Never letting go of Peru: Part 1

This next entries will focus on three themes of the wondrous country that is Peru. Those being the lost city of Kings, Cusco, a brief journey thru the eyes of Lake Titicaca and the Uros Floating Islands (see Bri's separate posting) and last, but certainly not least, the mecca of all, the pinnacle of our trip: exploring Machu Picchu in it's grandeur.

As Briana discussed in the last feature, we were acclimating ourselves from the beauty and prestige of the Andes, coming in from the voluptuous north of Chile via bus travel. With all its history, you could study the Andes region for countless hours and still not be able to comprehend how intense, at your face, and comforting it is to view. It stretches farther than you can imagine. Our journey brings us to the humble Valle de Sagrado, or the Sacred Valley. I knew little coming into this trip about this area and was so curious in the coming weeks of our departure from Chile to the north about what exactly everything here was going to look like.

The lushest, most massive green hills rolling with acres of corn, quinoa, potatoes, beans, etc. This is a true definition of the culture that the locals, the village people, have erected and lived with for centuries. I was amazed coming in from Cusco about how many villages exist here. I've scanned thru maps countless times, but it does not complete the picture in my mind of what these places look like. I'm amazed and pleased at the same time at how progressive things are in these areas. The villagers are the warmest people you'll cross paths with each day walking up and down the hills to get to and fro. Our stay is on a shamanic temple house just above in the mountains of a village named Coya. The town is much smaller than well explored and tourist crazy, Pisac, the next town over. Our walk involves a hike each day or so down into the village in order for us to explore neighboring areas that have a bit more in the means of entertainment, food, etc. But Coya is surrounded by plentiful hikes, rolling greenery and a rapid rushing river. The only thing i recommend is staying far away from the dogs. Few are friendly here...

The myriad of taxis, "collectivos", and buses plow through these villages on a rapid, constant everyday basis, attending to the locals, the tourists, anyone they can pick up and drop off in immediate fashion. Most will drop you off at the next town even if there destination is further and almost all will travel to Cusco. It takes just under an hour to head up the mountains and back into the big, bright city. The drive is bumpy, windy, and at times seems long as you're wrapping around those hills. But for the money, it's worth grabbing a collectivo(5 Soles) and suffering with the altitude. The change in altitude is minimal though so it's more getting accustomed to the high elevations in general. Do as the locals do: macerate a wad of Coca leaves in your mouth for awhile and you'll be just fine.

Cusco: at night or by day, i'm flushed with appreciation for this city. No other place does it better. Okay...Maybe it's second to Lima. At least in food. But you will find pure bliss here. I guarantee you a good time whether it's for drinks out near the plaza de armas, bartering for the best prices at the San Pedro Mercado or other friendly bazaars, planning your next touristy destination or just enjoying a quick bite to eat at one of the many, MANY awesome restaurants. I was floored by the San Pedro Mercado, a place where you can experience most of the artesinal crafts, alpaca wear, food and drinks. As you walk around the streets near this large structure, you'll discover other shops labeled, "Artesinal..." as well. Everyone who can sell something, will sell something to you. Whether it's a hide tunic made of alpaca or sheep's wool, a deck of playing cards with machu Picchu pictures, fresh Gouda and parmesan cheese, coca this and coca that, delicious fruits and veggies, all of it exists here. The colors in the crafts and clothing represent different themes in the ever powerful Andean culture.

Pinks, yellows, bright hues of green or blue, all these colors define something specific about these people and there time spent on Pacha Mama(Mother Earth). Some of the ideas or meaning may alter a bit as you travel from place to place, too, but the sole purpose remains true to these people: believing that they are here for the Earth, to embrace it with love and nothing less. Sadly, i have witnessed examples of that being insulted by way of constant pollution nearly everywhere i look. The notion to recycle anything here seems vague. Especially in the smaller villages. I've discovered one place that holds a bottle collection tank in town, but i don't know much more about their system. To bring a positive light, on our way back out of Cusco one night, i noticed a woman adorned with city worker clothing, on the clock grabbing trash on the outskirts of town. These people start at ungodly hours probably everyday as I've noticed and If these surrounding municipalities are doing one thing right, it's that they are constantly trying to battle with cleaning the streets.

