Thursday, July 31, 2008
Tessellate
We hauled adobe bricks in the hot morning sun. I drifted into far away places and childhood memories as I picked each brick off the damp green grass. I thought of the time I stood on an old weathered wooden dock fishing for sunfish and bass with my friend Justin. We were about ten years old. I was tying a knot on the end of my fishing line, and took out my friend Glen’s knife to cut the excess line. The knife had a smooth handle that looked and felt like bone. The blade was sharp. I cut the end of the line and held the knife in my hand, the blade glistening in the afternoon sun. The lake water rippled in a calm summer breeze, and the leaves of the oaks twisted in apprehension of the rise of an afternoon storm. “Throw it in the water,” the words cut the silence and peace of an afternoon intended to be about fishing.
I stood there holding the knife, pondering Justin’s request. He giggled in delight at the thought of the knife drifting through the cool black waters and resting on the bottom in a shallow muddy grave. My head was steady and the knife lay gently in my palm. I asked him if he thought I should really do it. His response was wild and inviting, invoked by thoughts of the laughter we would achieve by hurling the knife into the watery abyss. I stood there stoically, a statue of stone, resilient in his long years of staring into the eternal space of time. I could feel the sun pressed against my darkened skin, the wind blowing my hair across the sweat of my brow.
My fist clenched the knife, the grit of my palm pressed into the bone white handle. In one swift motion my hand dropped back, my body turned and hurled forward, the point of the knife whistling through the air, a warrior with no cause. My hand released. The knife twisted into outer space and an irreconcilable moment of youth. The point pierced the black surface and in an instant began its descent into the shadowy depths. An echo of thunder pierced the air, and rain clouds were fast approaching. I stared into the depths contemplating my illicit deed of deceit. Justin’s laughter filled the air with a hollow dissatisfaction. There was no laughter that echoed from my belly, just an empty box, once filled with the trust of childhood friends.
I turned around and took a step toward the lakeshore. The clap of thunder reverberated in the distance, and the smile of the afternoon sun melted in the rain and the rise of the wind. The pedals on my bike were covered with a thin layer of rust. I held my fishing pole in my right hand and began to the journey home. We took the short cut through the tunnel, the mellow yellow lights casting shadows on the silver metal tube. The rain dripped from the leaves and bright white bolts of lightning illuminated the dark sky. I rounded the last curve in the road and rolled down the last steep hill where my house sat at the bottom.
The smell of fresh cut grass filled the air. I leaned my blue bike against the red garage door. I pulled open the screen door and walked inside. I looked at my mother, her bright smile stretched across her face, and my lip began to quiver. The tears rolled down my face, and I paid the price of my actions with biting guilt.
I woke up this morning thinking about my life back home, friends, and family. As far as childhood friends go, we made up through a short game of basketball, and remain good friends today. Still, the memory sticks with me, and every so often I think back to that afternoon on the lake, the colors and smells still as strong as they were when I was ten.
Every brick cut a little deeper and wore into my forearms leaving the imprint of a new memory. Three of us stood atop the walls of the structure, filling buckets of mud, and spackling the cracks between layers. The rest of us passed the large mud bricks in a line, slowly building a stockpile of bricks that will eventually be used to begin the cafeteria.
That afternoon I took a walk with Connor. We hiked about a thousand vertical feet and a mile or two into a valley previously unseen from our vantage point of the school. We talked about our families, life back home, and where we thought our lives might be heading. We wandered in the unknown of a valley previously unseen and stopped short, knowing this time, we eventually had to return back to meet the group. All of us are looking for something. All of us came to Peru for different reasons. I believe all people ultimately spend most of their lives looking for some sense of home, a sense of place, and of purpose. Perhaps our time here may shed some light on what haunts us most.
All of us are faced with choices in life, and our actions at many times have unforeseen consequences, perhaps some that we may not see or understand until many years later. As we stand together and lift mud bricks from fields of grass beneath mountain gods and the hot Andean sun, I can only hope that whatever these eleven individuals think of this experience now, it will impact them in invaluable ways in years to come.
...Brett Mayer-Aschhoff
I stood there holding the knife, pondering Justin’s request. He giggled in delight at the thought of the knife drifting through the cool black waters and resting on the bottom in a shallow muddy grave. My head was steady and the knife lay gently in my palm. I asked him if he thought I should really do it. His response was wild and inviting, invoked by thoughts of the laughter we would achieve by hurling the knife into the watery abyss. I stood there stoically, a statue of stone, resilient in his long years of staring into the eternal space of time. I could feel the sun pressed against my darkened skin, the wind blowing my hair across the sweat of my brow.
My fist clenched the knife, the grit of my palm pressed into the bone white handle. In one swift motion my hand dropped back, my body turned and hurled forward, the point of the knife whistling through the air, a warrior with no cause. My hand released. The knife twisted into outer space and an irreconcilable moment of youth. The point pierced the black surface and in an instant began its descent into the shadowy depths. An echo of thunder pierced the air, and rain clouds were fast approaching. I stared into the depths contemplating my illicit deed of deceit. Justin’s laughter filled the air with a hollow dissatisfaction. There was no laughter that echoed from my belly, just an empty box, once filled with the trust of childhood friends.
I turned around and took a step toward the lakeshore. The clap of thunder reverberated in the distance, and the smile of the afternoon sun melted in the rain and the rise of the wind. The pedals on my bike were covered with a thin layer of rust. I held my fishing pole in my right hand and began to the journey home. We took the short cut through the tunnel, the mellow yellow lights casting shadows on the silver metal tube. The rain dripped from the leaves and bright white bolts of lightning illuminated the dark sky. I rounded the last curve in the road and rolled down the last steep hill where my house sat at the bottom.
The smell of fresh cut grass filled the air. I leaned my blue bike against the red garage door. I pulled open the screen door and walked inside. I looked at my mother, her bright smile stretched across her face, and my lip began to quiver. The tears rolled down my face, and I paid the price of my actions with biting guilt.
I woke up this morning thinking about my life back home, friends, and family. As far as childhood friends go, we made up through a short game of basketball, and remain good friends today. Still, the memory sticks with me, and every so often I think back to that afternoon on the lake, the colors and smells still as strong as they were when I was ten.
Every brick cut a little deeper and wore into my forearms leaving the imprint of a new memory. Three of us stood atop the walls of the structure, filling buckets of mud, and spackling the cracks between layers. The rest of us passed the large mud bricks in a line, slowly building a stockpile of bricks that will eventually be used to begin the cafeteria.
That afternoon I took a walk with Connor. We hiked about a thousand vertical feet and a mile or two into a valley previously unseen from our vantage point of the school. We talked about our families, life back home, and where we thought our lives might be heading. We wandered in the unknown of a valley previously unseen and stopped short, knowing this time, we eventually had to return back to meet the group. All of us are looking for something. All of us came to Peru for different reasons. I believe all people ultimately spend most of their lives looking for some sense of home, a sense of place, and of purpose. Perhaps our time here may shed some light on what haunts us most.
