The next day was so strange! We had just finished up breakfast and were getting ready to divide into the teams for the day when we were told that we couldn't do any work until after lunch. The reason was that the local government was sending inspectors to the village. Apparently, they really didn't want us helping those people. I still don't really understand why, but I guess it had something to do with "preserving Peruvian culture" and making the people progress on their own. Still, I don't think that losing a child every month to disease is prese
rving a culture. And supressing those that come to help teach new farming and building techniques, hygiene and food safety and first aid is not allowing for much progression. They've been living like that for so many years, its not like they are going to just come to a knowledge of all the things they need to know to progress without someone teaching it to them. The government tells them they will send people to teach them how to build, to put up electric wires so they can have power and lights, they make all these promises to them and never fulfil them. I can see how it might be offensive to have a group of Americans come in and impose our methods on them, but its not like we were there because we didn't think the
Peruvians could do it without us. They told us what projects to do and how to do them; we didn't impose anything on them. Anyway, that was my rant on the government, now back to the story! Instead of working, we had to hurry and put up some volleyball nets, get the soccer ball out, and hide all the tools. We even put signs above our bunk rooms that said "school" in Spanish, and drew the blinds so that the investigators wouldn't look in there and see that we were living with these people. I was disappointed to not be working, since that was the whole reason I came, but it was nice to have a rest. Several of us went on a walk over to the village cemetary, which was only about twenty or thirty years old, since before that they would just bury their dead all over
the mountains. Wilfredo, who came with us and told us lots of stories about it, said that the people were hearing the voices of the dead, buried all over the mountains, telling them that they wanted a place where they could be completely at rest. so, they started the cemetary. Salkantay itself is about 100 years old. I loved the myths and stories he told us about the mountains of Salkantay and the cemetary. He told us that the god of the mountain takes a blond wife every seventh year (2007, 2017, 2027, etc.). Thank goodness I'm a brunette. He also told us that people who come to Salkantay with a pure heart and good intentions will feel happy and blessed.
If you have a mean heart and bad intentions, the god will lure you into the mountains with illusionary gold until you are lost and disappear. OR, it will haunt you with bad dreams and bad feelings. Thankfully, none of our party was lured into the mountains by illusions of gold. It was an incredible experience--I sat in the Andes mountains outside a kechuan cemetary while a Peruvian told me ancient folklore and local mysteries. Thinking
about it during the moment was amazing, but thinking back at it now, its even more incredible. No one has experiences like that! I miss Peru. After we finished with our stories, we took some pictures and headed back to the village. It was a good twenty, twenty-five minute walk. We had lunch, and then I was on dinner duty, so that whole day I didn't do any hard labor. It felt nice, but kind of strange. Having a bit of a breather was good, though; I was feeling a bit sick, especially due to my asthma. Lots of people were
getting sick, though. A couple of boys that day stayed in bed until dinner they were so sick. After we ate, we did one of my favorite things of the entire trip. We split into groups and we went caroling to several families in the village. We didn't sing Christmas songs, just hymns like "I Am a Child of God" and "Families Can Be Together Forever." My group went to Adrian, the president of the village's, house. After we sang, his little daughter, Sonia, sang in Kechuan for us. It was honestly, no exaggeration, the most adorable, heartbreakingly precious thing I have ever seen. She was no more than four years old, and while she sang, someone, her uncle or something, played his ten-string guitar to accompany her. She clapped her little hands to keep time. At another house, their twelve or thirteen year old son played his pan pipes for us after we sang. It was so fun to have them return the favor. I wasn't expecting it, but I absolutely
loved it. We got to sit in their homes, all of which were very humble. Adrian's was the nicest, not because he was president, but because he worked hard. The others worked hard, too, don't get me wrong, but I have never met a man like Adrian. The other homes had dirt floors, while his had cement. The rooves were made out of sticks and mud, some had adobe shingles, if they were lucky. It was so much fun to go singing, and then to see the Southern night sky, which was so different from the northern. I knew it would look different, but I thought that since there were so many stars, I wouldn't really be able to tell. I could, though. It was so different, so beautiful. I miss Peru.
