Deeper into the Onion

The longer we stay in one place, the more of our new world reveals itself to us.  Each day is yet another layer of skin off of the onion.

At first glance, Peru is an awe-inspiring natural wonder, with mountains steeply rising meters away from our front door and a crystal blue sky framing both the landscape and the human activities bustling and hustling below us.  This image retains its potency, but as time passes, we look up to admire it less and less often.  We focus on the issue of the hour, or the goal for the day, forgetting the beauty that drew us here, that continues to beckon to millions of visitors every year.  The natural beauty and grandeur of Pachamama is like a deep, clean breath, helping us to refocus on the things that are important. 

I need a deep blue lungful right now.  Because as I unknowingly trod across the delicate garden of this culture, I learn more and more about the individuals, the families, the groups, and the country itself.  And not all of it is roses.  First-hand cultural education is necessarily full of tripping hazards.  The more involved we are with the people around us – one of our main goals in this experience - the more we learn, and not always the easy way. 

I, like many extraneros, came to Pisac wanting to do some good for someone other than myself.  I wanted to volunteer my skills and time and give to a group that needed what I had to offer.  I am so much more fortunate than so many people here.  And so I taught ceramics to high school kids and English to elementary and high school kids.  I offered after school lunch-and-learn English sessions.  I ferried delicate kiln-loads of student projects back and forth between school and the local potter’s studio across town.  I made a hot lunch (a daunting task for me!) for kids so they wouldn’t have to walk 45 minutes to their homes and 45 minutes back again just to participate in class. 

I paid for school supplies and transported heavy boxes of donated books from Cusco on a crowded bus.  I searched high and low for glaze for the ceramics students.  In short, I did what any parent would do for their kids’ school in the US.  The big difference is that I did all of this in a foreign language of which I can only claim about 25% proficiency, in a new culture whose customs and systems are strange and obscure to me, in a foreign land where I do not know my way around.  Hence, I misstepped and made mistakes.  I stepped on the proverbial prize-winning rose, resulting in bloody scratches from the invisible thorns of Peruvian manners.

As my big, fat American foot came crashing down, I did not see a valuable garden full of significant blooms and healing leaves, but a weed-choked patch of rocky soil.  It was only after I mangled a few plants that I was told that they are beautiful to their owners.  Now, I look again and try to see it.  I understand the idea, but it is still difficult to truly recognize the nurtured buds from the despised prickle bushes.  And so it is with human emotions and the border between individuality and group cohesion.  As I go about my daily business, trying to fulfill goals and achieve some form of success, I find that I am, in the end, working for myself, evaluating my work by the standards that I brought with me from home.  I am selfishly building my own castle, regardless of whether it truly benefits the people I am here, supposedly, to help.  I forget to look up at the grand beauty of the place, forget to remember where I am and why.  The garden is not mine. 

But even as I acknowledge these things to myself, I grapple with the fact that I personally do not agree with some of the values and ideas widely held in my new community.  Some of the purported ‘flowers’ remain weeds to me.  Where does ‘working for people who need help’ stop and ‘working against my own standards’ begin?  Although I support part of the vision and message disseminated by the different groups I work with, there are some finer points that I find unrealistic and even self-defeating.  Sometimes the grand plan, as gorgeous and well-intentioned as it may be, needs to make room for the realities of modern life in an impoverished country.  Of course the same can be said in reverse.  In the end, these two extremes both are needed to further a stronger, healthier, more stable world. 

The fact that I am able to perceive and participate in these conflicts at all is proof that I have penetrated past the surface, through a few of the top-most layers of life in Pisac, the symbolic onion.  Through my gaffes, I discover weak spots, the edge between courtesy and real emotion.  My errors introduce me to the personal quirks and sensitivities of individuals and I start to understand, slowly and reluctantly sometimes, more about these people I am here to assist and learn from.  The deeper I am integrated into this small community, the more opportunity I have to screw up – and to do more meaningful work.  In one sense, mistakes offend, but they also mean that something is happening.  

