Pisac is cradled in the Sacred Valley of the Incas, watched over by a dozen or more mountains that rise steeply from Urabamba river, forming a astonishingly beautiful backdrop to events on the valley floor.
We drove into Pisac just a couple of weeks ago, weary from the long journey from California, but bewitched as we followed the road winding down into the valley from the heights above Cusco, 30 minutes behind us. Laid out in front of us was our first view of a landscape that changes by the hour, as the weather changes, the light shifts and as clouds scud across the sky, hurrying shadows beneath them.
The town itself looks like a box; stone buildings enclosing a grid of narrow streets, each barely more than a car's width across, stone cobbled, and all running a narrow gutter down the center. We skirted around the town and followed the road east about a mile to another cluster of red adobe houses, many newly built, backed up against a steep hillside, and surrounded in front fields of towering corn. An open stream ran noisily beside the road, in use as a make-shift car wash for two local taxi drivers. A few of the dogs sleeping in the morning sun raised themselves to watch us, but for everyone but us it was another quiet day in Pisac.
For Sand and Jon however, this was our arrival at the new home we had chosen from 5 000 miles away. Sure we'd seen some pictures but now we were seeing it for the first time. Tucked off the road, behind a gate, opening onto a wide grass courtyard, is home.
We've posted some pictures of the house in the gallery, but by far the outstanding feature of our new home is its setting, and specifically the view. Visible from the front door, and even from our bed, is the terraced hillside leading up to Intihuantana, the Tempe of the Sun. We fall asleep under the watchful gaze of the mountain, and wake up to see how each new day is playing out on these slopes. We ain't in Kansas any more, Toto.