Protesta!

So, the Cusqueñas aren't the most organized group of people in the whole world. They were supposed to have their big protest riot thing last week but they kept postponing it so that they could have more time to read about rules and get themselves organized. Unfortunately they organized on the day of my return trip home. Now. I realize that most people would probably kill to be able to say to their boss, 'There was a big protest and I can't get out of the country for three more days!' And be elated about spending three more days in Cusco. They also haven't lived here for over four months. They might not even care about spending another $300 on ticket changes and hostals and food.

By early afternoon, the internet said I still had a flight waiting for me. Because the protest was happening there weren't any taxis, which meant I had to strap on my giant backpack and tote my carry-on about 2 miles to the airport in the blistering sun and walk through crowds who were just standing around gaping and playing futbol instead of working. It is curious that for a people who don't earn much money that there are so many strikes and protests. I got as far as the far outside wall of the airport when I saw the police, who were threatening to hit 12 year-olds on bicycles who thought it was funny to ride their bikes close by. What no one realized was that the protest crowd was just around the corner and the police were trying to get everyone to go home. I had been sitting in the shade, hoping that because I got their really early, maybe if I just sat around and waited my flight would still be on. What I didn't know was my flight had already been cancelled and the airport was closed. Suddenly I heard a crowd of people shouting so I started walking back to the hostal in the opposite direction, one block later I heard pops which I soon discovered were bombs of tear gas. Now we were all walking in the same direction with scarves over our mouths. 20 sweaty minutes and 2 wobbly legs later, I was back at my hostal.

It took four hours before my airline here in Cusco was able to reschedule my flight, yes, not until the 24th, and not the US until the 25th. Fie, cruel world!! I have already said goodbye to EVERYONE which was traumatic enough the first time around so I don't want to do that again. So it is just me and my personal TV with cable and Girls of the Playboy Mansion, which besides being in English and makes me want to dye my hair platinum blonde, kinda of makes me want to barf. I treated myself to my favorite restaurant for dinner, which fortunately is only $1.50 US, a bottle of my favorite yogurt (I might have to turn to something stronger after my 3rd episode of the Girls), and I signed up for a day of rafting this weekend so I can get out and enjoy the countryside for less than $30 US. This country is good for some things.

When the Buzz is Over

Ahhhh child labor. There are some things I will and will not miss about Peru. I will miss the markets where you can buy an entire blender full of fresh juice made any way you like it for about $1 US made by a pleasantly plump mom-like lady. Actually, I will miss how far my dollar goes in general. I will miss the dogs running all over the city even if they are dirty and don't like people and sometimes like to chase after white people. I will miss my professors asking me to pick them raspberries from our very tall raspberry trellis at school. I will miss that every day is different and every day something unusual happens whether it's a riot with people burning tires (because somehow burning tires symbolizes that the people don't want a commercial company buying out Machu Picchu) or running into someone from Colorado with so many similarities it's scary. I will miss that the people here work damn hard and I never hear anyone complaining. I will miss the snazzy cafe with the cute waiters and good cappuchinos, although I guess we have those in the States. Now that I am living safely and securely in a hostal within the grounds of my project at the Clinica San Juan de Dios, I certainly don't miss the sounds of children getting hit and screaming next door to my previous house. I'm not really sure what kind of malicious mischief a 4 year-old can truly get into or for what a young teenaged girl needs to scream for an hour straight. Today I learned that domestic violence is tolerated unless a family member reports it - if you tell the police, and you're not family, they won't do anything. I also found out from a fellow volunteer at my project with the teenaged girls that he has taken two of them, after they have left the project to go back to living with their families, to go have abortions (which, surprise, are illegal here) after being raped by family members. I won't miss the dirty 3 and 4 year-olds coming into restaurants to sell me candy because they need to make money 'for the family', nor will I miss the dirty parents of these children who openly ask me for money for 'their children' with alcohol on their breaths. I won't miss hearing Peruvians talking about how wrong it is for white people to come into their city and try to help all the poor children. Although I was heartened today in my art studio project to hear that most of my girls dream of being lawyers and professionals so that they themselves can help the children. I won't miss my eyes being red from all the exhaust on the main drag in town (the air there is almost worse than in Paris). I won't miss having to purify all my drinking water. I won't miss that I have to buy my cheese in one store, meat in another, curry powder in another, and that the yogurt is never refrigerated, and often not the meat either for that matter. Although I have been blessed that I haven't been struck by a serious bout of Travelers diarrhea.

