Michael Tyler

After much man like pointing and shuffling of stones, it seems the wall has reached a state of finishedness and I am consulted as to the state of play.
Spotting one of the stones a unstable I make an adjustment bringing the whole thing down again.

Laughter erupts from the female contingent by the shop, who, for them, this is probably one of the biggest events Puello has seen.
Apart from the chicks by the shop, it seems the villagers have been generally unimpressed by my performance and dissipate in disgust.

I finish my beer gently leaning by the wall (new section) taking the fresh mountain air.

Reference
Indian 1 and a new skinny spritely looking dude approach and begin to talk to me again slower this time.
Using the reference section of my guide-book, I apologise to Indian 1 about the wall , this appeases him a little and we join together in pointing out familiar words from the reference section.

Lasting for about 5 minutes, this bonding session concludes Indian 1 & 2 and I shake hands.

Rain
It seems the party it over.

It is starting to rain.

A guy with one eye appears.
It seems he wants me to come to his hut to hear him play the flute.

This is an offer I can’t refuse.

Seeking only to chill, I mount up what looks to be a dry stone wall, in a similar to Welsh fashion.

Innocently, I consume my beer and view village affairs as they unfold in front of me from the relatively secure outpost atop the stone wall.

Not appreciating the precariousness of its construction, I turn to view a passing truck unbalancing one of the corner stones and sending the wall crashing into the road along with my humble self much to the amusement of some female onlookers who have been hanging out by the shop.

Once more I have the whole village’s attention.

Menfolk approach, I recede into a beard stroking stance shrugging and gesticulating at the fallen wall in what I think will be a conciliatory tone.

“Ahh yeh, I was just drinking my beer”.
You know the one.

On my motorcycle, I’ve discovered a little visited village of indigenous Indian peoples.

As I approach, I’m surrounded by the whole village.

They all begin to ask questions in Spanish which I find uncomfortable as I don’t really speak conversational Spanish.

Seeking security, I head for the village shop.
I can grab a beer, gather my thoughts and wait for the people to calm down and disperse.

Stayed here a few days back.

Ollantytambo is the only remaining Inca village in the region with 100% cobbled streets and the original irrigation channels in the middle of each street.

In Ollantytambo these irrigation channels are fully functioning, gushing full of fresh mountain water carrying it round and down on its way to the Urumbamba below.

Every other town has filled these channels in to make way for more roads and more traffic.

For this reason Ollantytambo retains a charm you won’t find in other Peruvian towns.

I have run out of petrol.

Its OK because I am in Ollantytambo.

TIP
If you run out of petrol on your motorbike, lay it down on the road and lift the wheels up in the air.
This lets the petrol in the tank move to the side you want it on.