. Seeing as there is nothing time-critical in the content, I decided to wrap it up and post.

Mostly just photos. Click on any image for a larger version.

As far as I'm concerned, Lisbon's most prominent landmark is the gate of Augustus. We had a discussion as to what the connection could be between the gate (built 1755-1853) and the emperor Augustus who reigned 27 B.C. to 14 A.D.

Maybe you've had this experience of receiving various email invitations to upgrade your flight in advance of the day thereof. This time was no different, and one of the options offered was the airport lounge in Lisbon. I did not take this option, but once I got to the airport I understood why people might.

The Lisbon airport was different in several ways from any I had previously seen. Curiosity stimulated, I looked it up online and saw it described as the worst-rated airport in the world. I myself would not have said so, but rather that it seems designed to handle a huge number of passengers with the smallest possible footprint. 

One difference, rather irritating, is that when you get there they won't tell you which gate your flight is leaving from. Rather this appears on the monitors a few minutes before it is time to board. Rather than sizeable waiting areas at each gate, there is one massive central waiting area. This is surrounded by luxury stores, so that you can kill time by spending money if you want. Same for food, which was arranged around a single massive food court. Meanwhile you keep watching for your departure gate to show up on the monitors and then rush to the gate.

From the center of the waiting are an escalator rises towards the heavens. This is the lounge that you can pay for if you want. The lounge has windows so that the elite can literally look down smugly on the unwashed massed (of which I was one). You have to admit, that's a privilege maybe worth a few extra Euros.

Street scene in Tavira, where I spent most of my time.

I found the Carmo Convent in Lisbon charming. When the convent was heavily damaged by an earthquake in 1755, they decided they liked the damaged version better and left it that way. 

Random scenery. These multi-gable roofs are characteristic of the town of Tavira.

A Portuguese shopping cart. It has wheels on the bottom, so you can drag it around on the floor. I tried to decided whether I like this or not, and the main disadvantage that I can see is that it poses quite a tripping hazard compared to an American shopping cart, which is torso-high.

On the Danube 2025

Recently returned from a river cruise up the Danube. This is the first cruise for both Mrs. Gorodish and me. We had considered either a river or ocean cruise for quite some time. It happened at this time and place because the river cruise was combined with a watercolor workshop (Mrs. Gorodish being a watercolor artist). For the non-artistic taggers-along (like me) other activities were planned.

This post is going to be pictures, but also something of a rant about why this was probably also the last cruise for us.  It was not an issue with the quality of the cruise, which except for one significant aspect was excellent. The ship was a new one, and elegantly furnished. Service was excellent and conscientious. The issues we experienced are inherent to the cruise format.

I'm aware that some people go on cruises again and again. Good for them. Those people are not like me.

Here was a typical day aboard the ship. Breakfast was served from 7 to 9, buffet style. We'll come back the quality of this, but for now I'll just say it was okay but not great. Then generally at 9:00 we would start the day's morning sightseeing. For the non-painters this was generally a walking tour. A part of the process was convening in the lounge at 8:45.

Thus every morning entailed two hours of "eating time"/"organizational time" before the actual travel activities began. By contrast, when I travel on my own, assuming I'm in a hotel with breakfast, I would generally take not more then twenty minutes over breakfast before hitting the street.

Most days the morning tour would end before noon, then we would be back on the ship for lunch. Lunch was a major affair every day, taking at least an hour, with a sequence of four courses. Then as a rule we would have an afternoon activity (not a mere repetition of the morning's activity). And then back in time for dinner which was another major production of four or five courses.

The five-course meal is a pleasant diversion when you haven't done it for a while, but it becomes rather fatiguing when it's every meal. We were spending a good three hours per day sitting at the dinner table.

Before leaving on the cruise, it seemed an appealingly efficient way to travel. Sightsee during the day, and then the boat moves while you sleep, so you magically wake up in a new place. In practice, a large part of every day was taken up with boat life. 

Moreover, every time we left the boat we had an ironclad deadline for returning--which means of course we had to return a bit early to leave allowance for the unexpected. When staying in a hotel you can go out and come back sooner or later, but at least you know whatever time you return the hotel will still be there.

So the overriding reason I now realize I prefer traveling on my own to a cruise (or indeed any kind of group tour) is that with a group a lot of time is taken up with overhead activities. (This is not a problem exclusive to group travel; the main reason I dislike traveling by air is the large amount of dead time waiting for things to happen.)

We'll come back to discussing the cruise. Time now for a photo break. Yet another aspect of doing a group tour, which I realized only later, is that most of my photos are of a clump of people standing on a picturesque street.

These pictures come in no particular order. Click on any picture for a larger version.

Street scene in Salzburg. By the time we got to Salzburg we had heard several times about how Austrians are either ignorant of The Sound of Music or actively dislike it. On reflection I could get how this is. Since the story fundamentally is about escaping from Austria, the unspoken implication is that all those who stayed behind are losers (or worse). Nevertheless, Salzburg is replete with "Sound of Music" tours.

In the middle of the town of Salzburg is a massive natural pillar of stone and on the top of the pillar is a castle. I didn't look it up but possibly the castle came before the town.

One of the most impressive things on the entire trip was the view from the castle. It's impossible to capture more than a tiny piece of the vast scope in a photo. The last comparable thing I recall seeing is the view from Machu Picchu. 

In Salzburg we passed this nice little graveyard in the middle of the street. Several of the graves doubled as a bed for shrubs and flowers. As a friend pointed out, this relieves you of the hassle of bringing flowers to the grave.

Architectural detail in Passau, Germany. I enjoyed this because it reminded me of the quirky architecture you see in some Escher pictures:

Passau is the endpoint for many river cruises, which means the town is swarming with tour groups. In particular we saw several groups with Viking Cruise passengers (not our cruise line). It struck me that Viking Cruises has missed a branding opportunity. How much more fun would it be if the tour groups donned horned Viking helmets and rampaged through the town, littering and shoplifting?

Another Passau street scene, which now makes me think of liminal spaces.

Fairness dictates that I acknowledge some of the advantages of the cruise, or more generally the group tour. One advantage is that we did meet some interesting people, some even worth associating with in regular life. 

Another is that we ended up visiting some places that I would never have considered visiting, or even some that I had never heard of. One of these is a little village of Dürnstein. Their main claim to fame seems to be wine production. Since I don't drink wine, that meant nothing to me, but the village was very picturesque nonetheless. 

Fountain on the grounds of Schönbrunn palace in Vienna.

My Austrian guide was even more dismayed than I to see that apparently we are putting advertisements on cathedrals now.

Bratislava, another place which I would probably never have visited if not for this cruise. It was really nice and interesting--I suspect that one day is enough to see most of what they have for tourists. This tower is not a church but merely a city gate. It was interesting to me to see the gradual evolution in this characteristic tower shape as we went up the river, from almost-an-onion-dome to this kind of chess piece to finally a much streamlined shape in Germany.

Out Bratislava guide had an interesting anecdote for us. The town government decided to have a contest to name a new bridge. They asked everyone to submit candidates and then have a vote to choose the name. The winning name was "Bridge of Chuck Norris" but the town government refused to honor the results and named it something boring like "Liberty Bridge."

As he pointed out, this was a huge missed opportunity. They could have had Chuck Norris come to officially open the bridge, and every tourist to Bratislava would have made a point of visiting the "Bridge of Chuck Norris."

In general, visiting this region made me hungry to learn more about the history of the region. As it is, I have a vague knowledge that there was a thing called the "Austro-Hungarian Empire" but little more.

Scenes from Budapest. Budapest was another case of a place that I might have got around to visiting eventually but was not high on my list. There is much left to be seen but we found it far more interesting and romantic than I expected.

Váci Street. This name was familiar from my Hungarian course but I had no mental image until I went there. The street itself is very distinctive and a haven for tourists.

Another famous Budapest site is the large market.

The Houses of Parliament at night. Being on a boat, we were ideally situated to get a view. You may notice in this video birds circling over the building. This was quite the mystery. Are they attracted by the lights (although they stay way above them)? Or are they everywhere and only visible when hit by the lights?

The Liberty Bridge at night.

-oOo-

We now interrupt your picture-viewing program for a short rant about the sole deficient aspect of the cruise--to wit, the food. The following cartoon will help explain the issue:

Every meal had soup and every soup was like this--badly in need of another crayon. We could always see clear to the bottom of the bowl--even when the soup was something like "pea soup" or "lobster bisque." More generally, most of the food was very bland (although gorgeously presented). 

I developed a theory about why this might be so. First of all I noted that the breakfast buffet was oriented toward British or Northern European guests. The giveaway was the presence of baked beans. On the other hand there was never salsa or (American) biscuits. So ok, fine, there are worse things in life than eating English cooking.

