Dulce de Leche recipes

Having been quite taken by Dulce de leche ice cream and alfajores, I'm keen to make them myself. Dulce de leche is available here and here, and I'm quite certain I've also spotted it at Lidl, but apparently it's also easy to make yourself:
"Just put the can of condensed milk, unopened, in a saucepan with boiling water and simmer with the lid on for about 4 hours. Don't let the water boil dry though or the can is at risk of exploding!" (Emmario, UK Parents Lounge)

For further processing, the following recipes look rather good:
Scoopalicious Dulce de Leche and Chocolate Chunk
Cafe Johnsonia Dulce de Leche

Reminder

They don't just have an important public loo (past the musicians, up the stairs and to the right) - they also know how to dance in Paucartambo:

Fifa ban

Fifa has decreed that - for health reasons - no international football games should take part at high altitudes, thereby prompting protest from a number of the more mountainous Latinamerican countries and praise from some of the flatter ones, such as Argentina. Fifa is concerned about the effects of altitude sickness but given the enthusiasm that all Cusqueño taxi drivers I spoke to had for soccer this ban seems very cruel. I was often greeted with special warmth simply because there is a Peruvian player in the team of my hometown (which is located maybe 2m above sea level - will he feel unfit if he ever returns to the Andes?).
Maybe fear of altitude does not only stop Argentinians from bringing their soccer teams to the Andes ?
If the protests are successful I will consider similar measures - this might tackle the lack of Tango in Cuzco.

Sightseeing

Cusco is definitely for tourists, and I finally managed to do some touristy things - such as going to the Museo Inca and buying some Alpaca pullovers. I even bargained to get a better price for the latter. A nervewrecking undertaking which I had to make up for later by going to the supermarket were prices are fixed and nobody wants to talk to me. I was quite touched to see the pullover-vendress bless the money she got from me, though - explaining at seeing my surprised face that I was her first customer of the day - at noon. Her shop was in a touristy-purchases-mall located next to ten others of the sort. Maybe things are better for the shop-keepers if the tourist-season is in full swing but life in these malls is certainly different from the bustle in the markets in which I normally buy my stuff for the field.
The museum yielded an interesting discovery, too. More than half my life ago somebody sent me a love letter which started with the photo of an emaciated male mummy, who had his hands raised up to his cheeks and his mouth wide open, like an uglyfied version of Munk's 'Scream', followed by the words 'if I don't get to see you soon I will look like this'. As I turned one corner of the museum I stood in front of this very mummy - very exciting to meet an old acquaintance so unexpectedly.
Another moment of excitement was when I arrived at the Plaza de Armas. A further military parade! This time just by schoolchildren and their shouty teachers.


Later on, when I was driven home in a taxi I saw the same children arrive back in their school at the end of my street. That explained the military music nobody knew about yesterday. They were rehearsing.

A Sunday in Cuzco

I decided to take the day off today – because I haven't really had a free day since I arrived. Therefore M -who has only just arrived - and I ventured out this morning to do some sightseeing and maybe find some bearable coffee on the way. The weather was glorious, and as we arrived at the Plaza de Armas (at which one is bound to arrive if one is anywhere near the city centre) we had a surprise treat in the form of a military display.

There was a band playing gloomy andean sounds arranged for brass instruments, accompanied by a display of goose-stepping policemen and schoolchildren. We watched until we were totally surrounded by boys offering to shoeshine us at which point we decided it was time to move on. Finding a bearable coffee was not easy because I had left my city guide in W., and M.'s city guide was three years old – clearly a problem, as all the cafes listed in there seemed to have closed. After some 5 fruitless attempts we bumped into a slightly wasted looking Expatriate who very sweetly pointed us towards the next expatriate hang-out which was situated on a pretty hill just below Christo Blanco. There we parked ourselves for two hours, looked at the scenery and talked to expatriates. The coffee was also good.

