Horses, Children and the machinations of the night

With friends like these how can a man go wrong? Instead of that little Internet cafe I now have the use of a laptop, graciously lent to me by another volunteer. It has been an interesting and busy time since I last wrote, and I will try to get it all down here as best I can.

The big adventure this time around was horse back riding. Leaving early on a Friday morning myself and 3 others grabbed a taxi to the Plaza, barely awake and as always with these things a Little worried we had been ripped off we awaited our pick up to take us to the 'Ranch'. Leaving the city we wound our was up zig zagging roads taking us above the city and over the neighbouring hilltops. Being dropped off in the middle of a field nestled between the Christo Blanco (Cusco's white version of Christ the Redeemer) and Sacsayhuaman (pronounce in sexy woman, it makes it easier) we were met by a young guy, not much older than 18. Leading us up a small pathway hidden away by bushes and small shop, we eventually reached the so called ranch. The ranch appeared to be a small corale holding the horses and a few small buildings of dried mud bricks and cheap wooden rooves. After a small wait for our animals we 'mounted up', the horses (if such a term could be used) looked haggard and worn through, I couldn't help but feel sorry for the animals, from what we could see they were kept in a small field without much room, and seemed frail and thin, however after getting going we soon discovered they were anything but this. They kept a good pace with myself leading on an ashen Gray beast, with a comfortable saddle and a pleasant demeanour. Leaving the ranch we slowly wound our way up the mountain side, following the path of a small stream that had bored itself a small valley over centuries of patient flowing. Making our way further and further up we saw a more wild side of the area outside the city, places where only the animals walk, terrain, too treacherous for people to walk was swallowed up with ease by the horses, as long as we hung on there was nothing that posed a great challenge. Eventually breaking away from the river we hit a path that seemed to cater to more common traffic. Wide and muddy the animals delicately stepped trying to avoid the deeper mud which seemed like it would swallow us whole if we were to place a foot wrong, eventually passing the Ypres style path we came out to a road, the hard tarmac a relieving feeling after the deceitful mud. Crossing the sleepy road we climbed a small bank, and came across a deep rolling valley, a streak of wetland in the middle faded out to sloping hills in turn giving way to the jagged rocks of the mountainous peaks that bordered the valley like gateway guardians to unwelcome visitors. Making our way down a gentle path on the edge of the wetland we came to our first site El Templo de la luna (The temple of the moon). Supposedly once a great Temple that sat on the summit of a large rock formation. Now though, time has eaten away at it, taking away not only its physical presence but also its soul. While there you get a feeling that once it was place of importance but now is just a forgotten relic of an age long ago distorted by the winds, rains and invaders from far off continents. Leaving the temple we followed the path that we came in by leading us back to the road. Stopping again we dismounted and crossed the road on foot, to visit the second site on our equarian tour. A place ominously named "Zona X" (Zone X), at first viewing it seems to be just a small collection of neolithic walls and stones dug into the wall of a large outcrop of rock. Further investigation though reveals something much deeper, and much stranger. What looked like a rock turned out to be a labyrinthine collection of caves and ravines both dug into the rock and naturally formed. Small details like an old moss covered stairway, and an almost perfectly flat rectangle cut into the wall indicate that people lived here in what could have been part of an old city or perhaps just a village. Caves which ran for dozens of metres connecting two places illuminated by breaks in the rock to reveal fresh air and warming light, were explored at length, with once coming out high above the ground and having to brave a climb down or getting lost in the network of tunnels.   