The chef on the other hand was originally from Indonesia (also ok, fine--go Indonesia!). But I hypothesize now that Indonesian cooking (which I have never had) is rather spicy and flavorful.

It had never occurred to me previously that one of the trickiest things to learn when you study a foreign style of cooking is to develop a sense of what things are supposed to taste like. And particularly when going from a spicier to a less-spicy palate. It's too easy to take the lesson "English people like their food bland" rather than "English people like their flavors subtle.

Anyway it's just a theory.

-oOo-

Ok, back to the pictures. 

Not technically part of the cruise, but since getting to Budapest required a transfer in Munich, we spent a couple of nights there and made a day excursion to see the castle Neuschwanstein, built by the "mad king" Ludwig II in the nineteenth century. This castle was supposedly Walt Disney's inspiration for Cinderella's castle at DisneyWorld. 

 

So on the excursion I learned a little more about the relevant history. It turns out that "mad king" Ludwig didn't have the cool fun kind of madness but rather the depressing kind where he sat alone in a room all day. And indeed they came and took him away to a psychiatric hospital, where he died under mysterious circumstances the very next day. And then the castle was opened as a tourist attraction just two weeks later. 

So was it a plot by the tour guides to depose the king?

Also nearby, also belonging to King Ludwig: Hohenschwangau Castle. And that's all I have to say about that.

Since our flight from Munich to Budapest was to leave rather early in the morning, we elected to stay in the Munich airport Hilton. It turned out to be surprisingly whimsical, in the form of a giant greenhouse with fake palm trees inside.

 The Munich airport is also a train station--not much surprising about that. There is also a small collection of shops and restaurants. By comparison, Dulles airport has the train station but nothing to help you pass the time. An appreciated feature was this canopy over the open area which I estimate is some 100 feet high (very handy when it rains). It's hard to picture any American structure having the boldness to include something like this (except maybe in a theme park). I wonder why that is?

That's all, folks.

Hacking reminiscence

...as in how to trigger and improve your reminiscence of a pleasant experience. (You could do the same for an unpleasant experience, but why?)

Certain stimuli are known to trigger reminiscence. The most well-known is scent. Decades ago, my first job was at a fence company. I spend hours in the shed out back, putting pointed tops on picket boards, using a specially-designed power tool as scary as any chainsaw used in a massacre. To this day, when I smell freshly-cut lumber, it instantly takes me back to that shed.

Then again, one of my first posts here noted how the scent of wood pervaded with incense smoke takes me to a Japanese temple.

Theoretically you can stimulate a reminscence by (1) identifying a relevant scent to the experience and then (2) deliberately exposing yourself to the scent later. The problem with this is that if you leave step (1) to chance, step (2) is likely to be hard to pull off. My suggestion is to artificially associate an unusual but easily obtainable scent with the initial experience, so that you can later expose yourself to the scent at will. 

What kind of scent? Perhaps an herbal oil. These come in small convenient vials. But choose a scent you are not already overly familiar with.

I haven't tried this yet.

A second trigger for reminiscence, as everybody knows, is music. Everyone has songs that trigger memories of a certain time and place, or even a particular experience. Often the experience itself provides the musical trigger. Visit Disneyland, and when you come back you can find the ambient music loops on YouTube. Sometimes the connection is more complicated---I recently wrote about how a certain Quincy Jones song reminds me of walking in Tokyo at night.

But here again you can forge an artificial connection. On my trip to Myanmar some years ago (incredible bit of fortuitous timing), I made a point of listening to the Double song Rangoon Moon repeatedly.  And now listening to it takes me back to that trip.

So next time you are planning a happy experience, design a soundtrack for it ahead of time. Then use your music player while the experience is happening, or on the way there and back.

Reminiscence and free association: Japan, harmonicas, and Quincy Jones

"If you don't do something about it, you're going to have taco trucks on every corner." --Marco Gutierrez, 2016.

I'm one of those who likes to say "there are two kinds of people," although what two kinds those are may vary from day to day. Today I'm here to tell you that people can be divided into novelty seekers and novelty avoiders. This difference illuminates a lot of what we see in life, including our politics. (This post is not about politics, but there are many serious researchers [which I am not] who could tell you much about the connection.) I find the quote above (meant as a serious warning) a perfect illustration. Gutierrez clearly is not only a novelty-avoider but apparently cannot imagine that some people (novelty-seekers) find the prospect of a taco truck on every corner rather enticing.

