KFC, Alpacas, and Mining
Zev Burton (SFS ‘22) is a guest writer for the Caravel's travel edition. The content and opinions of this piece are his and his alone. They do not reflect the opinions of the Caravel or its staff.
The ruins of Machu Picchu featuring a llama in the foreground
As the Christmas fireworks exploded like the Fourth of July, the smell turned to a faint mixture of burnt wine, sea spray, and muck. Barrages of red, white, and blue flames came just a bit too close to our car as we drove to our first hotel. The trip from the airport to Lima showcases a city landscape with hundreds of years of history hammered into its sides: the good, the bad, and the crumbling.
In the distance, I could see sea water on all sides, except for a singular pier extending far out into the ocean. There was a massive, lit cross on the end of the pier, facing out to the Pacific Ocean—as if Peruvians were putting up their shield to the rest of the world. It is quite a shame that U.S. influence is entrenched here, creating an odd juxtaposition to the traditional ways of Peru’s Inca past.
From Lima, we went to Cusco. Cusco is reminiscent of a town rejuvenated several times: once by the Incas, once by the Spaniards, and once by the United States. In the holiest part of the city, where churches rise above the clouds and grand statues command your gaze, the small shop selling alpaca scarves competes with a Kentucky Fried Chicken for the attention—and thus, business—of customers. I was fortunate enough to have a conversation with the owner of this small alpaca shop, from which I learned that while she had not been hit hard by U.S. influence, her friends in the restaurant industry simply couldn’t compete and were forced to pack up, walking away from their ancestry due to KFC’s $10 Chick’n Share.
U.S. influence in Peru is sadly not limited to just KFC and McDonalds. The U.S. imports 34 percent of all minerals produced in Peru, more than three times the next-biggest consumer country, according to Peru’s latest export report. These statistics represent an insatiable demand for mining, a process that is destroying ecosystems across Peru and which was particularly apparent in my next stop, the Sacred Valley region.
The bottom of Macchu Picchu mountain, a village where travelers and locals interact in restaurants and small shops
If you look up from Sacred Valley, a small geographical oddity between two mountain ranges, you'll see a little bit of snow at the top of the mountains. As my guide, Pavel, a man who knows the history of Peru the way a Georgetown student knows the Sazón menu, informed me, “That snowcap? Used to be many times as big.” He told me stories from his childhood of how he had not believed in “the snow” until, as a teenager, he took a six-day hike to experience it. The hike is a rite of passage for the community of the Sacred Valley.
Pavel's main fear is “that [his] two boys won’t do that. Won't see this snow except for the movies.”
After the Sacred Valley, we headed to the Holy Grail of Peru: Machu Picchu, or “old mountain.” The mystery of Machu Picchu and how the Incas lugged thousands of pounds of stones up into the mountains is baffling to both the eye and the mind. If you turn one way, there are mountains and rivers as far as the eye can see. If you turn the other way, stunning stone sculptures await your eye. It would be difficult to build today; it must have been nearly impossible to build hundreds of years ago. It becomes even more impressive when you discover the history of the construction: no mortar, no cement, no wheel. Just beautifully crafted stones, fitting together in a 32,592-piece puzzle.
As I walked around, oblivious to the fact that one misstep would cause me to plummet down into the depths of eternity, I discovered the beauty, the tranquility, and the glory of this land, pure and untouched by the chicken fingers of America.