Today's art studio project was to create a collage of all the things you want in your life. Most of the girls chose pictures of cars and houses and children, some wanted to be chefs, others lawyers, a few wanted husbands but emphasized that the husbands and children need to wait until after they have their professions. One girl with a picture of a mosaic of Jesus in the center of her collage said she wants to see God in her heart.

Aguas Termales!

Cconnoc

The week before last Oscar and I headed out to the Cconoc Hot Springs for a day away from Cusco. Actually, I had no idea where I was heading just that it had the words aguas termales in it and that was sufficient. We rented a taxi and headed down into the warm, humid valley away from the cold mountains of Cusco. It was, by far, the most gorgeous trip of my stay here - rolling hills, green fields, tiny adobe houses, cows all over the road, sun setting...gorgeous. Our taxi also picked up 4 other people (yes, that is 7 people in one taxi) but we ended up being the odd-men out so to speak as no one else wanted to stop in Cconoc. So instead of being $5 US per person it was now $80 soles (which, in the grand scheme of things, is only $25-30 US but it is all relative - 80 soles always sounds like a lot, and more importantly, he was price gauging). Oscar and I found ourselves dropped off on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere forestland in pitch black country darkness. Our taxista pointed at a trail, the beginning of which we could just make out by the light of the brakes, and said he had to just follow that trail. And then he drove away. Fortunately both of us have a healthy sense of humor and flashlights too. We skidded our way down a very steep and twisty dirt trail surrounded by cacti and trees with thorns, and I think I nearly drove Oscar, who is already scared of things like mice and spiders, over the edge with my questions about bears and mountain lions living in the valleys and mountains of Peru. After a half-hour we finally saw some lights and came upon the hot springs. The next day I discovered that this little resort is right on the side of the biggest river I have ever seen outside of the Columbia. It is gorgeous, surrounded by mountains, exotic plants, warm sun, and my favorite, mosquito-like bugs. Although when they bit it didn't hurt and I thought I got away with murder the next day when they STILL didn't itch. Unfortunately, 10 days later, they are still driving me insane!! We left later that morning by walking back up the killer, this time with 90F heat and mosquitoes. I was happy to see a rock slab of a seat sitting in the shade and promptly laid down on it to revive myself. But then a bus came by, a saving grace I know not, except there wasn't any room on it which meant we had to stand most of the 3 hour bus ride back to Cusco. There is nothing like a giant bus filled with people who don't use deoderant or even shower that much in the height of a humid summer up and down twisty mountain roads when you are already exhausted and overheated and just finished all your water. Mind you, most of the people on the bus were young men, but it was a woman in her 50's who finally took pity on me and let me have her seat for awhile, and later when enough people left that I had my own seat, I promptly fell asleep for a nap and some kid outside threw a water balloon at my window which woke both me and my seat partner.

I spent Valentine's Day at an English pub, the same one I had Christmas dinner and Thanksgiving dinner at, and had a delicious cheese and, later, chocolate fondue. One American and two Irish male friends surprised us all by leaping into the restaurant in full-on homemade cupid/devil costumes complete with horns, wings, red underwear, red soccer socks, and shooting rubber bows and arrows. All three very single cupids were very happy to see 5 angels in full on white dresses and feathery white wings slugging back a few hard drinks at the bar. Ahhh amor!

¡Carnavales!