As is often the case, I myself am a particularly interesting example.

I say this because over the arc of my life I have transitioned from being a novelty-avoider to a novelty-seeker--proof that we are not born destined to be one or the other. As a small kid, our family went to eat very occasionally to a Chinese restaurant. I was the one who insisted on ordering from the "American" section of the menu and would sit there eating a hamburger while the rest of the family gorged themselves on Chinese food. This, by the way, was the only time that I would have any interaction with Asian people, limited to looking at the waitress in the Chinese restaurant. Our environment was just extremely homogeneous.

I stubbornly refused to even try Chinese food until the age of fifteen, when I was finally coaxed into eating a bit, and it quickly became my favorite. A lesson to be had there.

My friends and I had only the vaguest concept of differences between countries of East Asia. We were really only aware even of the existence of China and Japan--and Vietnam as well, since there was a war going on there. But in our minds they were essentially indistinguishable. When it came to Japan, we could have named two special characteristics--they took off their shoes inside the house, and they ate raw fish (which in those days seemed incredibly bizarre).

That was a long time ago. Now I have a considerably deeper understanding and interest in things Japanese, which has enriched my life in many ways, some not at all obvious. Thinking back, I have realized that my first impressions of Japan came from the movies--from two particular movies. I have since rewatched both of these many times, and recommend both of them to people who enjoy low-key comedy.

The first is Teahouse of the August Moon (1956). Perhaps I'll have more to say about this one in the future.

The second is Walk Don't Run (1966), a unique kind of three-sided love story which takes place in modern-day (1964) Tokyo. It also happens to be Cary Grant's last movie, and it's good to see he was a smooth as ever.

In those days we had no VHS, no DVD, no streaming on demand, which means the only way I would see this movie is being taken by my parents to the movie theater. As a kid, I completely ignored the main plot of the movie, but some of the broader moments of comedy made an impression on me that I can still recall today--for example the romantic lead Jim Hutton taking a flying leap into a public bath. Those scenes are what I consciously recall. 

Several years later, in adolescence, other minor events triggered a serious fascination with things Japanese: the butterfly effect in action. It was then that I started studying the Japanese language. These two movies had vanished from active recall by then--I could not even have told you the titles.

Next event in the story: in 1983 I visited Japan for the first time. Yeah, it was great, and it fleshed out all kinds of rather superficial knowledge I had from books and photos. Fragrances, the feel of the air, all kinds of things you can only get from being there.  (Ah, here is the exception that proves the rule.)

And then in 1984: I hear Quincy Jones' song Velas on the radio for the first time. Super-mellow R&B, with the legendary Toots Thielemans on the harmonica. But I'm hearing something else in the music. To me this sounds like Tokyo--like walking on one of the urban backstreets at night. These are not the vast neon jungles you see in the movies, but tranquil, a mixture of shops and homes, passers-by but not crowded, with a balmy summer breeze. It's not the kind of place that tourists take pictures of, but in retrospect it's a fond idyllic memory. I did find one 1983 photo, and put it at the top of this post.

I couldn't account for this effect of the music--not yet. 

But one day shortly thereafter: I was browsing in a used record store. Once again, in those days we had no MP3's, no music streaming. Acquiring music depended on having the luck to come across it in a store. On that day I came across this:

As I have said, by this time I no longer remembered the title of this movie nor had thought about it for many years. So my first thought looking at this was: Hey, I know this movie! 

And then the next thing I noticed: It's Quincy Jones! 

And later I found: and Toots Thielemans!

Naturally I bought the record and listened--music I had heard just once eighteen years earlier, and never once thought about. 

Breezy cheerful R&B. That whistling is Toots Thielemans again. Not at all "Oriental" sounding, but it was embedded in my subconscious as "Japan" since age eight.

France 2022

 A whirlwind trip for a family wedding. For me it went so fast that afterwards I could imagine I had dreamed being there. This was my first trip post-pandemic. I was a lucky one but many others  encountered major disruptions. I think I'll avoid flying overseas again for another year or more.

Click on any photo for a larger version.

This last is a scene from Charles de Gaulle airport. What struck me is that the seating is designed so you can lie down and take a nap if you wish. ...Whereas in the US any public seating is designed with spikes, knobs, or whatever so that at any costs one cannot lie down.

My Dopp Kit

 

Zoroaster said that possessions are our baggage on the journey through life and we should therefore be wary of carrying too much. (In the "can't make this stuff up" category, I found just now trying to verify this that there now exists a "Zoroaster" brand of luggage.) How much more true this is when applied to literal baggage and literal journeys.

