More on that hotel, the Kuntur Wassi...

The enchantment of our little mountain hotel wore a little thin last night. With a tired, little baby, a weary, at-times manic 5 year old, and a temporamental parent (I won´t say which one), we had to deal with what may be the most surreal restaurant experience of my life. (I should have had a clue when I checked in and the hotel clerk kept refusing to take my payment for the hotel...I kept trying to hand her the voucher, but she´d shake her head and say no, that´s ok...it made no sense, so I kept trying and eventually won by leaving the voucher on the desk and walking away. I never understood quite what her role was there....)

At dinner, we had to pull teeth to order food or drink, despite the fact that a number of staff members lollygagged in the restaurant and hotel lobby, chatting it up and flirting. Then, the food started arriving in erratic spurts...a dish here, a dish there, and for some of us, nothing at all. Our queries were met with confusion, surprise, and ultimately ambivalence. Meanwhile, the 5 year old got a few time outs, the baby had to retreat to the room in misery with Mama and only part of her meal, leaving me, Riki, and the guide, Patricia to sort things out. We´d ask about the food, and they´d tell us, oh, we thought you cancelled that order, we´ll take care of it...half an hour passed, we would ask again, and they´d say, oh, you cancelled that...we´d explain again, be assured, and wait. That motif repeated itself about 5 times. Finally, a single plate of food arrived and Riki and I devoured it. A few seconds later, desserts arrived, although there were few left to eat them, but we did.

Then I wanted to take one of the sweet quinoa desserts to Kristina in the room, and that opened yet another series of delays, queries, confused responses. When bill-paying time came, the manager brought me a check with all the food we thought we had ordered, and included the dishes that were never received. Ala Cousin Jane, I said, hell no and started drawing lines through the charges. Sweet Patricia stepped in and sorted things out. I did not leave a tip. So there.

But the pain wasn´t quite over: after breakfast (great scrambled eggs, weird coffee...they brought you a thermas with hot water and a small pitcher of coffee...I kept asking what to do with them but the waiter just nodded and left...I mixed the two and it was barely palatable), I learned that I had locked my key in my room (maybe it was the cold shower that had disoriented me on a pretty cold morning). I announced my problem to the desk, and once again, the clerk, a new one, seemed to wonder why I was telling her this. Eventually, she and no less than 4 other employees began looking for keys. I heard her say, "No duplicado," so I thought we were going to have to pick the lock. Alas, someone found a giant box of keys, and they sorted through them one by one until they found my room key, although no one told me. I stood directly in front of the desk while they did this, and waited, and waited. No one said anything to me for a good 15 minutes, so I thought I´d stroll out to my room to see if there was any activity. There in the door was my key, where they had left it. I suppose I could have stood there until noon and I´d still be clueless.

Not everyone was having a bad morning. It seems Patricia, our guide, was getting it on with one of the other guides. She was with us for breakfast, but soon disappeared. Our driver had to blow the horn to get her to join us for the departure.

We went directly to the lookout where the Andean condors fly in the morning. This is something people live to see. Not so much me. I mean the valley is beautiful, as are the birds. But after about 4 flyovers I was ready to go (as was Kristina and Kanahe). We retreated to the bus, where Riki and Malu eventually showed up. Our driver was there. But no Patricia. Eventually, and well after our scheduled departure time, she arrived, giggling.

The pieces fell together at the hot springs outside Chivay. Kristina kept insisting that we find hot springs. Our guide got us to some fairly nice ones, and the Hawaiians all jumped in (I, like my mother, sat on the side, fully dressed with sunglasses on, reading). A naked Kanahe loved it (a funny: the lady who ran the poolside juice bar came over and asked if anyone wanted¨"jugo," fresh juice. Riki, who admittedly does not speak much Spanish, thought she was telling Kristina to get the naked baby out of the pool because he might poo, and Riki fled from the scene...we all laughed and Kristina ordered Malu some jugo de naranja).

Anyway, it was as we exited from the hot springs, that I discovered Patricia kissing a handsome, young Peruvian boy. Kristina and I felt vindicated in our suspicions, but no less off schedule.

We are back in busy Arequipa tonight at the lovely Casa del Melgar. We fly from Arequipa to Juliaca tomorrow morning (our pickup is at 5 a.m.!), and we transfer to Puno, on the shores of Lake Titicaca!