Somehow I had the crazy idea of actually going to the center of downtown Cusco on Sunday on the last, and biggest, day of Carnavales. When I arrived, everything was eerily calm, and I saw a crowd sitting on the cathedral steps preparing for... a parade, a festival, something...? I eyed the vendors selling plastic ponchos suspiciously especially considering that the cloud cover was steadily clearing. Fortunately after 4 months here I speak and understand Spanish passably well, and the man sitting next to me explained that yes, there was a parade, and yes, I was going to get wet. Ever prepared, I had my raincoat with me. Which at that point didn't help much with the 85F full-on 11,000ft altitude 10 point UV rating sun exposure. But in a way the gods were smiling on me and I was quickly surrounded and leaned upon by several standing 5 year-olds who blocked the sun fairly well. As did some old man with a parasol hovering over me.

During the seemingly endless stream of parade dancers, children sprayed water from backpack waterguns and foamy stuff like merengue all over the participants. When the parade ended, these weapons were quickly turned on the attendees, and as luck would have it, I standout particularly well in this country and therefore make an excellent target, even for 5 year-olds. It didn't end in the main center either, I walked back home and was blasted from passing taxis with at least 3 very heartily flung water balloons and a few squirts of spumo from the buses too. It was all in good fun, everyone laughed, I cooled off, and now the waterplay is finally over.

I also went to work that day, the dedicated volunteer that I am. Unbeknowst to me, there was a small Carnavales celebration for volunteers and employees (set up by volunteers and employees too). They set up an already cut, live medium-sized tree into the futbol field and dangling from it were all sorts of kitchen utensils and toys. At first I couldn't understand why some of the teenagers from the clinic balked at going near the tree. When I walked down, paper ribbon was wrapped around my body, someone grabbed my hand, and suddenly I was part of a dance circle complete with an falling-apart axe. My favorite are the dances with dangerous rusty weapons. In pairs we all took turns chopping at the tree, and when it fell, it was a free for all with all the presents attached. I really didn't need a kitchen strainer or plastic tupperware dish, so I only fought my way through for a whistle that I promptly gave to the crying 3 year-old who hadn't been allowed to participate further once the tree started cracking and leaning. Afterward was a feast of fried sausages and fried potatoes - never complete without mayonaise - how I have lost weight in this country I will never know, but I expect my body to grow by at least 2 sizes once my plane sets down in Seattle next week.

Oh you joker, you

Yes, I forgot to knock on wood with my last blog, in speaking about Carnivales and water. That very day I had not one, but three buckets of water thrown on me while I was walking up the street back to my house! Those little Peruvian kids are freaking sneaky! Tiny and sneaky! They were hiding inside the doorways of stores so you look down the street and naively think it is all calm and safe, and then BLAM!! SPLASH!! Fortunately I was close to home so I was able to take it all with a smile. I wasn't happy to hear that Carnivales actually lasts the entire week here in Cusco, so there are still random kids out in the street with their water balloons and bottles of white spray goo a little like whipped cream that disappears after a few minutes. But they are also about 4 years-old and have really bad aim. In fact, sometimes their throws are so short that their balloons don't even pop when they hit the ground, they just roll down the street and fall into grates, and then you have a tiny flock of 4 year-olds laying in the middle of streets with their arms down grates with taxis zooming by.

Those little kids remind me - Pampers has a new advertising campaign here in Cusco, and so there are Pampers posters on all of the little tienda doors advertising their new size of diapers - XL! Because miniature Peruvian babies need XL diapers...

I had a wonderful birthday dinner with my friend Oscar's family - his brother is also a chef and had spent the day cooking a baked pasta dish with kalamata olives, eggs, chilies and spices, and also stuffed peppers with raisins, chilies, beef and cheese. We washed it down with good Peruvian beer and a giant chocolate cake! I had plans to go out and celebrate afterward, but after so much food I laid down for a little nap and woke up 12 hours later. Yes, as you all know, I am quite the party animal. Right now it is time for a belated birthday lunch at a little Israeli place that makes the best sauces for dunking your bread in, giant falafel balls, and a piping hot milk custard dessert! For $2 US! Woohoo!