All of us are faced with choices in life, and our actions at many times have unforeseen consequences, perhaps some that we may not see or understand until many years later. As we stand together and lift mud bricks from fields of grass beneath mountain gods and the hot Andean sun, I can only hope that whatever these eleven individuals think of this experience now, it will impact them in invaluable ways in years to come.
...Brett Mayer-Aschhoff
A Different Time and Space
Yesterday we arrived in Chilca. In the morning we set out for the Urubamba River. I finally got my chance to kayak in Peru. Although the whitewater is nowhere near the quality of the Apurimac, the trip down the Urubamba was perhaps the most scenic river I have ever paddled. There were also two quality rapids, one which included a big fifteen foot near vertical drop, where I tucked up, went super deep, and then torpedoed to the surface. Soon thereafter, we pulled off to the side of the river, ate some lunch, and played a series of games introduced to the group by the raft guides. We played a little dizzy paddle, (hold the paddle, look up at the sky, and spin in a circle twenty times as fast as you can). I raced Matt, and much to the chagrin of the crowd, we toppled immediately, and barely managed to stagger out and back to the finish. The Cassidy brothers went next, and in true style, dropped their paddles and went in completely opposite directions. Connor was headed straight for the river bank, but was stopped dead in his tracks by a small tree. He ended up with a few minor cuts and bruises on his shoulder, and we all had a great laugh.
I paddled the rest of the way to Chilca, another four or five kilometers, while the group walked alongside the river bank. The hike in to Chilca offered the guys a great perspective of life in the countryside, as they strolled through fields of potatoes, quinoa, and plenty of livestock. Ben and Cullen were inspired by the mountains and the moment, and decided to trail run all the way to town. The mountains loomed over the valley, like sentinels on watch, offering a sense of protection and at the same time a burgeoning curiosity. I floated quietly along the banks, feeling the sense stretch across my back, while listening to the wind whip through the reeds lining the shore.
I stopped for a few moments to talk to a young woman with three pigs drinking from the river. She informed me that Chilca was just two more towns down river. I was not exactly sure where Chilca was, and figured I would know when I arrived. I drifted along staring at the giant white clouds, and my thoughts were soon interrupted by the whistle of the train. I turned to look, and at the same moment I saw the sign for Chilca, a fortuitous moment indeed.
The bridge appeared in the distance as I heard the rumble of the last rapid. I looked up and saw ten children standing on the bridge, some with bikes, others carrying soccer balls. They yelled out and asked me what I was doing on the river. I smiled and said, well, I am coming to live in your town. They ran up and down the bridge pointing to the spot where I could get out of my boat and climb ashore. I noticed Ross on the far side of the river, taking a few photographs of the whole moment.
Joaquin waited with his truck. We loaded the kayak and gear. They introduced me to my host family. Jason and I are staying in an abandoned hostel behind the family home. The Inca trail use to begin in Chilca, but in recent years the trailhead has moved further down the valley. There is little use for the hostel now, but the building is still in great shape and equipped with beds and showers. The mother has dark weathered skin, beautiful black hair, and looks very healthy for her age. Her children were visiting from Cusco for the holiday weekend. Her two daughters brought their two young babies, one almost a year, and the other just two months old. We all conversed for a bit, talking about our trip, and their plans for la dia de independencia.
The mother is the only one in the house for most of our stay, along with the grandmother. The father of our host family passed away many years ago. The grandmother is senile, and is constantly filled with laughter. Her eyes have a deep complexity, and offer an immediate sense that her mind exists only partially in our reality. In the presence of old age she is slipping into a time and space quite different from our own.
The food is incredible. The difference between our culinary lives in Chilca and those at home is quite outstanding. In most of the homes in Chilca there are chickens, pigs, roosters, guinea pigs, and family gardens. The whole process is quite sustainable and the origins of our food are immediately evident. The cuisine is intense, flavorful, and everything is prepared fresh by hand. In our house we dined on fried chicken, and upon a quick visit to another homestay we noticed they were eating fresh trout. The Urubamba is full of delicious trout.
This morning I woke up at seven o’clock and headed in for breakfast, an incredible omelet. The foreman was arriving around eight o’clock at the work site. Our first order of business was to finish the guinea pig pen that the last group started. All the guys seemed to truly enjoy their first night with their families, ate very well, and were already making fast friends with the all the little kids in town. We started hauling adobe bricks, lying in bottom land about ten meters below the guinea pig structure. I imagine many were not expecting the work to be so difficult, but it truly challenging labor. The adobe bricks are quite heavy and coarse to the touch. All thirteen of us started a long assembly line passing the bricks after walking short distances. In a matter of hours we moved a significant amount of adobe bricks and it was evident guys were beginning to tire. I was truly proud as we passed the large mud bricks along the line, reflecting on the many months of preparation, work, and anticipation proceeding this first moment of hard labor.
We stopped for a quick break around noon before beginning work on the actual foundation. The foreman created a nice batch of mud used for the mortar. Matt and I took off our shoes, hopped in the middle of the mud pit, and began to fill buckets full of mud. We laid the mortar, stacked the adobe, and began to add another layer to the structure. It was one o’clock before we knew it, and time for some lunch. We all returned back to our families for a brief respite from work.
It seems a lifetime since I left my home, and as I travel farther and farther into the depths of Peru, and the heart of the Sacred Valley, I am only beginning to understand the complexities of the intersection of my own thoughts, hopes, dreams, and ideas with those of a people who exist in a very different time and space.
...Brett Mayer-Aschhoff
I paddled the rest of the way to Chilca, another four or five kilometers, while the group walked alongside the river bank. The hike in to Chilca offered the guys a great perspective of life in the countryside, as they strolled through fields of potatoes, quinoa, and plenty of livestock. Ben and Cullen were inspired by the mountains and the moment, and decided to trail run all the way to town. The mountains loomed over the valley, like sentinels on watch, offering a sense of protection and at the same time a burgeoning curiosity. I floated quietly along the banks, feeling the sense stretch across my back, while listening to the wind whip through the reeds lining the shore.
I stopped for a few moments to talk to a young woman with three pigs drinking from the river. She informed me that Chilca was just two more towns down river. I was not exactly sure where Chilca was, and figured I would know when I arrived. I drifted along staring at the giant white clouds, and my thoughts were soon interrupted by the whistle of the train. I turned to look, and at the same moment I saw the sign for Chilca, a fortuitous moment indeed.
The bridge appeared in the distance as I heard the rumble of the last rapid. I looked up and saw ten children standing on the bridge, some with bikes, others carrying soccer balls. They yelled out and asked me what I was doing on the river. I smiled and said, well, I am coming to live in your town. They ran up and down the bridge pointing to the spot where I could get out of my boat and climb ashore. I noticed Ross on the far side of the river, taking a few photographs of the whole moment.
