Before I get to Machu Picchu, I want to take another tangent and talk a little about the people of Peru, particularly those in Salkantay. They were so sweet and so warm towards us, and always showed so much gratitude for the work we were doing. Almost none of the adults speak English, and not all that many even speak Spanish. Most of them speak kechuan. The smallest kids also only speak kechuan. It's the school kids that knew Spanish. Even though the language barrier was so vast, a smile is universal, and lots of the time that's all we could do to communicate. The kids were so much fun to play with. Some of them had particular people they attached themselves to, and the rest pretty much followed around whoever they felt like at the moment. Lots of the time, they'd just wander around the village, a big old pack of the littlest ones keeping themselves entertained while
their parents and older siblings worked. There were lots of them hanging around outside the rooms that we were staying in (a boys room and a girls room, each packed with bunkbeds), looking a little bored. So, me and a few others started teaching them games like duck duck goose (doo doo goo, rather) and ring around the rosies. They were the ones that didn't know much Spanish, so all the teaching we did was by example and gestures, and the few words in Spanish we all knew. Once they caught on, which was surprisingly fast, they thought we were so silly and that the games were so fun. It was so good to just take a few minutes and interact with these sweet little kids that I probably will never see again, but that for a while I was the coolest person they knew. They'd wrap their arms and legs around my legs, or jump up and insist on me holding
them. Sometimes, they'd just sit around me and touch my hair and my necklace and fiddle with my ring. The adults were just as satisfying to work with. The men would joke with us, tease us, tell us girls how "fuerte" (strong) we were. The women generally kept to themselves, but they would tell us we were beautiful and always tell us thank you, often randomly when we weren't even doing anything. The women set up a little market for us while we were there. I bought tons of hats, gloves, dolls, necklaces, earrings, and little trinkets, including finger puppets, all handmade (I mean really handmade--like, straight from their own llama/alpacha to their own dye to their own needles to the tables). We didn't get as good a deal in Salkantay as in Cusco, mostly
because none of us had the heart to bargain with them. It was worth it, though. They were so happy, and so sweet. The people in Salkantay were an example to me of what it really means to be happy. These people are living hundreds and hundreds of years behind the kind of life I'm used to. Running water is a novelty, electricity is a treasure. I take those things for granted. Despite their (what we would call) impoverished state, they always had smiles on their faces. They were the hardest working people I have EVER been in contact with. They are up before the sun and aren't finished working til the sun goes down again. Aside from the villagers, we got to work directly with several men that were employed by Eagle Condor, the organization I went with. There was
Arturo, Wilfredo, Alex, and several others that we spent a lot of time with. At first glance, some of them seemed a little intimidating, but they all have incredibly huge hearts and fantastic senses of humor. I probably already mentioned that this was the absolute hardest physical labor I have EVER done, but it was an absolute joy. It was challenging and exhausting and sometimes frustrating. I've never been so dirty or so bruised. After a day of carrying adobe bricks around (one of the guys told me he didn't want to work with me any more because I was intimidating him by carrying the huge bricks without help) my arms, wrists, and hands were cut up and bruised from the hardened mud. I barely had the energy to make it
back to the community center for dinner every night, and changing into pajamas was often required way more energy than I could muster. Still, I don't think I was ever unhappy in Peru. Cold, yes. Tired, yes. Aching, yes. Desperate for normal food, definately. But never unhappy. I think about those people all the time and miss their warmth and honesty.
Before I get to Machu Picchu, I want to take another tangent and talk a little about the people of Peru, particularly those in Salkantay. They were so sweet and so warm towards us, and always showed so much gratitude for the work we were doing. Almost none of the adults speak English, and not all that many even speak Spanish. Most of them speak kechuan. The smallest kids also only speak kechuan. It's the school kids that knew Spanish. Even though the language barrier was so vast, a smile is universal, and lots of the time that's all we could do to communicate. The kids were so much fun to play with. Some of them had particular people they attached themselves to, and the rest pretty much followed around whoever they felt like at the moment. Lots of the time, they'd just wander around the village, a big old pack of the littlest ones keeping themselves entertained while 
their parents and older siblings worked. There were lots of them hanging around outside the rooms that we were staying in (a boys room and a girls room, each packed with bunkbeds), looking a little bored. So, me and a few others started teaching them games like duck duck goose (doo doo goo, rather) and ring around the rosies. They were the ones that didn't know much Spanish, so all the teaching we did was by example and gestures, and the few words in Spanish we all knew. Once they caught on, which was surprisingly fast, they thought we were so silly and that the games were so fun. It was so good to just take a few minutes and interact with these sweet little kids that I probably will never see again, but that for a while I was the coolest person they knew. They'd wrap their arms and legs around my legs, or jump up and insist on me holding 
them. Sometimes, they'd just sit around me and touch my hair and my necklace and fiddle with my ring. The adults were just as satisfying to work with. The men would joke with us, tease us, tell us girls how "fuerte" (strong) we were. The women generally kept to themselves, but they would tell us we were beautiful and always tell us thank you, often randomly when we weren't even doing anything. The women set up a little market for us while we were there. I bought tons of hats, gloves, dolls, necklaces, earrings, and little trinkets, including finger puppets, all handmade (I mean really handmade--like, straight from their own llama/alpacha to their own dye to their own needles to the tables). We didn't get as good a deal in Salkantay as in Cusco, mostly 
because none of us had the heart to bargain with them. It was worth it, though. They were so happy, and so sweet. The people in Salkantay were an example to me of what it really means to be happy. These people are living hundreds and hundreds of years behind the kind of life I'm used to. Running water is a novelty, electricity is a treasure. I take those things for granted. Despite their (what we would call) impoverished state, they always had smiles on their faces. They were the hardest working people I have EVER been in contact with. They are up before the sun and aren't finished working til the sun goes down again. Aside from the villagers, we got to work directly with several men that were employed by Eagle Condor, the organization I went with. There was 
Arturo, Wilfredo, Alex, and several others that we spent a lot of time with. At first glance, some of them seemed a little intimidating, but they all have incredibly huge hearts and fantastic senses of humor. I probably already mentioned that this was the absolute hardest physical labor I have EVER done, but it was an absolute joy. It was challenging and exhausting and sometimes frustrating. I've never been so dirty or so bruised. After a day of carrying adobe bricks around (one of the guys told me he didn't want to work with me any more because I was intimidating him by carrying the huge bricks without help) my arms, wrists, and hands were cut up and bruised from the hardened mud. I barely had the energy to make it 
back to the community center for dinner every night, and changing into pajamas was often required way more energy than I could muster. Still, I don't think I was ever unhappy in Peru. Cold, yes. Tired, yes. Aching, yes. Desperate for normal food, definately. But never unhappy. I think about those people all the time and miss their warmth and honesty.
No comments:
Post a Comment