But pollution is still a huge example of what the country needs to continuously work on to protect its land. I was extremely broken hearted to see on our way into Cusco the first time, how much these villages out in the hills and mountains pollute the earth. Glass, paper, plastics, food scraps, everything just thrown into sections on the outer edges of towns. I am bewildered and disappointed. It struck me more than ever before, like i have never viewed pollution in epic proportions such as this case. Not back home, surely not. But Cusco presses on with a growing effort to achieve positivity through cleanliness, sustainable practices and a promising green thumb. You'll see this example through several restaurants as they push for better ways in conjunction with heavy traffic that fumegates the air with pollution everyday. Taxis, busses, moto-taxis, it's all an eye sore for this town, but i get the sense that will always be the case and it most certainly reflects in other places ala Peru. That doesn't mean you can't spend a good night's sleep here and enjoy a wonderfully prepared organic salad, pizza or anything else locally crafted. To my surprise, olives and grapes(not just pisco) are thriving here. The wines, as we've experienced lightly, are getting hits and rave reviews all over. Typically, great wine will come from just south of Lima. Olives follow suit. Green or black, they're all tasty, succulent and full of flavor. I highly recommend you not leave Cusco, or Peru for that matter, without getting your grape and your olive on.

Some places i suggest checking out: Cicciolina and sister restuarant, Bacos-Bistro style with exemplary looking plates that prove satisfying to the mouth, great pisco sours, decent wines by the glass, should be top 5 places to dine ala Cusco.
San Pedro Mercado-gift shopping? this is the place to find anything and everything reasonably priced. Some might disdain and reccomend shopping in Pisac for better prices but i don't find it to be much different.
Museo de Pisco-for some of the finest piscos, wines, small bites, this upscale room looks like the place to be for an evening fully served with mouth watering drinks
Los Perros-a hip bar with one room after another stuffed with captivating art, paintings, and comfy seating for a great meal. Go for the burger here...
San Blas district-luxurious architecture, the Meeting place coffee shop: a non profit joint, offering organic coffee, baked goods, tasty soups and breaky with donations that support local proceeds
Museo del Inca-tease your desire and curiosity of the country, the Andean culture and it's history, etc.
Hospedajae Recoletta Touristica-we stayed here more than once and really enjoyed it. Good wifi, a game/entertainment room, decent beds, walking distance to plaza de armas and other places to explore, but far enough from the noisey sectors of town. Depending on the season, book ahead. Ask for Javiar.
Cusco's official textile shops-this is the place to check out how everything is handmade. Andean women adorned in the traditional wears hand knit as you look in awe at the amazing rugs, clothing, bags and hats. Also inside are museum rooms that explain the culture and its tying into with knitting.

Uros Islas: Part 2

The wind blows fiercely  at the door of the reed house. I wonder if the thatch roof will keep us dry. Lightning cracks through the darkness, reflecting off of the great Lago Titiqaqa, and floods the inside of the house for only a brief second. I run outside to see our host, Ruben, dragging a large plastic tarp out of the reed house to our right. He is pulling it towards the catamaran, a doubled up reed canoe with a top observation deck. Traditionally, reed boats were made solely from natural material and had to be rebuilt every 6-8 months. Now, hundreds of plastic liter and 2-liter bottles are wrapped in sheets of plastic with reeds as the exterior. These boats can now last as long as 7 years.
These tall reeds that grow around 4-6 meters, are the lifeline for the people of the Uros. Not only are their houses and boats made of them, but the islands are actually created from the root systems of these reeds. The roots are hollow and filled with oxygen, which gives the soil buoyancy. On top of the soil, dried reeds are cut and placed criss-crossing each other for many layers. Because these small clusters of "islands" are living, they decompose and every fifteen days are replenished. A boat guide, Julio, explained to us that during dry season, especially before the use of solar panel electricity (brought as a gift from infamous former president Fujimori) he watched several islands go up in flames. I haven't see one person yet who is a smoker on these islands, and I can imagine with good reason. They joke that if you don't like your sister (or her new husband) you can just cut your part of the island off. Some islands are very close together and look as though they were just severed from one another. I nearly stepped off of the edge of one and into the lake when looking for the "bathroom." Each island is about the size of a suburban plot of land. On our current small island, there are 7 small one room huts. We sleep on foam mattresses that are piled high with blankets, and thankfully since the temperatures drop below freezing this time of year.