The strangeness of this place was only complimented by the loudness of the silence. A shout to find my friends was met with an eerie quietness, a complete lack of echo almost like the Zone was swallowing the sound, keeping it in, like the secrets it has held tight across the centuries. Leaving the strange Zone we re-mounted and moved on. Moving faster now across the more open valleys we crossed open grasslands and dropped down the side of the mountain. Slowing down we came to more wild area with trees and wild flowers. Walking slowly the path narrowed further until we could only walk slowly in single file. As the tree cover began to thin we began to notice that to one side of us was sheer rock going up, and to the other was the same, only in a more downward direction. The slow realisation that our narrow path was the top of cliff was dulled by the incredible vantage point that it offered. Looking down we could see the result of the small local rivers attempt at rapids. The small rapids, pools and waterfalls were obviously an area of interest for the local kids, who even from our high view point we could see were enjoying the cool water in the intense morning heat. Beyond the river we could see the land stretch out for miles woodland dotted the vast space with long meadow grass swaying in the gentle breath of the wind between. At that place, at that time I felt like I had gone back in time, and was some weary traveller slowly crossing a distant land with home far behind me and my destination far in front, it was truly awesome. Coming to end of the path that shot us through time we came to our final destination of the day, La terrza del diablo (The devils balcony). La terrza is a small cave which you climb down into from above, the handholds and footholds worn in from the volumes of people clambering their way down. In side the hole you round a small bend and see why it is a place to visit. An opening in the side of the cliff offers a view of the raging rapids and cliffs a hundred metres high, standing out amongst the bombardment of sights and sounds was the rocks itself. A rainbow of colour in long vertical stripes down the cliff face made it look almost as if the the rock had cried the river below the tears staining the face, forever marking it. Scrambling out of the cave with all the dignity one can have when ones arms and legs are bending in ways you didn't know were possible, let alone healthy. We walked to the bottom of the cliffs, seeing the small hole that is the balcony. From within the balcony seems majestic gifting us with sights and sounds that no where else could, yet below it seems small, unremarkable and just there. It's simplicity from the outside hiding its interior beauty. Up close we saw that the rapids themselves had carved a great cavern into the rock below the balcony, inaccessible from our side, we saw that others had found the back door, and were playing in the calmer pools of the cavern cooling themselves against the suns ferocious fiery assaults. Humbled by how something so beautiful was carved by the persistence of water on rock and not a man with a chisel we took up the ride again and headed for home. The ride home followed roughly the same path we came along, the time travellers path, the open grasslands and the sleepy roads. Taking a turn off the beaten path we crossed onto a new track. Slowly making our way down through the road we passed through sleepy farmsteads, the dogs, llamas and alpacas all taking us in with distrustful curiosity. Hitting the main road we avoided the traffic and turned off onto a closed road, riding past the workmen toiling in heat, passing along pleasant hellos. Leaving the workmen to their labours we hit left the road for rougher terrain, following paths mother nature was aggressively re-claiming for her cause. After another narrow clifftop path giving us unparallelled views of the city from above we came to the path where we first rode out. A slow down hill climb returning us to the ranch. Dismounting I patted the horse, whose name I found out was "Solitario", thanking him and the guide, the four of us left walking and talking in joviality, however I could not help but contemplate what we saw, how the world had changed and created things so beautiful and how we could change what was given to us given the right drive and tools.

