I keep waiting for the wet shits to come. Friday night, after boozing at Mama Africa Discotheca, I ate an egg, cheese, sausage sandwich from one of those street carts. You know, the ones that Lonely Planet, my immunization doctor, and any number of world travelers warned me against. I expected to wake in the morning with, at the very least, Niagara Falls ass. But my shits have all been solid. And with the exception of a lot of farting, my gastrointestinal functions have all been normal.

   I’ve always had a reliable travel stomach (knock on wood) and I’ve come to believe that my excessive flatulence is part of the reason. You know, dispelling the demons so to speak. Anyway, the point I’m making is, I’ve been solid so far and that is very good news.

   The problem I did have on Saturday, the morning after my first official night of boozing in Cuzco, was a hangover magnified to intense proportions by the altitude situation. See we both knew that at this altitude we would need a week, at least, to claim our bodies back. (Simply getting out of bed and brushing your teeth is enough to have you gasping for air). So, because of altitude 1 drink equals 3, with regard to the hangover. And, because the rum and cokes were triples (everything here is stronger, and cheaper), mathematics tells us that the five rum and cokes we had were more like 45 (with respect to hangovers). I won’t be drinking again till next Saturday.

   When Andrew and I did climb into the hills of Cusco that overlook the city, and when the dizziness subsided and our breaths returned to our lungs like birds coming home to roost, we were astounded. This view, this city, is maybe the most beautiful thing in my life upon which I have laid my eyes. It is at least 800 years old, probably more, nobody knows for sure. Qosqo (Cusco) means, the earth’s navel. That seems to be as good a description as any I can muster. I haven´t gone to any ruins yet or walked any trails. Mostly I´ve just been setting up my living situation and such.

   We searched for apartments, which average around 150 bucks a month (which we will split) but rise as high as 300 for these stunning rooms that overlook the rust covered roofs, and the Spanish and Inca architecture of this fascinating city. It was really difficult to turn these down. (150,maybe 200, is our budget). The monetary unit here is the Soles (pronounced Soul-lez) and you get 3.4 of them for each dollar. it cost about six Soles for an amazing meal in a restaurant, which translates to less than two bucks.

   Anyway, it’s Sunday. Andrew and I are still looking for an apartment. I’ve been tooling around with this Swedish gal named cissilia, or Sissy, who has a boyfriend back home whom she loves dearly but assures me that a travel affair is within the boundaries of their relationship. This, of course, is fine by me. In fact, perfect. And when I caress her lovely satin breasts I will tell you all about it. . .if you care to hear.