Conflicts arise like tectonic plates coming together - the big picture ramming up against the details.  Either the plates grind together, turning both sides into dust, or one passes over the other, taking its turn in the superior position this time.  Meaningful conflict shines a light on a side of people unknown to the passer-by.  For a foreigner, it is a privilege to see, even though at times it may appear ugly.  The people in question might find those facets of themselves attractive.  Which causes pause.  If what we call a blemish, they exalt, perhaps what we ourselves pride, they consider a fault.  There is no universal truth.  This realization allows us to re-examine our belief systems and decide, now that we see that there is a choice, how we want to perceive character traits, in ourselves, in others and in groups and communities. 

Above all, being aware at a level where we can participate, even in unpleasant conflicts, is a reward in and of itself.  It is an opportunity that informs us.  It broadens our awareness and allows us to experience life differently than we normally would.  It is proof that we are more than just a stranger passing through.  We are making a difference.  The question remains, however, a difference for whom?  Is it me that is changed by this new understanding, or the others?  Or do we both grow closer to that wide, calm, middle-ground that is acceptance and understanding?  That is my goal.

Cathy

Matt’s Water Filter Volunteer Work

So far, I haven’t written too much about the details of my volunteer work in Peru so I thought I’d take this opportunity to do so.  I am working for a group called DESEA.  Their leaders are a Canadian couple named Sandy Hart and Sandra McGirr; they have been in Peru for about three years and have two kids (Tarn, age 13 and Niall, age 15).  They work with a nurse and other co-workers from Peru, as well as volunteers from both Peru and the US.  As described in our blog sidebar, DESEA’s mission is to improve the health of people in rural areas by providing bio-sand water filters and improved community health care and education, including through the training of local women to become health care workers and nurses in these areas.  This is also helping to build local capacity to meet these vital community needs in the long term.  DESEA provides these services at no cost to community residents and relies entirely on grants and donations to fund their activities, with additional technical assistance provided by several International non-profit groups. 

So what is my role in all this?  For the last couple of months, I have been helping Sandy on the water filter end of things.  During the last three years, DESEA has built 100-150 filters per year, using concrete filter containers based on models developed by the Centre for Affordable Water and Sanitation Technology (CAWST) in Alberta, Canada.  This model has several advantages.  The materials for the filter containers and filtration media – sand, gravel and cement – are almost universally available locally.  The design has been rigorously tested and refined by CAWST during the last 20 years.  And the construction practices are relatively straightforward and can be undertaken by local community members with a certain amount of supervision by DESEA personnel.  However, the concrete filters have a couple of major drawbacks.  Most significantly, they are very heavy, weighing about 150-200 pounds before adding the filter media.  This makes transporting them to dispersed home sites and small villages in the Andes mountains very difficult, given a lack of good vehicles and paved roads.  Having lugged one up a steep rocky trail with Sandy yesterday, I can personally attest to this.  In addition, the sand and gravel used for their construction must be thoroughly cleaned, a time-consuming process.  Finally, if not constructed carefully and correctly, cracks and leaks can develop in the concrete shells.  For these reasons, DESEA is investigating lighter-weight alternatives for the filter containers, specifically use of a PVC filter shell.

Concrete filter photos and diagram

I’ve been doing several things to help with these efforts:

      -  Building more concrete filters.  DESEA is continuing to build concrete filters, in part to replace several faulty or damaged filters delivered to three of its target communities during the last two years.  Helping build these filters involves washing sand and gravel, cleaning, preparing and assembling steel filter molds and mixing and pouring concrete to create the filter boxes.  It also has included coming up with a new material for the filter outlet pipe.  I’ve helped procure copper tubing (to replace the flexible vinyl tubing used up to this point) and then figure out a way to form the tubing into a sort of elongated S-shaped outlet tube which is partially encased in the concrete filter shell.  I’ve also helped repair some of the faulty filters and reinstall them in people’s homes.

      -  Designing a new PVC filter container.  We and other groups have been working on designs for lighter-weight PVC filter containers.  We’ve been lucky to build on the work of a man named Dennis St. John in Arizona and have benefitted from significant technical assistance from the people at CAWST.  We also got some great ideas from a French engineer who I happened to meet on a trip to Lake Titicaca and who later visited our workshop here (a longer story for another blog).  My job has been to help identify sources for materials in the city of Cusco, investigate, sketch and test different filter pipe configurations, and do calculations related to flow and filter rates, etc.  Early on I also spent some time doing Internet research about possible opportunities to buy filter containers already manufactured by other non-profit groups or companies.  Ultimately, this didn’t prove to be cost-effective for us, given high shipping costs.

