Postcards from Peru

In the last 48 hours we´ve traveled literally to another world. We made it through our night in the Lima airport okay, and caught our flight to Cusco. By that point, all of us were so disoriented from a lack of sleep that we dont´remember a whole lot from that experience.

We arrived in Cusco around seven in the morning, where it was COLD. We found a cab driver who understood little English and drove like a maniac, but we´ve learned this is the custom here.

We started to get a sense of the spectacular scenery in our drive to Cusco, and our driver stopped to show us some incredible views of the Sacred Valley and let us take pictures with llams, which are actually pronounced "yam-uhs."



We finally arrived in Ollanta, where we were depostited in the main plaza with all our stuff. The entire town was built by the Incans a very, very long time ago (sorry Ms. Eagen, that part of AP World didn´t stick too well), and the stone walls and cobblestone streets are apparently all original.

Little did we know that we arrived in the middle of the biggest festival of the entire year. We gather that it´s some sort of celebration of Ollanta´s patron saint, but we´ve been told that people save their money all year to party and dance and drink for four days straight. Everyone was walking around in elaborate costumes with very silly hats. I want one of those hats.

Kelsey and I are living in a hostel with a large extended family who runs it, right in the center of town. We have an electric shower which my guide book calls ¨a health and safety nightmare,¨although everyone has told us they work great. One of our host brothers has a three week old baby, whose name we cannot remember, but it´s impressive how his wife carries it around in a blanket on her back. Actually, it´s a bit of a problem, because we have been introduced to many family members whose names we dont´remember. Some of them have Quechua names, and let´s just say Quechua is not so easy to pronounce.

After Kelsey and I took a much-needed nap, we spent the afternoon with Jarrard and his family. They live on a small farm about ten minutes down the Valley, where they grow corn and various fruits. We spent several hours talking to Jose, his host father, asking questions about the festival and the town. They have a white board in their house which came in handy. Jarrard tried to explain what ice hockey was with some stellar pictures, but we´re not sure he entirely understood.

Then he and his eight-year-old son, Gabriel, who´s a firecracker, took us on a walk through their farm, showing us where they grow the corn and some Incan ruins where Gabriel and his cousins, primos, ride their bikes and play. It was the coolest thing ever, a whole bunch of stone rooms and turret-things looking out over the Urubamba river. I commented that it was like a tree house, but made by the Incans instead of one´s father, and was promptly mocked.

Kelsey and I walked back to our house, where we had the most delicious past and meat thingfor dinner. Jacob made an appearance, wearing a multi-colored traditional hat, and told us a little more about the town and the people. We wanted to go hang out with him and the other volunteers, but after going with our host sister to see questionably safe fireworks in the midst of the crazy celebrations, we went promptly to bed, enjoying our first real bed since Athens.