Yawar Mayu

I was relieved to get off the bus. It had been swaying through the Peruvian countryside for about an hour, making my breakfast feel a little less than secure. Relieved to get off the bus and into a taxi with a local campesina riding in the hatchback, voluminous skirt, fedora-esque hat and all. Our Peruvian Paso horses were waiting for us by the colonial church in the town of Maras. Waiting with them was an old man in a green felt hat with a crinkly smile. Our guide, Alvisu, introduced us to the horses; Inti (the sun god) and Tobias (I liked to call him Toby) were Victoria and Marla´s mounts. Mine was the beauty of the bunch; a rich bay with a handsome face named Yawar Mayu. Soon we were riding out of Maras, smiling and laughing at the thrill of riding horses... in Peru! To our right, farmland sloped down to plunge into a steep valley whose other side rose abruptly in rugged green peaks. Our path was a dirt track bordered by american agave; winding up and down, in and out of little canyons.Winding out of little canyons and into rolling, tree-less grassland. We waved to farmers, hunched over their crops, as we approached the ruins of Moray. A light, sunny rain was falling.

We dismounted and stared into the deep, amphitheater-like ruin. Built in a meteor crater, the Incas used Moray as an experimental agricultural centre. There is a difference of about a degree Celsius betwen each terrrace; the ones at the bottom once grew coca, which normally only grows in the jungle! The ruin is beautiful; such perfect circles ringed in green. Alvi stayed with the horses while the girls and I descended into the ruins down the steeper-than-they-looked-from-above Inca stairs. I introduced Kyla and Dylan to Marla and Victoria, which made them laugh... they loved the idea. Climbing back out from the very lowest terrace took a TON of energy. An old peruvian man told me to breathe through my nose, which I´m sure would have been very helpful if I wasn´t so congested and physically able to follow his advice. He thought I just didn´t understand Spanish.

We found Alvi and our noble steeds and bridled them back up (just the steeds, not Alvi) to head for our picnic spot. We lunched in the shade of a grove of trees next to an abandoned mud-brick house with a wide view of the valley. From Yawar Mayu´s saddlebags Alvi produced a salad of cooked cauliflower, carrots and beans, bread, cold chicken, yucca and chicha morada. All delicious, even the cauliflower.While we ate Alvi told us that the house belonged to his family and how he dreamed of turning it into a guest ranch. When I went around the front of the house to take some pictures the mountains ahead and to the left pulled me like a magnet. I walked and ran as far towards the "edge" as I thought I could without getting separated from my group. A local man with a cowboy hat on his head and a dog at his side was contemplating the view from a few hundred metres ahead of me. I snapped a few photos, took a deep breath and reluctantly returned to my friends.

Riding on, we quickly noticed the horses´ distinct personalities... Inti was deadset on following our guide horse (even when he tried to pull aside for a picture) and would cut everyone off to be second in line. Toby was pretty lethargic, yet he too wanted to walk ahead of the others. Yawar Mayu was the only one who didn´t mind bringing up the rear, but because Toby would walk so slowly we always ended up tailgating him massively. Consequentially, my left knee was nearly pooped on... twice. I would have rather ridden out front.

The rest of the day was a blur of hoofbeats, sunshine and countryside. People working in the fields would stop to stare at us or call out a "buenas tardes". And a buena tarde it was; drinking in the scenery (think green fields in the foreground and glacier draped mountains in the background), singing and laughing with my group and breathing in the fresh country air. How epic is it to ride through the peruvian highlands on a beautiful horse whose name means "Blood River" in Quechua? The Paso horses gait is famously smooth, but we had to work to keep them moving that way rather than bouncing us around like sacks of potatoes. 6 hours on a horse is a long time. By the time we rode into Chinchero I was getting almost unbearably sore and cold. The most comfortable and (to me) natural parts of the ride were the brief minutes we sped up to a canter along the more level stretches of red earth road. By the end of the day I was more relieved to get off the horse than I had been to get off the bus. All of us, Alvi included, were completely knackered and dozed the whole (freezing cold) taxi ride back into Cusco. I came home from my day of riding feeling like I´d been run over by a bus. Sore muscles? Check. Bruises? Check. Sunburn? Check. Nasty cold? Check.
It´s not a day well spent unless you have battle wounds, right?