      -  Helping write grant proposals.  Lately DESEA has been working on two large grant proposals, one of which is a federal grant program administered by the US Agency for International Development (USAID) along with a consortium including the Gates Foundation, the Swedish and Canadian governments and a couple of other partners.  I helped navigate this federal grant process, prepared the cost proposal section of the application and ensured that the proposal was turned in on time via an electronic submittal process.

      -  Checking out our target communities.  We’ve made one trip up to the communities to be served by filters in the coming year to more accurately estimate the number of households there.  In the next several weeks, we will be making more trips to ascertain interest in obtaining filters and collect more information about household characteristics, etc.  I’m really looking forward to this aspect of my assistance.  As noted above, I’ve also visited previous target communities to repair and reinstall a number of filters.

      -  Helping prepare a workshop.  Before my arrival, Sandy had built a small workshop to construct future water filters.  He had previously been working on-site in the target communities but has moved operations closer to home to ensure better quality control and for ease of assembling the new PVC filters.  During my first week here, I helped build new shelving for the workshop and help generally get it in order.

(Sideways picture of) New PVC Filter Prototype (design since modified)

I have been blessed to do all of this under what I would describe as very favorable working conditions.  Sandy and Sandra are great people to work with – competent, caring, generous and funny.  We get along extremely well.  Most of the time, I’m working at Sandy and Sandra’s house in Lamay, about eight miles from where I live in Pisac.  It sits on an acre or two of land next to a stream just outside of town, with beautiful views of the surrounding valleys and mountains.  The hours are totally flexible and I work about five to six hours a day on average, four days a week, not counting traveling their by bus and foot which takes about 45 minutes each way.  We’ll eventually be working some much longer days when we deliver filters to target communities in the mountains.  However, my current schedule gives me lots of time to spend with my girls, helping them adjust to life here (although they’re pretty well adjusted at this point), assisting with and correcting their school work, shopping for food at local outdoor markets (or the local “mini-market”), cooking Peruvian food, writing blog entries and going on the occasional hike and sightseeing adventure.  While I love my job, colleagues, friends and family back in Portland, this has been a welcome break from life there and a very fulfilling volunteer experience so far.

Sandy and Sandra's Place Where I Work in Lamay

Matt

More Than A Vacation

As you all know, the Hastie family came to Peru for more than just a vacation.  The girls are enrolled in school and participate in community gatherings with the other kids here.  Cathy teaches English and ceramics at the 80-student, K-12 school in Pisac that focuses on Andean culture.  Matt volunteers at DESEA, an NGO working at the barest-of-bones, grass-roots level to bring safe drinking water and health information to high Andes communities.  DESEA focuses on maternal and infant health with bio-sand water filters and health clinics, and has already significantly reduced infant and maternal deaths in these areas.  The DESEA web site tells more: http://www.deseaperu.org/.

Now we are investing ourselves in one more endeavor:  helping a teenager from Pisac participate in a high school exchange program in the US called ISE.  In fact, we have invited him to come live with us for a year.

If you have ever participated in an exchange program, you may know how complicated and expensive it is for the student.  Cathy has been coordinating the documents for the student and hopes to have him accepted at Cleveland High School this month.  The most difficult part is raising money to pay the program fee.  The US host family and the in-Peru volunteer (Cathy and Matt are filling both of these roles) get nothing.  The $3,200 the student needs to raise goes toward insurance, document fees, background checks, and the student visa.

If you would like to support our endeavors – DESEA and ISE - please send Cathy an email letting us know how much money you would like to donate and to which pursuit (cathyhastie@comcast.net).  We are in the process of setting up a scholarship account for the exxchange student; DESEA donations can be made through their sponsoring organization, Capitol City Medical Teams in Salem (4950 Chauncey Court, Salem, OR 97302), or through Paypal at www.deseaperu.org/6.html.

The Hastie family thanks you all for your support and your well-wishes.  We look forward to seeing you all in the Fall!