What on earth possessed us to stay on this island? It is not the norm to stay on Uros, more likely is to stay on one of the bigger (non-reed) islands. The lake is enormous, stretching between Peru and Bolivia. As much as we would have liked to visit the other side of the lake (and get to some great areas in Bolivia) a hefty tax is imposed on US citizens. More than it would have cost for most of our visit there. Puno, the mainland point on the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca, is in many ways a typical South American port town. It features unflattering industrial areas, an enormous market place, a plaza de armas, rows of artesans selling the same brightly colored knitted goods (all baby alpaca of course, but now I know the real difference, and it usually involves quite a few more soles), knick knacks, and tourist friendly restaurants. The altitude is about 1000 feet higher than Cusco. Luckily bus travel helped me to acclimatize more quickly. The traffic is thick, unsightly, polluting both in exhaust and sound. The moto-taxis are a wonder, dodging cars left and right. My favorites have ironic decals on the back plastic windows. The coolest, they think they are bat-mobiles.

Julio, did not leave the islands until he was a young adult. His first experience in Puno, at age 11 was terrifying for him, he tells us. So many cars, and traffic. "And worst of all," he says, "people didn't look at you and say good morning." We also have felt this shift many times during our trip. Julio and Ruben both speak Aymara as their native language, but quickly learned Quechua and Spanish from family while growing up. Once in school, they learned English, and some French. Inter-island trade is the primary reason to leave your island, or group of islands. People from Uros bring fish and sea birds, often dried, to market to trade for potatoes, onions, and other vegetables that can be grown on the larger islands. I watched Ruben's family prepare the fish that his father had caught earlier that day and lay them out on wooden boards to dry. Uros has a matriarchal society, and while the structure is still somewhat of a mystery to me as to how it is organized with so many islands, it was clear who was in charge.

~Briana

Back to the Andes

No, no relation to time traveling....although at times it seems entirely possible that I have just stepped back into another world or dimension (both infact on many levels). The first experiences of crossing from Chile to Peru are surreal. You step from a semi-European culture, especially in the south of Chile, to a deserted desert....redundant, I know, but there really isn't any other way to describe the Atacama region that leads to the Andes region. Dry, dusty mountains rise up out of sand. Dunes plunge down to the ocean. Terrains become rocky and complexions darken. Boulders appear to have been strewn about the desert surface without any indication as to the source. Further into the Andes, snow capped mountains rise above lush green rolling hills. Abandoned or yet-to be-completed stone and adobe structures litter the curving roadsides. At times, the twists and turns are nearly unbearable. I practice the tricks I've learned for dealing with such sickness, deep breaths, pressure points, and the waves of nausea pass (not helped by the aromas of people and interesting foods). At one pitstop, I sample rubbery "fried" cheese served in a bag with hot sauce, boiled potatoes, and something unidentifiable that a woman across the aisle politely informs me are papas seca, dried potatoes, that are rehydrated and cooked. I'm not sure why they exist except for being a convenient way to store potatoes....but why serve them with boiled potatoes, which seem to be about the same thing....except less spongy.

Peru was just a blip on the map of countless hours of bus travel on the way down from Ecuador to Argentina. Technically more than a blip, but I think I slept through most of it. I am excited to be back in a country that holds so much preserved heritage and history. Hours worth of cattle, sheep, alpaca, and their smaller stick-figure like cousins, vicuña, graze quietly in the fields and on terraced hills. Living amongst these hills, in small villages, sometimes spread very far apart, are the Quechua and Aymara people. The women are distinct in their dress with layers of skirts that have lace eyelets, embroidery, sparkled velvet, paired with jewel-toned sweaters, dress sandals, and always a brightly colored, sometimes neon print, blanket that carries food, supplies, children ...and that's just the everyday wear. Celebrations call for more elaborate embroidery, more sequins, more colors!! The men dress fairly modern, albeit slightly more classy and dressed up than the average Peruano.

