my end is the road...

I can picture my parent's house. The image is crisp and clean. White light shines down on a neighborhood with clean and spacious streets, large lush lawns and neat, pretty homes, big and bigger. I see my childhood room, breakfast at the kitchen counter, driving to the store for groceries. There's not much resemblance to my life of late.

At home it won’t be dusty; the streets won’t be barely larger than a railroad track. No one will juggle for money at the stoplights. Stray dogs won’t be sprawled out on sidewalks and poor little children won’t be found selling candy outside the shops. There won’t be a Senora selling tamales or papas heladas on the street like there is now outside my office.

Potable water, hot and cold, will flow from taps everywhere. Gas will come from a pipe in the ground. Homes will be heated in the cold weather.

I’ll buy chicken at a supermarket, and I won’t ever take a taxi. People won’t think I’m different because of my appearance. Dirty blond hair and green eyes won’t give anything away.

There is a lot to look forward to, thinking of home. As smoothly and as naturally as I fit into a Peruvian way of life when I arrived last November, I will slip right out and into an American one. I can speak my language. I’ll fall back into my culture, my thing, the way I’ve always done it.

It is a sad transition and I dearly hope to return to this country one day in a way more suited to give back to the community some of what they have given to me.

When I came here, I spoke no Spanish. I was lost, beaten into defeat from circumstances beyond my control. People were there to take me in, teach me how to speak their language, eat their food, and travel their streets.

I guess the opportunity to make a list like this, to be able to compare and know so many different places in the world has been the educational experience of my lifetime.

I am so grateful of my opportunities around the world, of this blog that has been with me on a journey through love and learning, friendship, loneliness and heart-break. Through home-sickness and real sickness, truly through the best times of my life and the worst, for every single thing I am grateful.

I’ve made all kinds of decisions these past few years, I suppose some were smarter than others, but one thing I’ve never really been in control of is this longing to discover, to see things with my own eyes. I’m learning that there’s treasure everywhere, and the desire to keep digging it up is tattooed to my spirit. As long as I keep following my heart, it will keep leading me to more treasures.

Thanks for reading.

EM

Party Time In Cusco!

Sitting in the passenger seat of a minivan on the way back from the airport, fresh clients in the back seat, eager to see Cusco and Machu Picchu, the usual schpeel was spewing from my mouth . It’s best to avoid alcohol, cigarettes, fatty foods, your first night. The weather now is typical, usually clear and sunny during the day but cold at night. Layering is a good idea. 400,000 inhabitants. Inca foundations. Yes, Cusco is a safe city. I take taxi’s from the street every day. More blahblah about altitude sickness and emperor Pachacuteq.

Driving along Avenido del Sol, a main drag into Cusco center, I noticed the street was suddenly lined with the red and white striped flag of Peru. It was as if overnight the rainbow flags of Cusco that had gone up a month ago in every nook and cranny of the city had been replaced.

Jose Luis, my main driver, explained what happened. While June was the month to celebrate the region of Cusco, July is the month to recognize national history and pride, with the celebration of Fiestas Patrias, Independence Day on the 28th. So far however, aside from riding out the bustling tourism, July has been the dead quiet after the storm of last month’s portrayal of tireless energy and celebration.

Colorful parades raided the main streets on an almost daily basis, and the fever was difficult to ignore, not that I was trying to. Peruvians dressed in traditional costume, and marched and danced to the beat of brass bands. The month kicked off with the Fiesta del Corpus Christi, another chance for Peru to celebrate its faith with giant parades and parties.

I spent the day with the family of a friend, chewing sugar cane and playing with the kiddies while her mom prepared a feast called Chiriuchu. Eventually dinner was served and I looked down at my portion which amounted to an enormous plate stacked with chicken, guinea pig, seaweed, tortilla, queso, chorizos, dried corn, lamb jerkey, and caviar. It was one of the more memorable meals of my life.

While at work we tried to go on with business as usual, there were regular strikes, road blocks, delayed flights and general mayhem. On my way to work I usually cut through the Plaza de Armas. In June this meant detouring around huge crowds and parades, or stopping to watch small children practice a traditional dance to piping flute music, because it was too cute to ignore.

The madness came to an exciting culmination almost a full month after it began on June 24, the anniversary of Cusco, Inti Raymi, one of the largest celebrations in the country. Unfortunately, I missed the morning festivities because of a few transfers but I did make it up the mountain to Saqsaywaman, to see the ruins and the surrounding hills crawling with people, celebrating their heritage, and the beginning of longer days.

All the usually June energy was in addition to the World Cup craze that dominated the lunchtime scene, leaving the streets virtually empty and the bars packed from 1-3 most afternoons. The game was on everywhere; from menu del dia’s to barber shops to offices. Last Sunday, it came to an exciting finish with Iniesta’s winning goal and though we are thousands of miles from the winning country, Spanish flags quickly popped out in the square wrapped around ecstatic tourists, who went on to paint the town red and yellow, while I switched to coffee.

Personally, I’d began the month feeling pretty weak and defeated, longing for home. By now, however, I feel strong (so strong I can move gigantic stones like the Incas), normal even. A visit from Annie came at just the right time, and we had some adventures in the Sacred Valley, cramming in collectivo’s between Senora’s and huge bundles of produce to explore Pisac Ruins, Ollantaytambo, Moray and the salt flats of Maras.

I’ve got some exciting trips planned for the coming weeks when Erin’s here so I’ll keep posting. By the way, happy birthday to my brother who’s currently lounging in the Philippines!

Beso.

(Photos from top to bottom: Annie's shot of the Plaza during one of the many parades, On top of the mountain near San Cristobal during Inti Raymi, Some of the thousands of potatoes on display at the Huancaro fair, Me moving giant stones in Ollantataytambo Ruins)

P.S. If you made it this far, perhaps you are also interested in my photos of Animalitos de Peru on Facebook.