Scenes in Cusco

Our time here in Cusco is just about up and we are beginning to set our sights on home. My suitcase is now full of gifts and dirty clothes as I have set out a ration of semi-clean clothes to wear home and am ignoring the others in hopes of not having to pay for another load of laundry. In a similarly frugal fashion, our diet now consists of avocados, peanut butter, oranges, and 20 cent rolls as we are trying to avoid another trip to the ATM. However, though our journey may be nearing an end I have continued to learn from and be surprised by many of my experiences here. Below are a few short vignettes of favorite moments. I hope that you enjoy them and that they paint a clearer picture of what my time here in Cusco has been like.

• Tuesdays at CORASON mean deportes, so we climb up a steep flight of dusty stairs to a cement slab enclosed by a broken chain link fence. Surrounding the slab are dusty weeds and flattish rocks, here we set down our bag full of ratted up balls and puzzles and wait for the kids to descend. And descend they do, with squeals of "futbol", "hermana", and "caballo"-referring to Ben and his piggyback rides. For the next two hours I turn a jump rope, point out pieces of block puzzles, and generally try to lovingly control chaos. Today I watched some of the kids pick through the trash to make parachutes out of plastic bags and ratted string and a two year old struggle up to the top of a ledge to grab a half deflated beach ball and then grin as he threw it down. I listened to girls count off the number of their jumps in broken English and cheer excitedly when they passed 50. In short I watched children thrive in an environment that should stifle them.
• This morning, business at the coffee shop was slow, a general fatigue seemed to have fallen over Plaza San Blas, and no one seemed particularly eager to throw off this ennui with a cup of coffee. So rather than brewing, I sat on a bar stool and watched Cusco through the frame of the cafe door. Quite a picture was being painted outside. Sleepy tourists laden with heavy backpacks and suitcases passed in search of their hotel room and a bed. Native women with babies wrapped on their backs in colorfully striped bags walked up and down trying to sell their bracelets and hand woven scarves. Bohemians and gypsies laid languidly on benches or lazily juggled. Children ran to the corner store to buy candy. Stray dogs of all sizes and an alpaca passed by. As I watched the unfolding scene, I wondered about each character. What were their lives like, where did they sleep, what did they eat, what was the last book they had read? Could they even read? What were they thinking about in this short moment when our lives touched and we became part of the same lazy morning in San Blas Peru.
• It is an hour and a half into my Spanish lesson. The room is cold and my tea has become tepid. My throat is sore from reading aloud, and my mind is numb. My tutor looks tired of trying to come up with conversation, and I wish that I could spare him his struggle. In short, I am not at all prepared to have a serious conversation in Spanish. But that is exactly where I am headed. To practice reflexive verbs, my teacher asks me if I am a dishonest person. To the best of my ability, I answer that I try not to be because I don't think it is right. He asked me why, I respond with some vague reference to my belief in God, and he asks me about this said relationship. In my best Spanish, which is still quite limited, I try to explain my faith. My teacher, a young Peruvian man, probably not much older than I am seems unconvinced. I try again with ample hand motions and frustrated pauses to explain the beliefs on which I have based my whole life, perhaps not surprisingly I fail. At the end of my lesson I have exhausted my voice and my vocabulary. I leave the room with an "hasta manana" and quick prayer that I haven't said anything heretical in my limited Spanish.
• At 7 pm it has been dark for about an hour, and the streets are quite cold. To escape from the wind a bit, Ben and I duck into an open cathedral. For a few minutes we stand inside. Staring at the elaborate gold engravings and the twinkling candles of the faithful surrounding us. Then we leave the warm still sanctuary to go find some dinner. On my way out, I am greeted by three pathetic beggars, a toothless woman, an aggressive crippled man, and a silent defeated looking old man. I put some change in each of their cups and then continue on to a bright warm restaraunt where I eat my fill and then some. The night is lovely and the food delicious but I can't get the image of the three desperate faces out of my mind.

Well, those are just a few glimpses into my life in Cusco, I hope they give you a better idea of what my life here is like. I have loved it, I have learned from it, and in many ways it will be hard to leave it.