I myself am towards the "travel light" end of the spectrum (though not so far out as some). This requires more than the mere intention of traveling light but is a skill that can and must be learned. I have taken trips of a week in temperate climes with only a single carry-on bag and a briefcase. In this I am influenced by my history of dabbling in ultralight backpacking, perhaps a subject for a future post. 

On the other hand, when traveling I often like to live with a little more luxury than in my day-to-day life. In this I am significantly influenced by Paul Kyriazi's James Bond Lifestyle seminar. This is reflected both in my choice of accommodations and activities and in the selection of gear that I take along.

In this particular post, I look at the comments of my shaving kit. In these 108 cubic inches, I can aim for a level of luxury perhaps not practical for my everyday life. (And by the way, nothing feels luxurious when you are staggering along with too much luggage.) The most luxurious option is not always the most expensive (shaving cream, for example).

And in both respects, when I travel, I think of the items I choose to carry as my team. And I want my team to be an elite team. Every element is chosen for peak performance. I've made many adjustments to the team over the years. This is where the team stands as of today.

Osgood Marley Dopp Kit: While there are several crafters of high-quality leather goods offering a wide variety of fine kits, my choice  was determined by compactness: this kit is a mere 3x4x9 inches. 

Homemade ultralight first-aid kit: sewn by yours truly from velcro and silicone-impregnated nylon back when I was doing ultralight backpacking. I haven't been backpacking in several years, but there are a few items of ultralight gear that I continue to find useful in daily life.

Panasonic Men's Card-type Compact ES518P-S Silver (Japan Model): chosen both for slick design and ultra-compact design. Another plus is uses standard AAA batteries.

Adoric Life digital thermometer

The Art of Shaving cross-knurl safety razor

The Art of Shaving classic horn 3-blade razor: Yes, I actually do travel with two razors sometimes, because I find them useful for different purposes.

antique toothbrush bottle: took me the longest time to track this down on eBay

Fendrihan handmade fine-tooth metal comb: because I'm tired of teeth breaking off of plastic combs

Hudson Trail Outfitters LED flashlight, Photon LED flashlight: another holdover from my LWB days. Because a hotel room with closed drapes is the darkest place on the surface of the earth. In line with my backpacking philosophy, these provide minimal illumination to relieve absolute darkness at minimal weight.

HQY heavy-duty nail clippers

Brilliant Beauty brand precision tweezers

Astra double-edge razor blades

In addition to the foregoing there are the usual miniature shaving cream, toothpaste, cotton swabs etc. In every case I have found my favorite brand to be something available at the local grocery.

Peru 2019

(click on any picture for a larger version)

This report comes late, seeing as this trip happened approximately a year ago. But 2019 was a busy year... Visiting Peru marked several personal "firsts" for me: my first visit to the continent of South America, my first time to cross the equator (though just barely), the highest altitudes I have experienced.

We followed a complicated itinerary: Lima to Puno to Cusco to Machu Picchu back to Cusco to Lima and then home. Lima is at sea level whereas the other locations are at considerable altitude.

The weather at Christmas in Lima resembles summer in Maryland. The hill in the background oddly resembles Diamond Head.

A Peruvian Christmas tree. I much prefer this approach of decorating a native species to the obviously fake evergreens I have seen in other tropical locales.

After a couple of days in Lima, we flew to the city of Puno, on the banks of Lake Titicaca. For the first time in my life I experienced the effects of altitude. Puno lies an an altitude of 12,556 feet (3827m) above sea level, slightly higher than Lhasa, Tibet.

From the airport we took a rather lengthy taxi ride, through a town that looked pleasantly strange and unlike any place I had been before, and then across a quasi-rural landscape that reminded me of part of Texas where I grew up, to the town of Puno proper. We exited the taxi and went into the hotel lobby. Mrs. Gorodish then informed me that she wasn't feeling well. And, like Wile E. Coyote looking down to find empty space beneath his feet, I felt it too.

The first sensation is the obvious one of having not quite enough air. One should be able to compensate, I would assume, by breathing deeper and faster. Whether I didn't apply the theory properly, or it's just wrong, shortly there followed effects I had heard about but never experienced before: headache and nausea. We tried the local remedies: coca tea (which had no effect that I could feel) and then a local pharmaceutical (about which more to say later).