The rest of the day was spent with more walking, more talking, more cafes, more plazas

and a visit to the market at which we withstood many vigorous attempts to have something or other forced upon us for a very good price.

The sacred valley

Yesterday V. had offered to take me to a wedding in the Urubamba Valley. But first she took me to her house where I waited in her sisters room until she had dressed. I was then shoved into a taxi and taken to another taxi in which some other people where already seated. I didn't really understand what was going on but then gathered that this was our means of transport to the little Town of Urubamba. After some ten minutes more people entered the car and we finally left. Our driver was the taxi driver from hell. He was very good at speeding and hooting but his real speciality was overtaking very slowly whilst driving uphill or before a hairpin bend. My co-passengers were all very unperturbed by his antics (quite unlike most of the cars on the opposite site of the road) and within 15 minutes I was the only one awake. I can't say that I particularly enjoyed the ride but at least it was educational. When we arrived at Urubamba I was shoved into a riksha-like motorized vehicle in which we got very cold as we pottered up the road for another 10 minutes. We arrived at the registry and found that wedding guests, bride and groom were all standing on the square because the ceremony had just finished. They were entering a broken-looking little bus into which I was swiftly shoved, too. I was then told we were going back to Urubamba and then to Cuzco. So after a quite rocky ride in this bus which had absolutely no suspension we changed into a very comfortable bus back to Cuzco in which I was lulled to sleep by cheesy andean tunes until we arrived back at V.s house where I was shoved into another taxi and finally driven to my current abode. I feel pleased that I now know a whole lot more about peru's public transport system.

More shopping in Cuzco

Sourcing my throughfall gutters was less straight-forward as V. and I thought (a theme perhaps). When we arrived at the shop which allegedly sells aluminium sheets they told us they do only glass. Ten shops later we had worked out a feasible option but it's more expensive than planned...so back to the computer to check with the budget master. Same with battery chargers which need to be bought new because they have disappeared from my suitcase.
After about twenty minutes of walking from shop to shop I was well ready to pack in. Especially crossing the road here is a precarious affair. Nobody cares about traffic signals and drivers tend to accelerate as they see pedestrians crossing in front of them. This does not only apply to Gringas - I observed many locals scarper across to the other side like frightened chickens. What is worse is that each time a car manages to pass a pedestrian in transit before he/she has reached the other side it spews out huge victorious clouds of PM10s, leaving the pedestrian in breathless agony. The proud Cuzcenos don't even blink when that happens but I know they feel it, too.
In the afternoon V. and her boyfriend R. took me up to Sacsayhuaman. At some point we were stopped as we tried to venture past a little hut in which sat a pale and patient-looking man. He declared that V. and R. were free to go on, but that I, the tourist, had to pay 40 soles. R. wouldn't have any of that and so he devised a new route through dense undergrowth until we had reached our chosen destination without any further interruption. Before I was allowed to see the scenery, though, the situation was carefully checked for security guards by my hosts.




R. then proceeded to give us a very special tour through an ancient, dark and narrow tunnel trough the rocks (evidently used as an alternative loo since I don't know when ) past a gynaecological seat for Mrs Inca-to-be and an Inca-profile made of rock on to the next hillock which is the home of Christo Blanco, a huge Jesus statue overlooking the city. Up here I was shown where my barrio is, which proved useful for the taxi ride home later.
The day ended with work (and it seems I got one more sensor to work) and a chinese take-away stylishly presented by J., the master of the house.

Breakfast

This neighbour had breakfast at the same time as me this morning.

Inefficient Weekend

Whilst the days are inevitably rushing towards the big lift-off to the world of clouds and fog-drip the purchases of the last few days don't look anything like preparing for water. Girly hair utensils have been bought:

and a shirt which is so flimsy, it can only be worn somewhere warm (i.e. tango).

Hold on, though - I've also got a nerdy torch which is 4.5 cm long and extremely bright: