Cusco was tranquil. I did laundry, I ate, and of course I found myself sitting in a plaza. I was drawn to a man sitting across from me playing guitar, obviously he was as well as he came over and introduced himself. We got to talking and he invited me to join him and his group of 14 friends to go to the sacred valley and work a bit in a farm community. I got the chance to meet a few of his friends, me. And women, and where surprised at how open and friendly they where; not threatening. That evening I met a young American that had just ridden his bike from Panama to Peru and was planning to move to LA to enter into the world of film. He invited me to join him and his friend to go to Puno. Decisions. In my drunkenness I made a Vendiagram before passing out:
Puno:
Expensive
Comfort
Intellectual conversation
Other possibilities to meet again in CA
Tourist tour with travel agency
US friends
Very safe
Outdoorsie people
Argentinian gypsies:
Minimal money needed
Unconfirt/ risk of std ( mind you this is a drunken listing)
Music and dancing
Picking avocados
Worldly friends
Unknown
Sleeping outside!
Brother Mikes dream ( I told him I couldn’t feel my head or stomach…)
I had a hard time deciding whether or not to meet with the Argentinians or go to Puno. I decided to take a small nap two hours before needing to meet with the gypsies and listen to what my body needed. I checked in with my heart and when I I visioned myself in the sacred valley I saw myself dancing in a field of green, twirling around and laughing. I knew I had to go with the gypsies and into the unknown, but I proceeded wi caution and back up plans. Before leaving I stopped into have the best Menu I have had yet; potatoe salad, cow intestine soup, and cordon blue with Chicha morena to wash it all down!
On arrival to the park I didn’t see anyone, though I was very prompt, also, there was a chance that I would be stood up. The usual suspects made their way over to my bench. First the man selling paintings, second, the man that owned a hostel and wanted me to wait there, third, was yet another Mary selling key chains. Mary was the most memorable and I was feeling very open today, mostly because I was very affected by the words of my guitarist friend Noel the day before. He had told me that “the dog starving on the street has an equal existence as I.” Mary, however was very pushy and wanted me to give her my watch as a gift for her daughter, when I did not give in she asked for Chapstick, when I did not give in, she asked for lotion. I was very turned off by her begging, and in the end traded a head band for a key chain and a small change purse. All Mary’s stories whee sad, her husband letter her with three children (sadly not the first time I have heard this story), her and her daughters sell trinkets for a living, the local priest just died, and as the universe will have it, a funeral procession of a young man pervaded down the street. Upon looking back at the procession I was enthralded to see the Argentinians. I bayed my good byes to Mary and went to strait my adventure.
For the next two hours we collected other likened individuals. By the time we collected everyone, 15 in total, got to the bus, made it to the small community and ate something from the local chicken fryer. It was 9pm. The community is a bit different than what we where expecting. The house belonged to a very modest family of four and was more of a quiet retreat and hotel. Needless to say the group of us set into motion a bit of a show to the house. Some of the group didn’t have tents, including me but I had my hammock, and they agreed to split the cost of beds by sharing them. To me this was just asking for sex parties as this extreemly friendly group of South Americans pushed the norms on personal boundaries. I set up camp while the group headed to smoke in the back. I was more interested in watching the lightning strike over the mountains from the comfort of my sleeping bag. Around four in the morning I awoke to mist hitting my face, mist soon turned to rain and I had to get up and knock on a neighboring tent to let me in. They gladly accepted another body to snuggle with…
In the morning I met Marta. Ah Marta. We immediately hit it off as she has been working on starting some sort of outdoor education program at the school she works at outside Lima. I was supposed to work four hours in exchange for minimal camping pay but I headed out to adventure with Marta instead. Presumably I would return by the afternoon to do the work but that didn’t happen.
Marta taught me so much during my stay in the sacred valley, she was my best friend and my mentor. She taught me how to ask. How to question everything and question everyone; not in a suspicious manor but rather to understand the workings of where you are at. Often times people will just agree with you or tell you an answer just because they don’t want to let you know they they don’t know. Marta carried stacks of paper stapled together everywhere she went to document new words, places, and events. Events like the Fiesta de Los Niños that took place in a high Sierra pueblo we just happened to be hiking in that day. We watched a full parade and dance ceremony! The colors and extravagance of the experience was unforgettable. She believes there are other forms of medicine other than western, so we went to go see an acupuncturist together. We cooked together, we shared together, and most of all we laughed a lot. My time with Marta was what made my experience in the Sacred Valley.
The other part of my time at the hostel with the gypsies was a bit more difficult, none the less eye opening though. The gypsies ranged in age from 18-23. The younger ones where fresh out of school and still thirsting for independence as well as experience not being under mom and dad’s roof; their sexual drives where cruising in high gear. Along with being over stimulated with young love I had an extremely hard time understanding their slang, youngsters these days. I had slowly become that awkward foreign girl in the corner just listening and every once in a while stuttering in. I hit my first wall all trip. I was home sick in one of the most beautiful places in the world. All I wanted was someone to share a conversation with. When I finally decided I was going to break free I was crushed to learn I wanted to leave started to he first day of a two day strike against gas prices, so public transit/ transit of any kind was a no go. Phooy. I could only wait one day and rounded up two of the gypsies who needed to get out as well and we walked the two miles to the nearest city that was Rumored to have combis running.
We caught one which dropped us about two miles outside of the city on a hill because we couldn’t risk going into Cusco during a strike. It felt god to be heading back out on my own again and to be in a place where I could understand he Spanish and speak it slowly back. I was on my way to Puno and Lake Titikaka.
The Limber Lotus 