Con amor,
Julia

I look like a vegetarian in Peru too.

In Canada, I have been mistaken for a vegetarian a great many times, most memorably by just about every person in my Peak class last spring. This morning, in Lima, Señora Cabrera said, " You´re a vegetarian, right?".
This was after I had eaten raw fish, octopus and cow´s heart... in a single meal.

My first and only day in Lima (that is Saturday the 8th) was Señor Cabrera´s birthday, so the family (plus me) went to a buffet lunch to celebrate. The whole thing was laid out beautifully and the food was both delicious and foreign. The only famliar things on my plate that meal were a few green beans and a plain salad of lettuce and carrots. There must have been dozens of seafood dishes; ceviche (fresh, raw fish marinated in vinegar, lime and seasonings with onions), pulpo (octopus prepared similarly), shrimp, different types of fish, oysters... prepared in as many ways as you can think of. Then there was the grill, where you chose a skewer of meat (or fish!) for one of the guys behind the buffet wearing chefs´ hats to cook for you. I didn´t learn ´til later that just because something looks like beef, doesn´t mean it is. I may not sound especially enthusiastic, but the anticucho (cow´s heart with traditional seasonings) was pretty yummy. Milenka was pragmatic enough to inform me what I was eating after I had eaten a piece... though I might have preferred if she told me after I had finished it all (which I did). I could probably describe the food for many pages, but I will spare myself some trouble typing and say that there were also large selections of traditional dishes from the mountain regions, desserts, ice cream, drinks and pasta made to order with (you guessed it!) seafood. I had a jolly time chatting with (and trying to understand) Milenka´s cousins. Later we went back home and played card games (they like rowdy ones, we also did a slightly less fun version of that "The Coo and Can" due to comprehension issues). Oh yes, also when we arrived back home from the buffet they all had me do about a quarter shot of Pisco, "To digest to fatty food and help my cough go away". Pisco is potent stuff and unless I eat a dozen deep-fried Mars bars and have a cough like a Howler monkey I will not be trying it again. Happily, I managed to keep it down (gag reflex going strong!) and my eyes only watered a little bit (okay, maybe one tear fell...).

That night, four of Milenka´s friends from medical school came over and as each arrived I understood less and less of what was going on. After and hour and a half they had decided where to go, so we crammed six bodies plus the driver and a wheelchair into a regular five-seater taxi. We went to a party given by an older colleague of theirs, which was strange for me because he had hired waiters, musicians and bartenders for a party in his house and because the majority of the crowded (and it was crowded) seemed to be over forty or under thirteen. I´m not even sure there was an occasion for a fiesta. We were back just after midnight and then it was off to bed for my nine-thirty a.m. taxi to the airport. The nine-thirty a.m. taxi was very punctual, arriving about ten minutes after nine. So I said a rushed goodbye to Mile and Elda and was off.

This is the part where I explain to my mother who Milenka is and why I was staying with her; There is a website (CouchSurfing) where you can connect with people all over the world and request for them to host you on your travels. It was the perfect situation for me, because I am low-budget, solo and looking to get a not-just-tourist-stuff experience of Peru. Milenka and her family were very kind and helpful, and I am grateful to them for welcoming me and making me feel at home. The reason I didn´t tell you before, parents and people who might tell my parents, is that I knew you would worry. I decided to tell you afterwards so you wouldn´t have to. Check out the CouchSurfing site for all the info about safety, trust etc.

Cusco. ¡Ahhh, Cusco me encanta! I already like it better than Lima in so many ways, not the least of which is that my transportation from the airport cost twenty-one cents rather than forty dollars.  Of course today I was squatting in an overcrowded van with my pack on; lurching and swaying rather than cruising along in a shiny black sedan with air-conditioning and a suit-sporting driver, backpack comfortably in the trunk.

I will tell you all about the joys of Cusco another time, since I am parking my butt here for five whole weeks and I´m sure you are just about ready for me to shut up now. My cold has almost gone, hallelujah! Must have been the Pisco... and I am very excited to begin working with the kids tomorrow! If you have gotten this far in reading, you are just amazing, thank you!

Love and hugs to all!
Julia