Leaving the riding behind we four returned to the homestead of the Elim Orphanage. Where we spent the rest of the day relaxing with the girls. Some of you may have seen the photos I have posted on Facebook, within those pictures are most of the girls, I will try now to tell you a little bit about each of them.

The youngest two, who I have already written of are Zulema and Patricia, aged at 3 and 5 respectively. Zulema is still just a bambina and has bundles of energy, playing with her is a good way to improve ones fitness while at the same time listening to a giggle reminiscent of the famous giggling baby youtube video. Patricia is Zulemas elder sister (or possibly aunt, the history of these two is uncertain at best, we do not even know they're second names) is much the same, energetic, fun and always guaranteed to make you giggle when she starts off.

Moving up in age we come to Gladdis, 9 years old. Often quiet and slow to warm to new people she has an incredible smile matched only by the smile and twinkle in her eyes. She is often found with her terrible twin Vanessa, 10 years old. While not actually sisters, being close in age has grown them close over the time they have spent at Elim. Now when ever they are together, and they have both got their cheeky grins plastered all over their faces, most of the volunteers have learnt to be cautious, if not run and hide in fear of what fiendish plan they have in store for you.

Elder still is Cintia at 11 years old. The elder sister of little Gladdis. The similarities are apparent once you get to know them, both are very reserved and keep themselves to themselves, and neither sister seems to be a fan of the dancing the other girls are so fond of. Getting to know her however proves wonderful know as even though she ma not talk she will happily sit with you and play cards, laughing at your failed attempts at Spanish. Close to Cintia in both age and friendship is Allison, 12 years old, the elder sister of Vanessa, easily noticeable from the same cheeky smile. A fan of mild trouble making when she first meets you, such convincing me she was called Phyliss for the first 2 weeks of my stay.

The third 12 year old we look after is Heidi. The only girl who is without a sibling, she seems much more combative when you first meet her, sometimes avoiding you, not listening or just giving you a stare which makes the depths of your soul chill. Initially quite intimidating to approach, once you manage to break the ice with her (and it is ice) you find a sweet, highly creative girl who knows exactly what she is doing at all times. Perfectly demonstrated by her stares, which you learn she has perfected to a range of despair causing leers. Although doing this mainly for her own entertainment, something she does seem to take endless pleasure in.

The final 12 year old is Soraya, different in appearance the rest of the girls, her and her sister Ruth both have clear Kechwua (I think that is right please feel free correct me) antecedents. This makes both stand out from the rest of the girls. She is the most musical of the girls and very warm and open to the volunteers, especially is mucking about with them gets her off her homework for a few minutes.

The next eldest is Joselin, at 13 years old. Joselin is who I would call the tomboy of the group, always looking like she would be more comfortable kicking a ball around or running around getting muddy in the country than sat inside. She often seems like she would be most comfortable carrying a rifle, camouflaged up and screaming a war shout. Despite these often tomboyish qualities she does have a love of dancing and a keen eye for picking up guitar tunes, creating a strange mix of both boy and girl like qualities. Joslein has her little jokes, such as talking incredibly fast in Spanish to you, creating mass confusion, then when you don;t understand throws her arms up in the air and walks off still talking at high speed.

At 14 years old we have Ruth, Soraya's elder sister, another lover of music and dancing. Ruth is often the one to help co-ordinate the dance routines as well as having her own little dance moves she keeps stored up for special occasions. Quiet and studious she is often up later than the other girls to make sure all her school work is done, and seems to achieve high marks for all her efforts.

The only 15 year old of the group, is not technically an orphan. Lucero is the daughter of Delphina, one of two women who work at the house cooking, making sure the girls do their chores etc etc. Despite not really needing the care of the house Lucero is almost always here, a highly intelligent young woman she starts university in a year, something just as rare in Peru as it is England. She talks excellent English and often acts as a translator for those of us who have trouble with Spanish.

Joselins older sister is Lisbeth at 16. Another of the girls who you instantly get to know she opens up to you faster than a greyhound on speed. Loving and friendly she is another translator of the group speaking excellent English. Often she acts as a sort of guide to the new volunteers telling them about Elim and who the other girls are, she seems to truly love all the affection given to her and reciprocates in loving way, often shown in the form of a practical joke.

Finally we have Blanca, the eldest of the group at 17. Again an English speaker she is also extremely talented at dancing, having perfected most dance routines (including the Thriller dance, well nearly) she also has a beautiful singing voice. And has brought a tear to many a volunteers eye with her goodbye speeches and songs. She has an older sister called Shirley who once lived at Elim and now 19 looks after Nilda, the woman who founded Elim 11 years ago, but now due to ill health has had to pass the reigns onto her son Jeremy. Both of whom seem to be genuinely kind and good people, a rarity.

All 13 of the girls have something individual about them and make our stay here so much more enjoyable, they all genuinely care for one another even if they seem hostile at times. They hold much love in their hearts for what we do with them and are sincere in thought and feeling. Living with these girls and sharing their lives in the small amount of time I have been here is something that words can not really describe, it is an experience like nothing I have had. Sometimes, I almost dream that I too had lived the life the way these girls had, so that I could understand  the emotions and lives of these people we sometimes blot out of our minds so completely. To feel what it is that drives them to be better than their upbringing, and to break whatever mould was formed around them by their stories and histories. To see it and to share it, to know how in some ways they are luckier than we are. The nights I think of this I also feel a slight melancholy draw across my mind, a knowledge that soon I will return and continue my life, always knowing that they are all still here struggling with a past they can never forget, but perhaps forge it, shape it, make it into something hopeful, something which can create a life better than what was laid out for them. These are the things that hound me in the night, the thoughts that give me nightmares, but sometimes, when they are brighter, they can make me sleep as soundly as Zulema.