Joaquin waited with his truck. We loaded the kayak and gear. They introduced me to my host family. Jason and I are staying in an abandoned hostel behind the family home. The Inca trail use to begin in Chilca, but in recent years the trailhead has moved further down the valley. There is little use for the hostel now, but the building is still in great shape and equipped with beds and showers. The mother has dark weathered skin, beautiful black hair, and looks very healthy for her age. Her children were visiting from Cusco for the holiday weekend. Her two daughters brought their two young babies, one almost a year, and the other just two months old. We all conversed for a bit, talking about our trip, and their plans for la dia de independencia.
The mother is the only one in the house for most of our stay, along with the grandmother. The father of our host family passed away many years ago. The grandmother is senile, and is constantly filled with laughter. Her eyes have a deep complexity, and offer an immediate sense that her mind exists only partially in our reality. In the presence of old age she is slipping into a time and space quite different from our own.
The food is incredible. The difference between our culinary lives in Chilca and those at home is quite outstanding. In most of the homes in Chilca there are chickens, pigs, roosters, guinea pigs, and family gardens. The whole process is quite sustainable and the origins of our food are immediately evident. The cuisine is intense, flavorful, and everything is prepared fresh by hand. In our house we dined on fried chicken, and upon a quick visit to another homestay we noticed they were eating fresh trout. The Urubamba is full of delicious trout.
This morning I woke up at seven o’clock and headed in for breakfast, an incredible omelet. The foreman was arriving around eight o’clock at the work site. Our first order of business was to finish the guinea pig pen that the last group started. All the guys seemed to truly enjoy their first night with their families, ate very well, and were already making fast friends with the all the little kids in town. We started hauling adobe bricks, lying in bottom land about ten meters below the guinea pig structure. I imagine many were not expecting the work to be so difficult, but it truly challenging labor. The adobe bricks are quite heavy and coarse to the touch. All thirteen of us started a long assembly line passing the bricks after walking short distances. In a matter of hours we moved a significant amount of adobe bricks and it was evident guys were beginning to tire. I was truly proud as we passed the large mud bricks along the line, reflecting on the many months of preparation, work, and anticipation proceeding this first moment of hard labor.
We stopped for a quick break around noon before beginning work on the actual foundation. The foreman created a nice batch of mud used for the mortar. Matt and I took off our shoes, hopped in the middle of the mud pit, and began to fill buckets full of mud. We laid the mortar, stacked the adobe, and began to add another layer to the structure. It was one o’clock before we knew it, and time for some lunch. We all returned back to our families for a brief respite from work.
It seems a lifetime since I left my home, and as I travel farther and farther into the depths of Peru, and the heart of the Sacred Valley, I am only beginning to understand the complexities of the intersection of my own thoughts, hopes, dreams, and ideas with those of a people who exist in a very different time and space.
...Brett Mayer-Aschhoff
Student Post - Evan and Ethan
It’s our 6th day in Chilca, our host family is great. Our mother is an excellent cook and there is never a shortage of food. One of the daughters, Shirley, is an English student who we have been tutoring in exchange for much needed Spanish help. We had been doing this a couple hours a day until she left two days ago to take her English exam in Cusco. She will return on Saturday.
The work is going really well. We’re making good progress hauling the 50 pound adobe bricks up to the school. Yesterday we had the day off due to rain, which allowed our sore muscles to heal up for a big day today of carrying dirt. During this day off we had a chance to either go fishing, sit in on classes at the school, hike around, or hang out with our host families a little more. I (Evan) got to see first hand the problems with education here in Peru. The second class I sat in on was an environmental studies class and the teacher just lectured the entire time. Half of the students decided not to go to school that day and half of the students that attended weren’t even paying very much attention.
It’s hard to believe that a week ago today we got on a plane at Reagan and departed for Peru. Our group, on the whole, has been getting along great. Everyone seems to really enjoy the trip so far. Jason and Brett have been helpful to have in the same house. They wake us up when we need to, translate all the Spanish we don’t understand, and keep us on schedule, which is tough when neither Ethan nor I have a clock. Today at work we are supposed to have many local students help us with our laborious activities. Hopefully this will allow us to get a substantial chunk of work done, and maybe even finish the guinea pig barn.
...Evan and Ethan
The work is going really well. We’re making good progress hauling the 50 pound adobe bricks up to the school. Yesterday we had the day off due to rain, which allowed our sore muscles to heal up for a big day today of carrying dirt. During this day off we had a chance to either go fishing, sit in on classes at the school, hike around, or hang out with our host families a little more. I (Evan) got to see first hand the problems with education here in Peru. The second class I sat in on was an environmental studies class and the teacher just lectured the entire time. Half of the students decided not to go to school that day and half of the students that attended weren’t even paying very much attention.
It’s hard to believe that a week ago today we got on a plane at Reagan and departed for Peru. Our group, on the whole, has been getting along great. Everyone seems to really enjoy the trip so far. Jason and Brett have been helpful to have in the same house. They wake us up when we need to, translate all the Spanish we don’t understand, and keep us on schedule, which is tough when neither Ethan nor I have a clock. Today at work we are supposed to have many local students help us with our laborious activities. Hopefully this will allow us to get a substantial chunk of work done, and maybe even finish the guinea pig barn.
...Evan and Ethan
Student Post - Cullen Cassidy
It rained all night and throughout the morning so we did not have to work on the guinea pig barn. It was a lazy day for us gringos, but it was the first day back at school for the locals. Brian and I took advantage of the day off, and went fishing with our host brother Alex. We did not catch anything, but we did freeze in the stream of glacial melt. In general, my Spanish is coming along slowly, but somehow I pick up on the bad words which seem to stick. A bunch of the boys went to the school where we work, and sat in on a few classes. I made it to one class for 10 minutes, and did not understand one word. All of our families try to teach us a bit of Quechua. It is hard for them to understand that we cannot learn Spanish.
The food is tasty, and gets better by the day. However, the portion sizes seem to grow, the rice piles get bigger and bigger, and sometimes it is hard to eat everything. My family is very generous, and I am thankful. I really enjoy playing football with the local kids, and have lost every game so far. Ben has yet to clean any part of his body, and I think I can smell him in the breeze at night… seriously. Brian has somehow drawn the eyes of Janet, who happens to be 10 years old. Age aside, she will not let Brian out of her sight.
My family has welcomed me with open arms, but even still, I suppose I do miss home a bit. Our family warmed up to me and Brian right away. They truly seemed to enjoy seeing pictures of our family and life at home. Today I gave Alex a little demo of American music from my I pod. He seemed to like it. His favorites, in order, include 50 cent, Kanye West, and finally the Dave Matthews Band. The people here never seem to stop working, and I think they laugh at us for being so tired after only about 5 hours of work. Hauling 50 pound adobe bricks all morning makes seven thirty in the evening feel like midnight. I guess Cullen is very difficult to say in Spanish, so I asked Brian to ask Alex to give me an easier name. I now go by Juan. When I introduce myself, I sometimes get laughs because they expect my name to be Jimmy or Tom I guess. They keep asking me the name of the place where I live at home, because they cannot remember the name. Most of the people here live near the same fields they work, between two incredible mountains. My host mom is an unbelievable woman. She was working the fields two days prior to giving birth. Now she has a three week old baby sick with a cold. Her life is even busier, nursing the baby, cooking and cleaning non stop.