Hike to Lamay

A couple of weekends ago, Katie and I went on a very cool hike with my friend Sandy (who I’m volunteering for), his daughter Tarn (who goes to school with Katie) and Sandy’s brother Bill (visiting from Canada).  Katie and I got off to an early start, catching a bus out of Pisac at 5:30 a.m. to the town of Lamay where Sandy lives and where we needed to catch a ride to the start of the hike.  After grabbing some bread at the local community “horno” (oven/bakery) which was just opening its doors, we met Sandy, Tarn and Bill at their house, then all headed down to the town square to catch our ride.  We had expected to be riding in a large truck that travels up to a number of small villages in the mountains above Lamay each Saturday morning at 6:30 a.m.  Typically, quite a few people are packed into the back of these large open air trucks.  However, we were fortunate to ride instead in a warmer “combi” – a large van that generally holds about 12-15 passengers.  I ended up in one of the fold out seats in the back of the “aisle.” The aisle seats have seat backs that are only about 12 inches high.  I also ended up with an extra passenger in the back row sitting about halfway on my lap.  She was an older woman who insisted on taking an “empty” seat in the back even though it was being reserved for a friend of the guy sitting next to me.  Once the friend showed up, we were pretty cramped back there.  All of this, combined with a very bumpy hour-long ride on a fairly rough dirt road, and the fact that I had neglected to go to the bathroom just before leaving, made for a less than ideal ride.  Lesson #1: Never pass up a chance to go to the bathroom before a trip.

We hopped out of the combi at approximately the high point on the road (about 14,000 feet elevation) sort of in the middle of nowhere between two small villages and about a mile from the nearest home.  Sandy’s plan was to hike over an adjacent mountain pass or saddle, then down into the next valley which he had not previously explored.  There we expected to find a large trail that would eventually take us to another trail, then to a road in the valley we started from, and eventually leading back to Sandy’s house in Lamay.  Depending on our energy level and time, we would either walk or hitch a ride the rest of the way back to Sandy’s place.

So off we went towards our intended pass.  We reached it without much problem as we were well above the tree line and it was easy to see.  We did get our feet soaked a bit, treading through some unavoidable marshy areas.  We stopped at the pass to quickly climb a higher point on the ridge (at about 15,000 feet elevation) and have a snack.  We had views down into both the valley we’d come from and the one we would drop into, amid swirling mist from clouds blowing over the ridge-top and temporarily enveloping us.  We then headed down towards the next valley and also in search of a lake shown on our map.  The footing was a bit rough as we hiked down a steep slope through tall “bunch grass” intermixed with mossy rocks and the occasional hole. 

At the highest place I've ever been (so far)  - 15,000 feet

After a while we spotted a narrow trail (probably used mostly by shepherds and their flocks of sheep and alpaca) that traversed the hillside.  This ultimately led us to the lake we had been seeking.  As we headed down towards the lake, we surprised a flock of sheep which was climbing the hillside towards us.  Unfortunately for their shepherd (a boy of about 10 or 11), the sheep quickly turned around and headed back the other way.  Although we were pretty sure he wasn’t too happy with us, the shepherd didn’t show it and helped point us towards a safe path down the somewhat “cliffy” slope (as Sandy put it) towards the lake.  We had joked about taking a swim there but the weather was definitely not cooperating and we couldn’t convince Katie to do some cliff diving from the 20-foot tall rocks on the far side of the lake.

Katie at a mountain lake (with llama grazing on the other side)

As we quickly descended a particularly slippery section of slope, my feet slide out from under me and I took a nice, muddy fall onto my backside.  Lesson #2: Take it easy on the steep slippery sections.  After dropping the rest of the way into the base of the valley, we stopped for another food break and to take refuge from a steadily falling rain.  We hunkered down in small shelter under a large rock, probably dug out by a local shepherd to also avoid bad weather.  We then connected with the trail we had been looking for which took us down valley past large potato fields and scattered homes, passing only one or two people walking up the valley towards other homes or villages.  After awhile we were overtaken by a young guy who was also headed towards Lamay and had been hiking since dawn.  He suggested we continue on our path (a very nice wide dirt road or track) into the town of Huama where he assured us there would be taxis able to take us to Lamay.  While a bit out of the way, this sounded like a good plan.  By this time, the sun had started to emerge as well and it promised to be a lovely, warm afternoon.

Just before reaching Lamay we passed a pre-Incan site with ancient stone walls and building foundations and on an adjacent hillside, burial tombs.  We didn’t have time to check out the tombs but did stop at the old foundations to look for pottery shards and were rewarded with finding several small pieces, some with geometric designs and all probably several hundred or even thousands of years old.  We also passed some women tending livestock who pointed us in the direction of the best path down to Huama (and we hoped a waiting taxi).  As we started to walk in the wrong direction, one of the women called out to Sandy in Quechua (the local indigenous language) something to the effect of “hey old man, you’re going the wrong way.”  We all got a good laugh out of this once Tarn translated for us.