I had heard that sleeping is difficult at high altitude, and I now understood why that is true. It seems that when your autonomous breathing takes over as you fall asleep, you aren't getting enough air. So you wake up and breathe heavily. And the cycle starts again....

After two days in Puno, we took the train to Cusco. Here I admire the shrewdness with which the Peruvians are leveraging their major resource of natural beauty for the tourist trade. Peru has no high-speed rail (nor, I suspect, even medium-speed rail). High-speed rail might well be impossible on routes that climb up and descend at significant grades. 

Perurail makes a virtue of necessity by rebranding the Puno-Cusco train (which apparently runs at an average speed of 24 mph/40 kph) as a ten-hour luxury experience---deluxe food, entertainment, etc. 

I missed a good shot here. Open space is such a premium here (not sure why--there's plenty of empty land) that the market is set up next to the train tracks and even on the tracks. Merchandise is spread out across the tracks, low enough that the train can pass over, and people scramble out of the way when the train passes by.

The highest spot on the route is the La Rava pass at 4338 meters (14232 feet). The thinness of the air was a remarkable sensation. But locals (of course) had no problem with it.

An interesting feature of this trip was the gradual change of the landscape from reddish-brown and arid around Puno, gradually greener, and extremely verdant in the area of Cusco. The mountains, too, became more rugged, extremely steep, almost vertical in places. Some of the train cars had domed observation roofs---this was one place with truly a lot of interesting things to see overhead.

For the latter part of the journey the track ran along the Urubamba river, which consisted of nothing but rapids for miles and miles and miles---which just goes to show how much we descended on that leg of the trip.

Cusco is at an altitude of 11,200 feet (3400m) so a little milder then Puno. By this time we were getting a little used to the altitude---at least the headaches and nausea were gone, though sleeping was still an issue. We felt good enough to scamper up some of the many hills. Cusco is a charming city, layered with pre-colonial, colonial, and post-colonial architecture.

And now we interrupt this program for a commercial announcement. It may or may not be the placebo effect, but this little pharmaceutical made us all feel significantly better with respect to the altitude. I swallowed it, but I have no idea what's in it--frog's eyebrows, leftover guinea-pig fragments, whatever.

Two more notable features of this advertisement. I love the lack of subtlety exhibited by the ailing gent on the far right. And this font, complete with outline, is apparently the official national font of Peru. 

From Cusco we proceeded to Machu Picchu. This is one tourist attraction which is definitely worth the hype. Photos can't capture it. Breathtaking, jaw-dropping, verdant jagged mountains in every direction. 

We were there at the beginning of January, which is supposedly the rainy season. Friends told me it would be disappointing because Machu Picchu would be shrouded in fog. As it turned out, everything was great. We had a little rain to deal with--not much. And the fog was merely some lovely wisps clinging to the mountainsides. 

What's the opposite of "bucket list"? A list of the things I will never regret wimping out on... at the top would be visiting Huayna Picchu, which is the peak visible in the background of all the Machu Picchu photos. While I was there I noted outlines of domes, stairs, and other architecture at the peak. Incredible--like something out of a fairy tale.

Only later did I learn that--incredibly--they take tourists up to the top. If you want to see insanity in picture form, Google "Huayna Picchu hike". One sneeze, and it's all over...

Many people don't care for the modern town of Machu Picchu, which exists purely as a staging point for tours of the historical site. I found it rather charming, backed up against these fairy-tale mountains. Note the huge missing chunk of rock that fell down some time in the past.

The train back from Machu Picchu again featured scenic windows in the roof. Unlike most such trains, there actually is a lot of scenery overhead on this route.

On the way back to Cusco, we stopped at Ollantaytanbo, a small town notable for more Inca ruins, Inca construction still in use, and the inherent charm of the town itself. I must admit that by this point everyone in this group was experiencing high-altitude-Inca-ruin-climbing fatigue, so we eschewed visiting the spectacular fortress (the stairs to which we could easily see zig-zagging up the mountain).

Either you get this joke, or you don't. The men in our group all got it. None of the women did.

This explains why no one knows what state Springfield is located in.

Some of the Inca stonework is still in use in Ollantaytanbo. The trapezoidal doorway is a characteristic feature (poorly suited to the use of actual doors).

We see here once again the Peruvian national font, which are these outlined balloon-animal characters. It's everywhere. 

And to wrap up, a visual aid. We carried this empty Coke bottle from Cusco back to Lima. The collapse indicates the difference in available air between Cusco and sea level.