...Cullen Cassidy
The food is tasty, and gets better by the day. However, the portion sizes seem to grow, the rice piles get bigger and bigger, and sometimes it is hard to eat everything. My family is very generous, and I am thankful. I really enjoy playing football with the local kids, and have lost every game so far. Ben has yet to clean any part of his body, and I think I can smell him in the breeze at night… seriously. Brian has somehow drawn the eyes of Janet, who happens to be 10 years old. Age aside, she will not let Brian out of her sight.
My family has welcomed me with open arms, but even still, I suppose I do miss home a bit. Our family warmed up to me and Brian right away. They truly seemed to enjoy seeing pictures of our family and life at home. Today I gave Alex a little demo of American music from my I pod. He seemed to like it. His favorites, in order, include 50 cent, Kanye West, and finally the Dave Matthews Band. The people here never seem to stop working, and I think they laugh at us for being so tired after only about 5 hours of work. Hauling 50 pound adobe bricks all morning makes seven thirty in the evening feel like midnight. I guess Cullen is very difficult to say in Spanish, so I asked Brian to ask Alex to give me an easier name. I now go by Juan. When I introduce myself, I sometimes get laughs because they expect my name to be Jimmy or Tom I guess. They keep asking me the name of the place where I live at home, because they cannot remember the name. Most of the people here live near the same fields they work, between two incredible mountains. My host mom is an unbelievable woman. She was working the fields two days prior to giving birth. Now she has a three week old baby sick with a cold. Her life is even busier, nursing the baby, cooking and cleaning non stop.
...Cullen Cassidy
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Update from Ross
Hi this is Ross with a quick note to say I have just returned from Chilka and the students are having a great time. They are settled in with their host families, who have taken them in as if they are their own children. The boys will be helping out around the homes, washing dishes and their own clothes, and will also be working out in the fields. At 8:30 a.m. yesterday we started working on our service project, which will be to complete a sustainable agriculture center at the local school. This center specifically is a place where the school kids will learn to raise guinea pigs, which is an excellent source of both income and natural fertilizer. So we worked several hours carrying adobe bricks (about 50 pounds each) in a line before the boys got to work placing the adobe bricks on the wall with mud mortar. Very tiring work. They are working with a local foreman, Mauro, who is also head of the parent-teacher organization of Chilka. In the afternoons, the boys are working on secondary projects of their own choosing, which range from teaching English to working in the local clinic. The boys are without internet and phone access but I can call Jason whenever I need to via a Nextel cell phone -- plus they are only 15 minutes down the road from where I am in Ollantaytambo. So if there are any emergency messages I would be glad to deliver them. You can send them to ross@worldleadershipschool.com or call me on 011-511-99-425-8076. They will be able to check internet when they leave the community for Machu Picchu on Aug. 9. From this point forward, they will try to update this blog two times per week.
News on the boys: Matt and Jack are in a household where the host mother has a 4-week old baby, of which WLS instructor Jason Hunter is the godfather. This home has lots of kids so the boys are having a great time. Evan and Ethan are staying in a very nice homestay along with Brett and Jason -- Ethan´s Spanish is very good and he is using it quite a bit, and Evan is also fast transforming his Latin into Spanish. These two boys will be tutoring the college-aged daughter of the family, with whom they are going to trade English and Spanish conversation sessions. Charles and Patrick have the most rustic household -- a latrine, now shower, and lots of farm animals (guinea pigs, cows, dogs, cats, you name it) but they are flourishing and embracing the challenge. Ben, Halter and Conor were up at 6 in the morning to help their host father plow the fields (using a wooden plow and oxen). This family has an impressive variety of animals -- all the usual suspects plus pigs and ducks. The father slaughtered one of his piglets yesterday in honor of the group and we all gathered around during a work break to see how he did it -- very interesting for everyone to see what goes into making a pork chop! Brian has an impressive command of Spanish and seems to understand most of what is said. He and Cullen are living in a house with a gorgeous view of Veronica, the snow-covered mountain that towers over the town. Cullen is all smiles and energy. That's about it. I am really impressed with these boys and their desire to work hard and learn. It´s been a real pleasure to spend the last several days with them
-- Ross Wehner
News on the boys: Matt and Jack are in a household where the host mother has a 4-week old baby, of which WLS instructor Jason Hunter is the godfather. This home has lots of kids so the boys are having a great time. Evan and Ethan are staying in a very nice homestay along with Brett and Jason -- Ethan´s Spanish is very good and he is using it quite a bit, and Evan is also fast transforming his Latin into Spanish. These two boys will be tutoring the college-aged daughter of the family, with whom they are going to trade English and Spanish conversation sessions. Charles and Patrick have the most rustic household -- a latrine, now shower, and lots of farm animals (guinea pigs, cows, dogs, cats, you name it) but they are flourishing and embracing the challenge. Ben, Halter and Conor were up at 6 in the morning to help their host father plow the fields (using a wooden plow and oxen). This family has an impressive variety of animals -- all the usual suspects plus pigs and ducks. The father slaughtered one of his piglets yesterday in honor of the group and we all gathered around during a work break to see how he did it -- very interesting for everyone to see what goes into making a pork chop! Brian has an impressive command of Spanish and seems to understand most of what is said. He and Cullen are living in a house with a gorgeous view of Veronica, the snow-covered mountain that towers over the town. Cullen is all smiles and energy. That's about it. I am really impressed with these boys and their desire to work hard and learn. It´s been a real pleasure to spend the last several days with them
-- Ross Wehner
Monday, July 28, 2008
Day 3 -- Arrival in Chilka
We started the day with a great breaktfast at Las Portadas, the hostal that has been our home up until now in Peru. We packed our bags and headed to the main square to begin our whitewater rafting in the nearby Vilcanota River. We got to the put-in site and everyone got in a raft except Brett, who managed to borrow a kayak for the day. He missed out on some great group bonding as the boats got into a huge splashing competition. The scenery was incredible with the blue waters of the river, the eucalyptis trees, Inca ruins and the snow-covered mountains. This day, like all the others, has been brilliantly sunny. We hit a few class II and III rapids, and then ended with a final big drop. When we got to the lunch spot, we scrambled out of the rapids and aired out in the sun. Some of us jumped off a nearby bridge into the water before having a riverside lunch. We were going to ride a van into the community of Chilka but we all decided the day before that we would rather hike in. So we started out on foot on what would end up being a 2-hour hike. Ben and Cullen decided to run ahead but we soon caught up to them because they made a wrong turn and were out of breath. Finally we arrived in Chilka and all the families welcomed us into their homes. That afternoon we walked around town and saw the school where we will work. We are all very excited to be here and begin working --
Conor Cassidy
Conor Cassidy
Day 2 -- Shaman Ceremony
Our second night in Ollantaytambo was dedicated to a native spiritual activity. We were visited by a shaman, who came to bless us in our work and travels. The group was excited to engage in the activity. We assumed the shaman was blessing us, although only a few of us could actually understand. One skeptical student wondered whether witchcraft was taking place. The ceremony came to a close by placing a bunch of objects representing health, food and good fortune such as sweets, animal crackers, fake money and even alphabet soup into a wrapped bundle of paper. Then the bundle was burnt over a campfire and the shaman blessed us by blowing on us and massaging our backs and fronts with a sacred rock.