Heading down into Huama

After one of two more wrong turns, we finally found the most direct path towards the center of town.  As we wound down this path between potato and wheat fields, we spotted a group of about 20 or 30 farmworkers sitting in the field for their communal lunch break.  We gave them a wave and they in turn waved us over to join them.  Since it is bad form to turn down local hospitality in Peru, we ambled over to join them, being careful not to trod on any potato plants along the way.

A few of the workers spoke Spanish and did most of the talking for the group as many of the others spoke primarily Quechua, with maybe just a few words of Spanish.  They urged us to sit down and share their meal with them, expecting nothing in return.  The food included piles of cooked potatoes and corn on a cloth and a plate of rice and potato stew which they gave to us to share.  Of course it also included the local corn beer, chicha (see my earlier post about “communing with the stone workers” for more info about this very interesting beverage).  Again, not wanting to offend their hospitality and somewhat making up for Bill’s apparent aversion to chicha (he only had one cup), I felt compelled to drink about three glasses before we left.  Though we could have lingered for quite some time (or at least until the lunch break was over), we eventually explained that we were late for a lunch being prepared by my wife Cathy (who was actually expecting us at any minute) and we bade the group farewell and much thanks.  The warmth and hospitality of the group is typical of what I have experienced from the people of this country and probably what stuck with me most after the hike.

Our next job was to find a taxi, which we did after a bit more walking.  Unfortunately, the owner was nowhere to be seen and a passing boy told us he was probably out working his field (maybe we had just shared lunch with him).  Lesson #3: Don’t count your Peruvian taxis before you’re in them.  So we continued through town and down the road towards the valley of Lamay.  Eventually we spied a taxi heading up towards Huama and eventually that same taxi came back down the road to pick us up.  We finally arrived back at Sandy’s place in Lamay at about 3:45 (only an hour or so later than planned) where my wife Cathy had prepared a wonderful lunch for us.  She, Georgia and Sandy’s son Nial had held off eating until just before we walked in the door (probably wondering if we would ever show up).  The lunch was a great way to finish a very fun and eventful little adventure.

Back at Sandy's house in Lamay

Matt

Machu Picchu: Why Do We Travel?

Why do we travel?  To see interesting places and have new experiences outside of our normal routine.  The great waterfalls and mountaintops, the luscious jungles and pleasant, sunny beaches titillate our senses and remind us how big, how diverse and how amazing our natural world is. 

But even more captivating than the sights and sounds of exotic plants and animals are those of the people who live and travel in these foreign places.  However intriguing a hairy llama, or a rabbit-like rodent peering at us from atop a crumbling rock wall, the llama’s owner, dressed in colorful garb to attract the attention of camera-loving tourists, or the ancient indentured builder who created those now half-fallen walls, draw us in on a deeper level.  While it may be the natural features that attract our attention in the first place, it is the human element in each new environment that links us to it and makes it meaningful.  The majesty of the Manchu Picchu site, surrounded by towering rocks that jut vertically on every side, is awe-inspiring and beautiful in and of itself.  Add the amazing ancient development, human-conceived and human-built, and the scary switch backs of the modern road that brings us to it, and our minds reach for more than just a simple appreciation of the greenery amongst the impressive rocks.  It is the people, past and present that make traveling to this place special. 

During both the planning of our trip and our visit to Manchu Picchu, we interacted with a wide variety of people.  The professional tour guide, who sold us the expensive tickets for both the train ride and entrance to the site, works in Cusco, the largest city in the region.  She wears what we would call business casual, sitting behind a desk on the main tourist drag in the main tourist city.  She speaks English and seems every bit the modern city woman, with neat, shiny, black hair that hangs down to her shoulders and rosy, polished nails.

Some of our fellow hostel dwellers, new age hippie types, wear patterned, gauzy harem pants with the inseam hanging down below knee level.  They look as if they have come straight from smoking a hookah at a middle eastern bazaar.  Others wear patchwork pants and unapologetic, multi-patterned clothes that hide stains easily:  the traveling garb of professional wanderers.  These people speak in eloquent terms of the healing power and the spiritual aura of Manchu Picchu.  They come to commune with other like-minded searchers in an ancient and powerful place full of historic profundity.  They burn incense in their rooms and leave their dirty dishes forgotten in the community kitchen.

