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.