Tangent: Cusco, Qosqo, or קוסקו?

On another side of the Plaza de Armas, streets jut out that end in a different world. A bizarre world, an unexpected world. You may expect, reasonably, that Spanish, Runasimi, and English are the three main languages of Cusco. And yes, you’d be right. But walking around, there’s a mysterious fourth language that, in certain parts, becomes even more prevalent than English. In fact, even more prevalent than the more rural and not-written Runasimi. I’m talking about Hebrew!

How weird?! Well, Cusco had a Jewish history for a decent amount of time. Nowadays, however, only a Chabad remains when you search up “Synagogues in Cusco.” In the 1500s, recently converted Jews, Conversos, moved to Peru, where, deep in the Andes, they could practice their birth religion more freely. They converted, after all, not out of their love for Jesus, but out of necessity. Eventually, the Inquisition reached all the way to Peru, and the de-converso’s safety was no longer guaranteed even in their newfound Andean home. Nowadays, hordes of Israeli tourists flock to South America as a tourist hotspot, and a shop owner told me that, well, since they tend to buy a lot and bring it back home, lots of shops and restaurants advertise in Hebrew. So, the odd omnipresence of Hebrew in the city nowadays is more to cater to tourists, and rather in ambivalence to the Jewish history in the region. (This is NOT the case in Bolivia, and I hope one day to tell the very peculiar story of the native Hebrew speakers down there in La Paz. It’s pretty cool!) Regardless, you hear a lot of Hebrew on the streets all over the city, mostly from hordes of Israeli tourists. Maybe they find South America an equally welcoming and exotic location, where they can travel without fear of being accosted.

Anyways, I made Zack get a shawarma with me, because I was really interested in seeing what South American (שווארמה באמריקה דרום, if you will) tasted like. It came, though not advertised as such, on a laffah, and the speed was, well, much bested by any shuq vender in Tel Aviv. The symbolically set price of S/ 18, is, though, much, much better than the ₪35 I may have paid for that in Tel Aviv for the same amount of food. By the way, the shekel and the sol are about on par (1.01:1 currently) with each other. It did not come with pickles, and the spicy sauce, though not Israeli kharif, was brought to the table in an “add at your own risk” manner. Though still with a cucumber tomato salad and fries inside, pickles were a notable oversight, and the potatoes added were typical multicolored Andean potatoes. Playing in the background, on the TV, were the earthy sounds of pan flutes and the bright colors of an Andean festival occurring in the nearby town of Chinchero, while the walls were adorned with posters written in Hebrew by Israeli tourists, swearing that this is the best shawarma and falafel you can find in all of South America, and thanking the team for their wonderful work. I cannot say I’ve been more confused by any place more in my life. And, in the end, the shawarma, though nontraditional, was delicious. The bread was just the right springy texture that you’d expect from a laffah, the meat was well seasoned, the potatoes were a nice compliment, and I enjoyed the Peruvian take on spicy sauce.

My weird semi-Israeli experience continued when I visited my friend Amit from birthright who was in Cusco at the same time as me! He was staying at an Israeli-owned hostel, and when I entered, everyone around was speaking Hebrew. It was as if I had entered an enclave of Israel thousands of miles away. Amit and I caught up over a game of pool and a strawberry crêpe, and he told me about his four months in Gaza and his subsequent four-month-long expedition all over South America.