The next day we got a bit of a late start, so all we did was haul cement telephone poles. Ha! All. It took every last one of us to move those things! They literally weighed a ton. As in, 2000 pounds. Okay, so we only moved about...two. And one was only half a ton. Still, it was so hard! We had a rope that we cradled it in so that everyone had a loop they were holding on to, and then we had another rope tied to the uphill end of it that served as our brakes. I cannot tell you how incredibly strong those Peruvians are. After we had taken our pole down to where they needed it, struggling, groaning, and using all of our strength, the Peruvians, about half as many of them as there were of us, told us to put
it down and they'd take it the rest of the way--up the huge hill. Its funny, I am using my journal as a sort of guide as to what happened when, but I left so much out! For example, I didn't tell about what we did once we were finished with the poles. We took a very long break in which we explored the coutryside a bit. It was beautiful! There was this one hill that I would have thought was just a hill, but actually, it had a stream going right through it. There was a cool little spot that if you crawled into, you could see the opening of the huge cave that led into the heart of the hill. Once we saw that, of course, we had to climb down to the bottom of the hill and walk through the cave. It was so amazing. Here I was, wandering 
around the Peruvian countryside, walking through hills and finding secret little picnic places on the other side. I just don't know how to put into words what this experience was for me. It was...ah! It was beautiful. I'm sure my memory flowers up the images a bit, but still, it was something I can't use words to describe, because I've never learned words powerful enough to do it justice. It was a good day. A good two weeks. After we were finished with the poles, they told us we had to walk back to the village because the truck was down in Cusco picking up supplies. It was about a three mile, uphill walk back, and we were all so hungry! The biggest tragedy of the day was that when we got back, lunch wasn't even ready. Fortunately, we survived, but just barely. After lunch, I sat on the swingset that had just recently been built and played with five or six adorable little girls. They would touch my hands and my face and 
try on my necklace and my rings and jabber at me in Kechuan. One of them, Cassandra, followed me everywhere, holding my hand and laughing at me. I loved the people there so much, and very few days go by that I don't think about them. They were the most tender souls I have ever come across. Which made it all the more difficult to leave the next morning. I thought it would be easy to leave the freezing cold rooms with ten bunk beds crammed inside and go back to a warm, somewhat private hotel room with only two roommates. I thought it would be easy to leave the dirt and mud and sweat for a nice hot shower. I thought it would be easy to leave the back-breaking labor for leisurely touring around. It wasn't. As we sang "God Be With You Til We Meet Again" it sank in that these people I had been serving and coming to know may never cross paths with me again in this life. After 
we sang, Adrian, the President, spoke to us. He apologized for being unable to provide us with the comfort we are used to and thanked us for making the sacrifice to come to his village. That ripped my heart out and humbled me. I never wanted to complain again! After he spoke, the women of the village gave each of us a handmade belt as a gift of gratitude. They could have sold each belt for at least ten soles, which for them, is a lot of money. Then they all, women and men, gave every single one of us a hug and a "gracias hermana." That's one think I don't think I mentioned. They kept calling me "hermana," and I didn't understand at first what that meant. It means sister, and when I realized that, it struck me just what they were saying. They considered me their sister. Anyway, during our parade of hugs, I lost it. Those people are so incredible. They spend their lives laboring just for survival, yet they 
are so humble and so grateful and so quick to open their hearts and homes. Unfortunately, after our tearful farewell, our attempt to ride off into the sunset (so to speak) was ruined by a flat tire on the bus. After about half an hour and a much less romantic departure, we were off. Well, sort of. The ride down on this bus, which was much bigger than the other ones we had been taking, was more of an adventure than any theme park ride. There were three instances where we all had to get off the bus so it could make a turn without getting high-centered. That's Peruvian transportation for you in a nutshell.