Next: Macchu Picchu & the amazon jungle

Grief, High speed and a roasted rodent

Again I sit, in that lonely café. The past week, an interesting one, of adventure, discovery, change and a small roasted rodent. Much has happened but I will start with a party.

One of our number, a Colombian American with experience as an event organizer set up a masquerade ball for the girls and the boys. Using an auditorium below the boys’ orphanage we spent the week leading to it preparing masks for ourselves and invites for the girls. Using a crafting knife to cut card and managing to avoid any injury we gave the girls and boys their invites on the Friday before the ball. Upon seeing the masks we brought for them and invites the children’s faces lit up with excitement, and you could see the more creative ones planning their masks already. Eventually Saturday came and with it the ball, the volunteers and I had spent the day putting finishing touches to our masks and our surprise dance routine to “We are Family”. With the doors to the auditorium open, the decorations in place and our masks firmly attached to our faces we awaited the arrival of the children. Processing through an archway of balloons they entered the room and were greeted by we masked volunteers, directing them to the buffet of food we had prepared and the face painting station set up by one of our own. With the grand entrances over we managed to sit the children down. Taking a few deep breaths we mounted the stage and rolled the music, with only a few comical bugger ups we carried out the routine as best a group of amateurs could who had practiced once and not practiced very hard. With the laughter of kids filling the room we eventually took a bow and then watched as the girls and the boys performed their own dance routines. Making our dance look like a performance of shaven orangutans, we were given the honour of seeing the girls human pyramid, and the boys impressive step and shuffle dancing. After applause and cake the party eventually became a big dance with the girls and boys all together in one big ring, swiftly transforming into a 40 person conga line. Breaking apart the big line became many small lines, which from above must have looked like a small family of snakes dancing with each other. Eventually dances like the Macarena took hold and those of us (me included) who didn’t know the routines sat back and took pictures, moving in and out of dances as we could, or being dragged into the floor by one of the girls. Around 9 the party started to wind down with the boys and girls saying goodbye and the boys thanking us for the party. John the event organizer looked very happy and he deserved to, it was a wonderful evening topped off by a quick group dinner where we proudly talked on the events of the evening.

The joviality of the previous night was soon broken though, as one of our number and a person who was very good to me had to leave the next day. After a quick breakfast we saw her back to the Orphanage and silently stood guard as she said her tearful goodbyes to the kids. We walked her to the taxi and said our own goodbyes and well wishes. And if she is reading this now I would like to say thanks for everything and wish you the best of luck in what you eventually decide to do next.