--Ben Sandalow
--Ben Sandalow
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Day 2 -- Getting to Know Ollantaytambo
After almost 30 hours of no sleep, it felt pretty incredible to lay in a bed for a solid night´s sleep. We all woke up at 8:30 a.m. this morning and ate at our hostel for breakfast. The local Peruvian coca tea was great to wake up to. After we all began to wake up a little more we began a little hike through approximately 500-year-old ruins. The masonary work they employed to get huge boulders to match up exactly without the use of a wheel (or iron) was astonishing. We saw/learned the importance of water to Peruvians. Then we ate lunch at our normal spot which, again, was delicious. Following lunch we relaxed back at the hostel for an hour and a half. Then we did a cultural game that had students divide into two different cultures, each of which had very secret and mysterious customs. The two cultures came together to build a tent. The two cultures had almost opposite cultural customs that included making ¨ET¨noises, kissing the ground and saying ¨do-do-doo-do.¨ The goal was to help us understand how dificult communicating with another culture can be. Then we at dinner before a 3-hour shaman blessing that was one of the most interesting, unique experiences of my life and one I will never forget.
--Evan Conley
--Evan Conley
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Day One -- Brett´s Perspective
My students finally arrived. Ross and I spent an evening in Cusco in preparation for their arrival, and both had a difficult time sleeping that night. I woke up at four o´clock in the morning, restless, the wheels inside my head turning fast, imagining what the coming weeks would bring. I was happy that I arrived in Peru ten days before they arrived. I felt prepared and able to share my adventures and introduce them to Peru.
The guys were exhausted when they arrived, and we quickly transported them to a bus, and began to make our way to Ollantaytambo and the Sacred Valley of the Incas. Several passed out immediately, and the others stared wide eyed out the windows as the impressive landscape spread itself on the pallete of a brand new world.
We stopped the bus, a half mile short of Ollantaytambo and hopped out amidst towering Andean peaks, to catch our first glimpse of the extensive network of Incan aquaducts, and ceremoniously pass through the stone arch on the way into town.
Our hostel hosted gorgeous arrangements of various types of local botany, and a small lawn sat nestled in open air courtyard. In the center of the courtyard stood an immediately popular game, where players take turns throwing a series of gold coins in the air, attempting to land them on a small table with different sized holes, earning different amounts of points depending on where the coins land. In the center of the table sat a golden frog, with a wide open mouth. Sending a gold coin into the frog´s mouth almost guarntees an immediate win.
We walked into town for breakfast, and began to debrief the students on life in Ollantaytambo, Peru, and eventually their homestays in Chilca. Our project starts on Monday, la dia de independencia for Peru, a national holiday. Over the next two weeks we will finish a guinea pig farm, and construct a school cafeteria out of adobe bricks. The guys are an adventurous bunch, and I imagine this experience has the power to change their lives.
This morning we toured the Sun Temple, Incan ruins lying directly outside Ollantaytambo. The people in town still farm with the aquaducts built by the Incas several hundred years ago. I began work on a film I intend to create for the World Leadership School, highlighting the experience of the Landon students, and a documentary style account of what this trip has to offer schools back home.
Email and phone contact will be much more sparse over the next few weeks, but every few days, a few guys will head from Chilca back to Ollantaytambo to write an update on the trip and post it on the web. I was able to bargain for a few items in the town square this afternoon, a few suprises for folks at home. It was a great transition moving from solo travel, back into the role of teacher and mentor, but I welcomed it wholeheartedly. The experience is truly a fantastic imagination of colors, cultures, hopes, and dreams, etched into ancient walls, and stretched across quiet blue skies and deep green fields.
Brett Mayer-Aschhoff
The guys were exhausted when they arrived, and we quickly transported them to a bus, and began to make our way to Ollantaytambo and the Sacred Valley of the Incas. Several passed out immediately, and the others stared wide eyed out the windows as the impressive landscape spread itself on the pallete of a brand new world.
We stopped the bus, a half mile short of Ollantaytambo and hopped out amidst towering Andean peaks, to catch our first glimpse of the extensive network of Incan aquaducts, and ceremoniously pass through the stone arch on the way into town.
Our hostel hosted gorgeous arrangements of various types of local botany, and a small lawn sat nestled in open air courtyard. In the center of the courtyard stood an immediately popular game, where players take turns throwing a series of gold coins in the air, attempting to land them on a small table with different sized holes, earning different amounts of points depending on where the coins land. In the center of the table sat a golden frog, with a wide open mouth. Sending a gold coin into the frog´s mouth almost guarntees an immediate win.
We walked into town for breakfast, and began to debrief the students on life in Ollantaytambo, Peru, and eventually their homestays in Chilca. Our project starts on Monday, la dia de independencia for Peru, a national holiday. Over the next two weeks we will finish a guinea pig farm, and construct a school cafeteria out of adobe bricks. The guys are an adventurous bunch, and I imagine this experience has the power to change their lives.
This morning we toured the Sun Temple, Incan ruins lying directly outside Ollantaytambo. The people in town still farm with the aquaducts built by the Incas several hundred years ago. I began work on a film I intend to create for the World Leadership School, highlighting the experience of the Landon students, and a documentary style account of what this trip has to offer schools back home.
Email and phone contact will be much more sparse over the next few weeks, but every few days, a few guys will head from Chilca back to Ollantaytambo to write an update on the trip and post it on the web. I was able to bargain for a few items in the town square this afternoon, a few suprises for folks at home. It was a great transition moving from solo travel, back into the role of teacher and mentor, but I welcomed it wholeheartedly. The experience is truly a fantastic imagination of colors, cultures, hopes, and dreams, etched into ancient walls, and stretched across quiet blue skies and deep green fields.
Brett Mayer-Aschhoff
Friday, July 25, 2008
First Impressions
The trip from Miami to Lima was long but it felt good once we all had finally arrived in South America. Feeling tired, everyone hopped aboard another plan to Cusco where we were met by cold conditions which woke most of us up. Everybody gathered their gear (nothing was missing, luckily) and jumped on what would turn out to be a long bumpy beautiful bus ride. As we drove through Cusco I observed the obvious differences between the US and a relatively poor Peruvian city. Sanitary conditions are poor, the houses are in beat-up conditions, and the means of transportations, little compact Toyota or Honda's drove aggressively through the narrow streets. As soon as we left the limits of Cusco I realized how easy life in Bethesda is. We will truly understand how easy we have it in Bethesda when we are working in Chilaa. I am happy to be in Peru and grateful for the opportunity.
