Shit it’s hard to resist making all these titles into bad puns. I am glimpsing the whirlwind of torment that must be an MX subeditor’s existence. Anyway. Punlessly, I can now confirm that altitude sickness exists. It always seemed to be somehow invented, but as soon as you leave the airport you can literally feel the lack of oxygen in the air. You have to breathe twice as deep just to get by. It’s not too bad in Cuzco (about 3500 metres) – just enough to feel a bit woozy. As long as you’re sitting still. I walked about a kilometre yesterday and had to stop three times on the way back.
This is a fucking crazy town. Ancient streets barely an armspan’s width with tiny taxis flying down them. Churches everywhere, ancient ornate stone jobs. For ruthless rapists and murderers, those conquistadors sure were keen on Jesus. I often wonder what would happen if most self-professed Christians actually met Jesus. Probably beat the crap out of him and string him up from a tree. Pansy whinging bitch. It says an eye for an eye, faggot! Hey! He told me to kiss him! The most fun fact is that the Spaniards got most of the stones and bricks for their churches by knocking down Inca temples and buildings, after they’d killed or enslaved or driven off the occupants. A little altitude sickness of their own. It’s amazing the whole enterprise didn’t just drown in its own irony.