The Zoo that is Cusco

Baby Quail

Ahhh, the days of Carnivales!

Superbowl Sunday, also known as Carnivales in Cusco, is the start of a whole month of summer celebrations. Sidenote: Yes, because this is the Southern Hemisphere, it is technically summer in South America. And all the other countries and cities call this time summer, but because it is constantly cold right now with torrential downpour rains, the Cusqueñas refer to this season as winter, too. So it might be summer, it might be winter. Whatever season it is, the children are celebrating Carnivales with water balloons, water guns, and my favorite, balloons filled with paint that people throw out of moving buses. I was resting easy when a friend told me not to worry, that it is illegal to throw these things at strangers and that you can tell the police if it happens. But as it draws closer to Carnivales, I am witnessing for myself that, like everything else in the Penal Code, while it may be illegal, it still happens! I have been fortunate in staying dry, but I am apprehensive about walking down to the farmer's market this afternoon to buy ingredients for dinner.

There are some funny animal things here: In the farmer's market, there are people with tiny carts filled with almost featherless quail who lay eggs, and as the eggs are freshly laid, the Quail People boil them, peel them, and fill plastic sacks with quail eggs ready to eat. While I tried Alpaca last week, I haven't been brave enough to try farmer's market quail eggs. People from the country bring their baby goats and sheep into town for picture time, and these farm animals follow them around like dogs. It is not unusual to see a llama or two tied up to a lamppost on the sidewalk, or following you up stairs in alleyways. They especially like the little tufts of grass growing out of the sides of the adobe buildings. Yesterday in front of my house, a pickup truck pulled over in a fit of panic: In the back of this tiny, not standard, pickup was a large black bull, cow, and calf with a roof of chainlink fence fencing them in. An 8 year-old boy was riding on top of the cab, wide eyed and holding on with only one hand as the bull began freaking out, bellowing, sticking its foot-long tongue out of the side of its mouth, and repeatedly trying to kick the fence and truck but actually kicking the cow and the calf. It was jostling the truck so badly that the two old men in the cab had to pull it over. I had images of wild cows running up and down Calle Arcopata. Dogs run pretty wild here, so it is not unusual to see them laying down just inside a fancy alpaca sweater and jewelry store, or hanging out inside an upscale restaurant, and pretty much lying down in every dry place possible. My neighborhood dog has taken to following me to internet cafes and chewing on the computer cables and foam pads of headphones. She gives me dejected looks when I get into a taxi in the mornings.

My art studio is going well, although getting interrupted by the typical Peruvian way of life. Last week the gates were shut and padlocked without any explanation. I found out later that the girls went on some kind of religious and hot springs retreat in the mountains. Yesterday class was cut short because the girls had to attend a traditional Peruvian dance class. These interruptions mean I am extended my studio by an extra week, because the girls absolutely love this time. You should have seen the look on the face of the new girl, Elizabeth, who arrived this week when I handed her her very own sketchbook to start working in, it was priceless.

Meanwhile, it seems I have also started something of an art studio at my morning clinic with the disabled children. For some reason, this time of year, during their summer break when they don't have school or anything else going on, their playground is locked shut. Usually I try to set up a little art space for a few children, but the nurses see that suddenly the children have entertainment and suddenly I am doing art with 30 kids who can barely feed themselves much less make art without a lot of support. I make about 100 trips to the kitchen sink every morning. My favorites are the kids who think dumping the giant can of crayons and pens, repeatedly, onto the floor is great fun. Yesterday my three teenagers, Yosmar, Andres and Ermitaño, had a sparkling moment of insight (and we were fortunately that it was also a sparkling day out) to paint outside at the tables with umbrellas. We had a splendid morning of painting, joking, and making fun of the security guard, and I only had to make one trip to the sink.