~ Matt Morrison
~ Matt Morrison
Brett´s Journey from Lima to Cusco
I left Miraflores days ago. I had a flight leaving on the 18th of July en route to Cusco. I had yet to receive my bag, so when I arrived at the airport at a quarter to five in the morning, I went up to the airport office looking for it. Unfortunately, the airport office was closed. I was out of luck. Somewhere in the fray of me roaming around the airport, the travel agency I booked my ticket with spotted their logo on my ticket, and tried to help. It was a waste of time, and I ended up missing my flight. I sat on the floor in the airport. It was about five thirty in the morning, and I thought about what I should do. There was no way I was going to spend one more day in Lima. I walked up to the desk at the Budget rental car agency. My journey began.
I calculated the mileage while I looked at the map of southern Peru. My friend from Holland that I met on my first day in Peru turned me on to the idea. He was a day ahead of me on the bus. Renting a car was expensive, but it gave me freedom. Plus, I was standing at the desk, and I did not want to go looking for the bus station. I weighed my options, rent the car and drive south, wait one more day for another flight to Cusco, or take the bus. I rented a small four wheel drive Suzuki. I bought a few maps in the airport gift store, took a glance, picked my first city, and hit the road.
Driving in Peru is insane. There are no rules. Well, I suppose there is one rule. Drive aggressively, never stop and wait for other cars, and try not to die. There are also no road signs, and if there are road signs they are usually covered in graffiti. My Spanish was getting better at this point, and I was confident I could get by, ask for a few directions and find my way around if I became lost. It seemed simple enough. There was only one road that I would take most of the trip. The Pan-American highway.
I entered the streets of Lima. I punched the gas and realized immediately that I was going to be lucky to navigate my way out of the city without making a mistake. Five minutes later I was in a bad neighborhood, with people, dogs, motorcycles, small children, large buses, bicycles, and street vendors all fighting for a piece of the road. Callao is a port in Lima. The buildings are run down, but as I soon came to realize, the buildings in Peru in most cities are only half constructed. Someone told me that if the building is still under construction, then one does not have to pay taxes on the building. I was driving fast through Callao, staring at the road, and trying to take a quick glance at my map. I was lost and frustrated. I desperately wanted to get out of the slums of Lima and on my way to anywhere more interesting and a bit safer. Luckily, I caught a street name on my map and at the same instant I saw a street sign for the road I was about to cross. I hung a right, cut across lanes of traffic, horns blaring, and ended up heading in the right direction. Twenty minutes later I was on the Pan-American and headed south. I was relieved.
Large sand dunes began to rise out of the desert, and on my right, the Pacific Ocean came into view. Most of my journey followed the coast south. Several times, the road was so close to the ocean, most of it was covered entirely in sand. The distances between cities were usually quite large, several hours on a stretch, with only small towns in between. I came to dread approaching a new city, because I never knew what to expect, or how difficult it was going to be to navigate my way to the other side. The first city on the map was Pisco. I knew nothing about, only that it was at the mouth of a national park that was supposed to be quite beautiful.
I drove through the streets of Pisco in utter disbelief. The city was in absolute ruins. Large piles of rock and debris lined the streets on both sides. The road was littered with potholes, and there were carcasses of dead animals lying in the streets. It turns out most of Pisco was destroyed about one year ago by a large earthquake that impacted much of southern Peru. Of course, there were no road signs, and the streets began to narrow and weave in all directions. I headed in the general direction of Paracas, using my map as a general indication for direction. I made it through and arrived in Paracas. I parked the car, and a man showed me the way to a restaurant where I had a large plate of cebiche. I wandered around for a bit, and encountered a man that made necklaces out of polished stones. I walked the beach through piles of seaweed that the local people collect and use to make shampoo. There were pelicans over head, and children playing in the sand.
I continued my journey to Ica, where I thought I may stay the night and go sand boarding. The town did not seem to safe, and it was still early, so after I got some gas, I decided to head south a bit further to Nazca. On the way, I went looking for el Lago de Huacachina. I ended up wandering down a road that disappeared into the sand dunes. I thought it was probably not a good idea to continue further, but I could not resist and drove into the dunes. Five minutes later, a small city nestled between mountains of sand appeared before my eyes. It was surreal. The air was still, and the town was quiet. Small trash fires burned in the streets, and I passed by a concrete soccer field where local children played an afternoon game. I explored for a bit, and decided I better move along. When I turned around there was a large truck stuck in the road. While I sat and waited for the traffic jam in the sand to clear up, a small child approached my car. Her clothing was an amalgamation of vibrant color, and her skin as dark as the sand. She smiled and her teeth glistened in the evening sun. Moments passed, and the two of us just stared, likely wondering what the other was thinking. Finally, I asked her name. Rosalita. We spoke a few words, and suddenly the car was free. I waved goodbye, her smile forever melted into my memory. I thought about how far from home I had traveled. The desert wind blew and I reveled in the peace of this quiet town, tucked so far away from anywhere.
The sky grew dark, and the terrain flat. Hours passed as I headed south toward Nazca. I watched the moon slowly rise above the mountains to the east. The black night sky was speckled with tiny white stars. The air was crisp, and for the first time I felt a slight chill in the air. Nazca soon appeared, and once again an explosion of people, noise, and chaos. I made my way and found a place to stop near a hostel. They were full, so I walked up the street and found a hotel. Luis was Peruvian, lived much of his life in Germany and spoke perfect English. Perhaps, the most educated inn keeper I have ever met in my life, his hospitality was something I will not soon forget. He gave me a simple room, and filled me in on all the details of Nazca. At the same moment I arrived, another guest was leaving. Jeremy was from Washington D.C. We sat and talked about Peru, traveling, and went out to get a bite to eat. He was nearing the end of several weeks on the road, hosting a group of teachers from the states. He started a non-profit to make it easier for teachers to travel in the summer, with the idea in mind that if teachers experience different cultures and places, the classroom experience will be greatly enhanced for their students when they return. It is funny where life leads you when you move simply and without necessity.
The next day I hired a guide who took me into the desert to see the mummies of pre-Nazca culture. It was quite strange to stand and stare at something three thousand years old. The stark contrast between the present and past was painted throughout the desert. We wandered into some of the largest architectural ruins in the world, and I chartered a plane to see Las Lineas, the Nazca lines from the air. On the cab ride back from the airport, I met a guy from Wales. His name was Rhys. Rhys had been traveling in South America for several months and was nearing the end of his journey. We became fast friends and spent the entire night wandering around the town of Nazca, drinking Pisco Sours and Cusquena, Peruvian beer. We ended up at a discotheque before calling it a night. At one point during the evening we wandered down a small side street where there were hundreds of people playing bingo. It was a colorful scene, families, friends, and children loitering about, the smell of fresh popped popcorn in the air, with the echo of the game in the background. We stood directly in the midst of it all, giving the moment ample time to sink in. Nazca is a beautiful city, you can feel the life of the people in the air, and see it in the grit of the streets.