Along the way to the famous archeological site, we moved through the now familiar Castellano hustle and bustle of taxi drivers and food hawkers in the modern cities of Urubamba and Ollantaytambo.  But, as we stepped onto the only means of transport to Manchu Picchu, the tourist train, it was like falling into a suburban American outpost, hidden within the narrow walls of the sterile, light-infused train compartment.  English was spoken – loud and clear.  People all of a sudden were three shades lighter and thirty pounds heavier.  Seating was assigned, but it seemed the ticketing agents used a random selection method for every group.  A game of musical chairs ensued until families were seated together and friends sat near friends.  Almost as soon as we had all settled and the train jerked into motion, the family across the aisle from us whipped out a grocery bag full of junk food and spread it across their table.  Among the delicacies that we didn’t know you could purchase in Peru were Ritz crackers, cookies, an aluminum squeeze container of mixed peanut butter and jelly, fruit, soda pop and other typical, big city foodstuff.  

Upon arrival at Aguas Caliente - the city that serves Machu Picchu’s tourist needs, such as $5 hostel beds and $5 pizzas - we witnessed an architectural style reminiscent of the Mercado (the open air market).  Buildings squeezed up against one another in a very busy, cacophonous, vertical design.  Restaurant owners stood outside their establishments vocally advertising their specials (all of the specials are the same in Aguas Caliente – competition for tourist dollars is strong).  The town rises up steeply from a muddy, raging river within the confines of a small footprint of buildable space.  The main road winds up about 5 city blocks to the top of the town.  There is situated the famous hot springs for which the town is named.  You know you are drawing near when the vendors’ capitalistic mating call changes from “pizza – 25 soles” to “towels for rent – 5 soles”.

The people here hawk hard.  There seems to be a quiet desperation beneath their calm and sunny faces.  The entire town of Aguas Caliente depends solely on tourist dollars.  There are no bakeries or butcher shops here; no services for the residents themselves.  This town exists only for us – the rich Americans coming to see one of the world’s most famous archeological sites.  There is a rumor that UNESCO, the governing body of funding for special sites like Machu Picchu, wants to close it to tourism to halt the heavy toll of so much human use.  If the rumor becomes a reality, entire segments of Peru’s population would become unemployed overnight.  Aguas Caliente would cease to exist.  Peru itself would fall into an economic depression unheard of since the drying up of jungle resources in the last century.  Desperation would rise exponentially.

Our family spent the night in a flea-bag hostel (literally – I have the bites to prove it) with windows in the rooms that looked into the interior corridor.  They did not lock and walls smelled of moldy plaster.  Sleeping was a moist, noisy and uncomfortable affair.  We got up early the next morning and took a bus up a long, winding road, listening along the way to a variety of Japanese, French, Spanish and English tour guides educating their clients.

When we finally reached the ancient Machu Picchu, the fog shrouded it all so thickly that we could barely see 20 feet in front of us.  But the day improved with time.  By 10 am, we had covered the entire site from within our veil of moist mist (we had arrived quite early).  Matt and the girls decided to hike up an amazing pinnacle of rock connected to Machu Picchu by a thin saddle of land, called Huayna Picchu.  They set off in the fog and were rewarded at the top with a sudden reversal of weather.  Sunny skies blessed them with the best view of Machu Picchu and the Urubamba river that surrounds it like a snake encircling its prey.

The rest of the day was hot and sunny.  We retraced our steps and re-visited the entire site again, touching the huge rocks carved with 32 angles to fit perfectly within the walls of an important religious building, and wondering at the Intihuatana, an erect stylus of stone believed to have been used to measure time and track celestial patterns.  Katie, Georgia and I added on a trip to the perilous Incan Bridge.  The bridge itself is only a few large planks of wood laid across a gap in the path – thus forming a rudimentary bridge.  However, the real majesty of the site is the path itself, carved literally out of the face of a sheer granite cliff.  This path was the most impressive part of Manchu Picchu that I witnessed, both in its engineering and its apparent lack of concern for loss of life of the workers who built it.  Obviously, the indentured workers took great risks to create it.  The vertical drop from where they carved out the width of the path - barely as wide as my shoulders – was thousands of feet, straight down the majestic, smooth cliff.