The majority of my time is spent in Coya, a small town lying between popular Pisac and Ollantaytambo, west of Cusco. Gabriel, my delightful "child of the sun" 6 year-old nephew, goes to a Waldorf-style school in Pisac. For one week, while his mom's were on the Inka Trail, I had the distinct pleasure of entertaining him, or vice versa, like letting him get his haircut into an awesome faux-hawk (see below), many dance parties, fancy meals, and story telling adventures. Being here with family has been amazing. Memories that are built together, stories that we share of our separate journeys, what we are learning during our day-to-day, supporting each other through the trials, are innumerable and unforgettable. Today, I feel very thankful.

~B

Market Daze

I know that the photos from my phone aren't as great as posting from the computer, but I wanted to sneak in a few from market. If possible, I will repost later.
-B

Valparaiso and continuing north

Catrico was an amazing experience. I am reflecting on: living commune style with people from around the world, Illani, Gusto, Valentina, and Emmita, Snuggling llamas, rising horses, teaching yoga to men working through an intense year of drug and alcohol rehab, hiking to the hill that overlooks the farm where on a clear day the volcano is visible, hiking (barely) Volcan Villarrica, the most amazing sunsets I have ever seen ...

Only a few days spent in Santiago, but I was generally happy with this sprawling, enormous city. The metro system was, luckily, fairly easy to navigate. Illani, the owner of the farm in Catrico, was kind enough to offer her house in an ecological community just outside of the city. It's an amazing idea as opposed to the suburbs sprouting up in every direction. Just past the entrance where Eco shops feature expensive clothing and food, dirt roads lead to a sustainable housing complex. Although the properties are laid out similarly to suburbs, many parcels of land contain two or more houses with gardens and chickens. Caught up with friends, Carlos and Natalie, fellow travelers that I hadn't seen since Ecuador. A great night out exploring the night life, followed by a day of recovery, and then headed further north to one of my favorite cities visited this trip.

This is one place I would recommend to almost anyone looking to travel to the west coast of South America. Located approximately one hour north of Santiago, Valparaiso has something for everyone and awakens creativity. Every possible building surface and even the stairs are covered in artwork. I loved, of course, being surrounded by amazing restaurants, many of which incorporated local and farm grown ingredients. Neighboring Viña del Mar provides a more touristy resort feel.

My third day in Valpo, I escaped the hundreds of mural covered stairwells and steep climbs of the cerros to feel the sand on my feet and seaspray in my face. I wandered for hours by bus and on foot, staring at sand dunes, watching pelicans dive for fish, composing music to the sound of the waves crashing. I knew more ocean was in my immediate future.

Taking a piece of Valpo and Viña with me, and many more hours of travel, brought me to Caleta de Chanard de Aceituno, a small fishing village that thrives off of tourism for a few months of the year. The good graces of Illani made this stay possible as she also owns a house on the outskirts of town. Another phenomenally constructed sustainable house where the sound of waves lulled me to sleep more than I care to admit. But a sweetly perfect way to end my time in Chile.

-B

agricultura en catrico: un refugio verdadero wwoofers

i'm short on words these days with difficulty contemplating every morning as i walk towards the kitchen of Illani and Guayo's adobe house how i will sum up each week that i'm here. How typical that i have spent the majority of my time pondering up the next food creation for the following day, to have the savory and sweet flavors of food jump off a fork or spoon, diving into the palate of 10 maybe 20, perhaps 30 people. All from various parts of the world representing there time here as wwoofers, as families just visiting, poets, or men recovering from deep, dark troubling pasts fighting with addiction looking for forgiveness in the country hills of there home land and on and on and on.

Although after sitting down with all of these crazy individuals(who probably think the same of me), watching them give praise and thanks for a big meal, i wish i had more time to be outside. I have enjoyed my time in the garden, tending to weeds, searching under the prickly leaves of cucumbers of which none are trellised, but still happily green and loving life. Pulling beets with the reminder of doing so all not that long ago for Josh and Jean this summer, my mouth watering just looking at the golden yellow and blood stained red sweet treats. Feeling impatient as the peppers may have been planted too late as summer nears to an end. Tomatoes mostly green still, i watch them slowly turn a shade less each day. Raspberries invading the remaining sectors of an area i so wish to increase in size by double. I keep a sharp, precise eye on the red and blue potatoes that have had very good luck here. Sadly, i question how long this garden will last with honest care and consideration. Alas, my never ending battle of where to plant myself(no pun intended) each day. It's just finding a balance between cooking and cultivating i guess...