The next morning, I woke up and wandered down the road. I small a group of high school age kids playing soccer on a side street. I decided to wander down the road and join in. We juggled the ball for twenty minutes or so, and suddenly they were leading me to a game. The field was concrete, amidst piles of rock and rubble, an old basketball court with small metal soccer goals. There were four or five teams rotating on and off the field. I told them I was a goalie and they asked me to play. We waited for the game to finish, and the next thing I knew, I was making full out-diving saves on concrete. The crowd seemed a bit suspicious of me at first, after all, I am a tall gringo in their eyes, nothing more than a tourist, but I won their favor when I tipped the ball around the bar, and they stood and cheered. We won the game. My legs were covered in blood. We walked through the dirt streets and no one on my team spoke a word. They just peeled off into the streets, and back into their lives.
That afternoon, I met up with a family I met the night before from Switzerland. Their son was a famous painter in Europe. He was only ten years old. They call him the ¨Little Picasso¨. His mother, Eneida, showed me his artwork. It was truly unbelievable. I realized I was staring at more than just paintings, but something incredibly unique, and in Gian Franco´s words, ´When I paint, I feel like a dolphin in the sea´. We traveled the countryside together, looking at ancient aqueducts, several farms, life-giving trees, and cock-fighting roosters.
That afternoon I left Nazca and headed south. I drove through the night, nearly on the beach at many times, and through treacherous winding hills. Around nine o´clock I made it to a town called Camana. I decided to call it a night. I was exhausted. I took a quick walk through town, but it was Sunday night and quiet. I got a good night sleep and continued on in the morning. I found the hotel when I stopped at a gas station on the way in to town. I stopped and asked for directions and bought some orange flavored crackers. The shop keeper wanted to practice English, so we sat at a table while he showed me pictures of his family and told me about his life in Camana. He was very proud of his family.
In the morning, I headed out for my first view of the Pampas, and into Arequipa. Along the way I saw vicunas, llamas, and alpacas. I arrived in Arequipa. Again, no road signs, and I realized I was lost. I stopped outside a store and studied my map for a bit. The majority of my trip was spent in silence up until this moment, because there are no radio stations in the middle of the desert. The store I happened to stop in front of sold music. I asked for directions, and several townspeople walked up to help show me the way, drawing me maps, while I tried to keep up with their Spanish. I bought several cd´s for a grand total of about five dollars. A young boy sold me a cable to connect my camera to a computer, and I walked across the street to buy blank discs to transfer the pictures from my camera. I spoke with the shopkeepers for a bit, when a girl walked in to buy something. She wanted to practice English and we started talking. It turned out we were the exact same age. She left and walked around the corner, and I thought, it would be nice to talk with her some more, and maybe get some lunch. I followed her around the corner and yelled out her name, Ysenia. She had already eaten lunch, but invited me inside to eat, and introduced me to her sister and father. Her sister was visiting from New York City where she was a nurse. We talked while I ate, and before I knew it, they had me singing karaoke in their family room. We had such a nice time they invited me to spend the night at their house. That evening, they took me into Arequipa to show me the city, and we ate a traditional Peruvian dinner at their home. Although I just met them, I felt strangely at ease, and truly enjoyed my time.
The next morning I drove to Lake Titicaca. The drive was stressful, and I was tired. I finally arrived in the town of Puno late in the afternoon. I got a room at a nice hotel, and took a tour to see the Uros, people that live on floating islands in the middle of the lake made of reeds. I ate a nice dinner, caught some sleep, and hit the road for Cusco in the morning. I arrived in Cusco around three and said goodbye to the rental car. I was happy to be finished with the solo leg of my journey. I will never forget my time alone, the lessons I learned along the way, and the smiles of the people who were so willing to share their hearts and souls.
I calculated the mileage while I looked at the map of southern Peru. My friend from Holland that I met on my first day in Peru turned me on to the idea. He was a day ahead of me on the bus. Renting a car was expensive, but it gave me freedom. Plus, I was standing at the desk, and I did not want to go looking for the bus station. I weighed my options, rent the car and drive south, wait one more day for another flight to Cusco, or take the bus. I rented a small four wheel drive Suzuki. I bought a few maps in the airport gift store, took a glance, picked my first city, and hit the road.
Driving in Peru is insane. There are no rules. Well, I suppose there is one rule. Drive aggressively, never stop and wait for other cars, and try not to die. There are also no road signs, and if there are road signs they are usually covered in graffiti. My Spanish was getting better at this point, and I was confident I could get by, ask for a few directions and find my way around if I became lost. It seemed simple enough. There was only one road that I would take most of the trip. The Pan-American highway.
I entered the streets of Lima. I punched the gas and realized immediately that I was going to be lucky to navigate my way out of the city without making a mistake. Five minutes later I was in a bad neighborhood, with people, dogs, motorcycles, small children, large buses, bicycles, and street vendors all fighting for a piece of the road. Callao is a port in Lima. The buildings are run down, but as I soon came to realize, the buildings in Peru in most cities are only half constructed. Someone told me that if the building is still under construction, then one does not have to pay taxes on the building. I was driving fast through Callao, staring at the road, and trying to take a quick glance at my map. I was lost and frustrated. I desperately wanted to get out of the slums of Lima and on my way to anywhere more interesting and a bit safer. Luckily, I caught a street name on my map and at the same instant I saw a street sign for the road I was about to cross. I hung a right, cut across lanes of traffic, horns blaring, and ended up heading in the right direction. Twenty minutes later I was on the Pan-American and headed south. I was relieved.
Large sand dunes began to rise out of the desert, and on my right, the Pacific Ocean came into view. Most of my journey followed the coast south. Several times, the road was so close to the ocean, most of it was covered entirely in sand. The distances between cities were usually quite large, several hours on a stretch, with only small towns in between. I came to dread approaching a new city, because I never knew what to expect, or how difficult it was going to be to navigate my way to the other side. The first city on the map was Pisco. I knew nothing about, only that it was at the mouth of a national park that was supposed to be quite beautiful.
I drove through the streets of Pisco in utter disbelief. The city was in absolute ruins. Large piles of rock and debris lined the streets on both sides. The road was littered with potholes, and there were carcasses of dead animals lying in the streets. It turns out most of Pisco was destroyed about one year ago by a large earthquake that impacted much of southern Peru. Of course, there were no road signs, and the streets began to narrow and weave in all directions. I headed in the general direction of Paracas, using my map as a general indication for direction. I made it through and arrived in Paracas. I parked the car, and a man showed me the way to a restaurant where I had a large plate of cebiche. I wandered around for a bit, and encountered a man that made necklaces out of polished stones. I walked the beach through piles of seaweed that the local people collect and use to make shampoo. There were pelicans over head, and children playing in the sand.