The people who made this amazing place were amazing themselves, kings and commoners alike.  They built in a remote and jaw-dropping location, barely accessible and truly astounding in its natural and topographical beauty, not because it was close to resources – it wasn’t – but because these people thrilled at the sense of doing amazing things, living close to god in amazing places and doing the impossible.  Andean people to this day seek out high points for a sense of accomplishment and celebration, running impossibly straight up to the top of the highest hill in long lines of dancing revelers during important ceremonies. 

Andean people built Machu Picchu because they could.  And that is what makes traveling to this incredible historic site more than just a photographer’s dream.  It truly makes the visitor stop and consider why he himself exists, what she hopes to do with her life.  Although our legacies won’t be 5-miles wide and built from stone, this site reminds us that we can set our sites higher; we can do the impossible.  We should do it; because we can.

Cathy

My Birthday

I know that my birthday was a few weeks ago, March 27th, but I haven't gotten around to updating the blog until today.

We eventually decided to invite five families: the family that lives here, and four friends' families. Georgia and I spent all week making the piñata, which we modeled after the face of the hospedaje dog, Luca. The day of the party, which was also the day that we got back from Machu Picchu, I spent the morning making streamers, and the rest of the day decorating with them and setting up in various other ways.

The hospedaje family got here first, of course, because they live here. Next to arrive were the Canadians that my family is working with--Tarn, the daughter, is in my class. Tika, another girl in my class, and her family were next to arrive, and finally Urpi got there, right before we were about to start the piñata. Before that we mostly ate and talked a little. My final guest, a girl in my class that always asks me if I want to play with her at recess, never showed up.

A little way into the second round of piñata-whacking, the piñata fell, cracked but still mostly intact, and I got to finish bashing it open. Everyone dived for the candy, as with every piñata, and one boy from the hospedaje seized half of the broken dog head to put his booty in.

After everyone gathered and ate candy for a few minutes, we had cake and presents. My mom had baked the cake at the colonial oven, where everyone takes their food to be baked, because many people don't have ovens of their own, including us. It was chocolate with chocolate frosting and delicious. I saved the presents to open later and we organized a game of tag.

Although everyone had arrived late, they all left on time. When they were gone, we cleaned up and went out for dinner. After we got home, I opened the presents in my parents room and the next day, I wrote thank-you notes and passed them out. From my friends I got a pencil pouch, two little change purses, a friendship bracelet, a stone frog on a lily pad, a necklace, a hat, a metal bracelet, some big wooden crayons, and a soft, floppy doll. From my family, I received a small shoulder bag, a stuffed animal llama, a soft, gray sweater/shirt, a picture of the mountain that we see from the hospedaje balcony every day, and brown, fuzzy slippers.

Overall, it was a pretty good party, even though I wasn't looking forward to having my birthday in Peru.

By Katie

School at Kusi Kawsay

      Kusi Kawsay (pronounced like Koosy Cow-sigh) is the school that Katie and I are going to during our stay in Peru. It's a good school, but their way of doing things is very different than in the States. Everyone have to arrive at 8:20. Then at 8:30 they ring the bell and all the kids line up at the door.  Before entering the classroom, one by one, everyone says good morning to the teacher. When you get to your seats, you sit down and the teacher says: "very good mornig dear students." and you answer back: "very good morning dear teacher."

      For classes, they have the same scheduale every week. One class for two hours (which changes every month), then a half an hour recess, then a one hour class, then a twenty minute recess and finally another one hour class. For example, on Mondays I have art and lecture, Tuesdays reading and painting, Wednesdays math and Quechua, Thursdays gym and art and Fridays communication and english. This month my two hour class is fractions.  Last month my two-hour class was local history. I learned about the celebrations of Pisac and the rural communities up in the mountains. I also learned about constalations.

     The classrooms are seprate buildings that you enter from an outside walkway. The playground is a small field with a couple of boulders in the middle. The main game that people play at recess is tag.  Here is a picture of the school from near the entrance gate.

    Before leaving at the end of the day, one by one the kids say to the teacher: "see you tomorrow" and then the teacher says it.

    So, that's basically what this school is like.


       Georgia