Long time friend and neighbor, Juan, usually watches over things as Illani, Guayo, and co. typically depart to their California residence in June or July. I imagine it's a good break for them after a busy spring and summer in Catrico each year. Also, because flights are cheaper than heating there house in the winter. I still get this funny feeling, like there is a need for me to be around longer to make sure things are tended to peacefully. Not to dissaprove of the caretakers here when they are gone but so much more could be obtained, i think, from this land. Illani and Guayo hold  hectares just in Catrico, another property much further north near a penguin community shared with whales and other marine life. Seeing this land gets me more and more excited about having my own farm.

Today, Erika, the german wwoofer who holds her respect more for cabios than humans, unfortunately departs today. She has spent the last few months in Chile looking for a rightful place to care for horses. As i have spent a lot of time with my grandparent's horses when i was much younger, i feel very content and comfortable with the horses here. They're all so different from eachother, but they share a strong companionship with each other. Erika has been great about reestablishing a connection with them individually and between human and horse. At times, it's been tough to get on the horse because of the close memories i had with my own two, Sheba and lacy. But all is well after the feet set in, and the butt is perched in the saddle. Nothing can take away the time invested riding horseback. Erika...I will miss her energy and perseverance to be a stronger person most of all. Others come and go as the wind is slow to move here, maybe once a week, i watch it strike the apple and plum trees, whizzing by the sun dial garden that i transplanted chives, mint and oregano in. Fellow friends, you will be missed, but i won't forget you when the wind returns again.

I watch the worker's craftiness, there way with saws and lumber. Erecting a new bathroom in the main house with a view that encapsulates all the surrounding pasture land, and utilizing the chilean chestnut: castellano for door handles, towel racks, etc. The tarnish really puts an exclamation point on the wood. They continue to finish steps outside, a rustic metal rack for holding tea mugs in the kitchen, and so much more. I think i will immerse myself in a carpentry course or two when i get back to the states, perhaps right after my first year at FoodCorps if i'm accepted in. After seeing them master these projects, it inspires me to get involved with carpentry work. I want to build my own house, a cottage style with two floors influenced by lake houses in the new england region. But then i'm so into adobe and how i would want to incorporate that. And if i can't build my own house, i at least want to take part in the construction of it. The barn that holds the sheep and Llama's is a neat design. It's a figure 8. One section is meant for the Llama's and the other for the sheep, but it appears they all enjoy eachothers company so much, they just end up wherever, together. Illani enjoys the concept of circles and morphing or twisting similar shapes when building so is the reason behind the barn.

Several days now have passed. I've had to put this down to contemplate more. I had a fun opportunity to slow cook a leg of wild boar or  today, contending with making mozzarella and queso fresco. Outside projects include clearing the bog that contain arandanos(blueberries) and hopefully next year cranberries. The vegetable garden is being overwhelmingly taken over by the frambuesas(raspberries) so we will transplant the roots to the bog also. In between those tasks: tieing up loose ends with the spring up on the mountain by fixing the decanting tank so it actually works, cleaning the barns out for winter, weeding out the garden for the following year, winterizing the house and tidying up before we head north, where even more tasks will be laid out until our brief stint in Peru.

I will end with some poetry:

The straps, fastened in
pull them tighter, you'll bleed the horse
we drift onto the rocky roads of catrico
gates await our toggle to unlock the secrets
further yonder, green and yellow pastures bristle our hands
at last we reach the firey heavens of the disco
salivating the pig
breaking for the cool river as i sit pondering about life and death
lets go back before the dark is too dark for our eyes
trot, canter, gallop onward home
volcano, volcano, volcano smoke
the others desire for more helados like children begging for candy
while the smell of brassicas in the field tempt my slithering tongue
stars turn themselves on, replacing the bulbs of dead ones filling the sky
tints of red, orange
hues of yellow and blue
smiling, knowing all will be okay in the end
Orion's belt, big and little dippers, Jupiter
and on and on, i dream with the horse...