I continued my journey to Ica, where I thought I may stay the night and go sand boarding. The town did not seem to safe, and it was still early, so after I got some gas, I decided to head south a bit further to Nazca. On the way, I went looking for el Lago de Huacachina. I ended up wandering down a road that disappeared into the sand dunes. I thought it was probably not a good idea to continue further, but I could not resist and drove into the dunes. Five minutes later, a small city nestled between mountains of sand appeared before my eyes. It was surreal. The air was still, and the town was quiet. Small trash fires burned in the streets, and I passed by a concrete soccer field where local children played an afternoon game. I explored for a bit, and decided I better move along. When I turned around there was a large truck stuck in the road. While I sat and waited for the traffic jam in the sand to clear up, a small child approached my car. Her clothing was an amalgamation of vibrant color, and her skin as dark as the sand. She smiled and her teeth glistened in the evening sun. Moments passed, and the two of us just stared, likely wondering what the other was thinking. Finally, I asked her name. Rosalita. We spoke a few words, and suddenly the car was free. I waved goodbye, her smile forever melted into my memory. I thought about how far from home I had traveled. The desert wind blew and I reveled in the peace of this quiet town, tucked so far away from anywhere.
The sky grew dark, and the terrain flat. Hours passed as I headed south toward Nazca. I watched the moon slowly rise above the mountains to the east. The black night sky was speckled with tiny white stars. The air was crisp, and for the first time I felt a slight chill in the air. Nazca soon appeared, and once again an explosion of people, noise, and chaos. I made my way and found a place to stop near a hostel. They were full, so I walked up the street and found a hotel. Luis was Peruvian, lived much of his life in Germany and spoke perfect English. Perhaps, the most educated inn keeper I have ever met in my life, his hospitality was something I will not soon forget. He gave me a simple room, and filled me in on all the details of Nazca. At the same moment I arrived, another guest was leaving. Jeremy was from Washington D.C. We sat and talked about Peru, traveling, and went out to get a bite to eat. He was nearing the end of several weeks on the road, hosting a group of teachers from the states. He started a non-profit to make it easier for teachers to travel in the summer, with the idea in mind that if teachers experience different cultures and places, the classroom experience will be greatly enhanced for their students when they return. It is funny where life leads you when you move simply and without necessity.
The next day I hired a guide who took me into the desert to see the mummies of pre-Nazca culture. It was quite strange to stand and stare at something three thousand years old. The stark contrast between the present and past was painted throughout the desert. We wandered into some of the largest architectural ruins in the world, and I chartered a plane to see Las Lineas, the Nazca lines from the air. On the cab ride back from the airport, I met a guy from Wales. His name was Rhys. Rhys had been traveling in South America for several months and was nearing the end of his journey. We became fast friends and spent the entire night wandering around the town of Nazca, drinking Pisco Sours and Cusquena, Peruvian beer. We ended up at a discotheque before calling it a night. At one point during the evening we wandered down a small side street where there were hundreds of people playing bingo. It was a colorful scene, families, friends, and children loitering about, the smell of fresh popped popcorn in the air, with the echo of the game in the background. We stood directly in the midst of it all, giving the moment ample time to sink in. Nazca is a beautiful city, you can feel the life of the people in the air, and see it in the grit of the streets.
The next morning, I woke up and wandered down the road. I small a group of high school age kids playing soccer on a side street. I decided to wander down the road and join in. We juggled the ball for twenty minutes or so, and suddenly they were leading me to a game. The field was concrete, amidst piles of rock and rubble, an old basketball court with small metal soccer goals. There were four or five teams rotating on and off the field. I told them I was a goalie and they asked me to play. We waited for the game to finish, and the next thing I knew, I was making full out-diving saves on concrete. The crowd seemed a bit suspicious of me at first, after all, I am a tall gringo in their eyes, nothing more than a tourist, but I won their favor when I tipped the ball around the bar, and they stood and cheered. We won the game. My legs were covered in blood. We walked through the dirt streets and no one on my team spoke a word. They just peeled off into the streets, and back into their lives.
That afternoon, I met up with a family I met the night before from Switzerland. Their son was a famous painter in Europe. He was only ten years old. They call him the ¨Little Picasso¨. His mother, Eneida, showed me his artwork. It was truly unbelievable. I realized I was staring at more than just paintings, but something incredibly unique, and in Gian Franco´s words, ´When I paint, I feel like a dolphin in the sea´. We traveled the countryside together, looking at ancient aqueducts, several farms, life-giving trees, and cock-fighting roosters.
That afternoon I left Nazca and headed south. I drove through the night, nearly on the beach at many times, and through treacherous winding hills. Around nine o´clock I made it to a town called Camana. I decided to call it a night. I was exhausted. I took a quick walk through town, but it was Sunday night and quiet. I got a good night sleep and continued on in the morning. I found the hotel when I stopped at a gas station on the way in to town. I stopped and asked for directions and bought some orange flavored crackers. The shop keeper wanted to practice English, so we sat at a table while he showed me pictures of his family and told me about his life in Camana. He was very proud of his family.
In the morning, I headed out for my first view of the Pampas, and into Arequipa. Along the way I saw vicunas, llamas, and alpacas. I arrived in Arequipa. Again, no road signs, and I realized I was lost. I stopped outside a store and studied my map for a bit. The majority of my trip was spent in silence up until this moment, because there are no radio stations in the middle of the desert. The store I happened to stop in front of sold music. I asked for directions, and several townspeople walked up to help show me the way, drawing me maps, while I tried to keep up with their Spanish. I bought several cd´s for a grand total of about five dollars. A young boy sold me a cable to connect my camera to a computer, and I walked across the street to buy blank discs to transfer the pictures from my camera. I spoke with the shopkeepers for a bit, when a girl walked in to buy something. She wanted to practice English and we started talking. It turned out we were the exact same age. She left and walked around the corner, and I thought, it would be nice to talk with her some more, and maybe get some lunch. I followed her around the corner and yelled out her name, Ysenia. She had already eaten lunch, but invited me inside to eat, and introduced me to her sister and father. Her sister was visiting from New York City where she was a nurse. We talked while I ate, and before I knew it, they had me singing karaoke in their family room. We had such a nice time they invited me to spend the night at their house. That evening, they took me into Arequipa to show me the city, and we ate a traditional Peruvian dinner at their home. Although I just met them, I felt strangely at ease, and truly enjoyed my time.
The next morning I drove to Lake Titicaca. The drive was stressful, and I was tired. I finally arrived in the town of Puno late in the afternoon. I got a room at a nice hotel, and took a tour to see the Uros, people that live on floating islands in the middle of the lake made of reeds. I ate a nice dinner, caught some sleep, and hit the road for Cusco in the morning. I arrived in Cusco around three and said goodbye to the rental car. I was happy to be finished with the solo leg of my journey. I will never forget my time alone, the lessons I learned along the way, and the smiles of the people who were so willing to share their hearts and souls.
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