At the suggestion of a small advert in the bottom corner of a local magazine a group of us decided to explore the countryside surrounding Cusco, from the comfort of quad bikes. Having paid the small sum of 20 pounds was sent in taxis to an area of town that looked like a small outlying village which the urban sprawl had not yet finished swallowing. Bad plumbing, decrepit telephone lines and a rural building style were mixed with freshly laid pavements internet cafes and modern transportation. Upon leaving the taxi we felt ill at ease suddenly unsure of whether we would be biking in the hills of being buried in them. After some minutes silently pondering this we were greeted by a woman who told us to follow her. Leading us down a back alley and up small dirt track we followed cautiously, the image of shallow graves still flitting through our minds. Approaching a mud brick wall with an old green gate, that seemed to be hanging on by sheer force of will rather than good hinges, we passed into a small garden in which the bikes we were to use were lined up and waiting. Choosing our bikes (I hurriedly chose the Yamaha big bear), we were given helmets, a quick lesson on how to ride and then we set off. Creeping through the old green gate, the rain began to hammer down, a torrent of soaking cold that caught us unprepared and soaked some of us through to the soul. With the raining only getting harder our guide pushed us on, moving fast we climbed the mountains on dirt tracks meant for quarrying machines and the occasional brave taxi driver. Eventually escaping the rain we stopped off to see the view of the city from above. Looking down on the city, now shuddering under the rain we had previously had the pleasure of meeting. From above the city has clear areas, the older part of the city, centered on the old colonial Plazas and churches. And the newer part which at its heart, representing its modern ways sits the airport. Surrounded by buildings and mountains I cannot imagine that it is an easy place to land, and when planes do come and go the entire city erupts with noise. Disturbing if you were unaware that this would happen, but oddly comforting when you realize it is not an earthquake. Moving on from the city palisades we entered into the deeper countryside. We turned off the used roads and onto small tracks used by animals, locals and the occasional bikers. Deep in the bush we were surrounded by trees and undergrowth, despite not being far from the road, it felt like we deep in the jungle riding to find a way out which may never appear. The bush eventually thinning out we preceded high up the side of the mountain, snaking up the side enjoying the views as it expanded with every hairpin. At the highest point we looked out, the city behind us and in front the slopes and farmlands of rural Peru. From afar it reminded me of Roman Italy, with white buildings and terracotta roves. After a quick rest we pushed on, heading into the deep country. Traversing puddles, ponds and Peruvians we eventually came to a small village. While beautiful from afar, up close the illusion was broken, white buildings became mud bricks, held together by gravity and generations of know-how. The terracotta became rusted corrugated iron and plastic, with the occasional terracotta roof on the local post office or shop. In the villages the children, excited by the bikes and the noise ran with us, or high fived us as we passed. While the adults of the looked on with tolerant disdain, obviously used to foreigners passing through. One shouted at our guide, directing him out of the village, and not looking happy when we eventually had to pass back through. Moving fast now we eventually reached a second view point of the city, with the rain cleared the city seemed more alive and the noise of urban life gently wafted into the air. Taking in the city, and seeing how far it has grown and realizing the hunger of it was an intimidating moment. I said earlier that the city will never be finished, but seeing the more simple way of life not ten miles outside of the city you wonder whether this hunger for more space and more people is not affecting the way of life for those who choose to stay away. Thinking on this, we moved back the way we came, greeting the children, and dodging the puddles. Until we returned to the old/new neighbourhood. Climbing into taxis home we were tired, but thankfully dry. And after a quick shower and cup of tea we one by one slipped to the land of nod and dreamt of the day.  

The excitement of the biking passing we moved on to more sad business of the week, the loss of a friend, who if is reading this I wish the best of luck in Ghana. A celebratory breakfast at a small café hidden off the Plaza de Armas and then he was off. Followed swiftly by another true veteran of the group who left early in the morning, slipping out into the sunrise like a shadowy spy, she moved onto Brazil. For her departure though we had a small meal out where I tried two new meals. A small Peruvian dish similar to curry in appearance but not in taste. A much thicker sauce made of nuts, egg and cream served with chicken rice and a hardboiled egg. To go with the chicken we all ordered the dish of the town, the roasted Guinea pig.  Each taking a piece we all sniffed and inspected it cautiously until taking a bite of the count of three. The meat was tasty, similar in taste to beef or pork ribs, yielding a surprising amount of meat from such a small animal was a big surprise and I would happily eat it again.

The second week of this trip has definitely been interesting, and I hope to put some pictures up soon, I keep forgetting my camera you see, but much love to all and hopefully speak to you soon.

xxx

So here I am, sitting in a lonely internet café in a city scratching the sky. It has been 4 days since my arrival in strange beautiful place, and it has been a 4 days like no other.

Allow me to start from the beginning, After almost 24 hours travel time I touched down into Cusco itself, after a shaky start thinking I had missed my airport transfer I was saved by the giant cuddly bear that is Jeremy. Jeremy is the man who runs both the orphanges that I am volunteering in, he is a kind man who speaks excellent English. Standing at around 6 and a half foot a least he is tall for the local people, who having lived high up for so long that they have never really grown  very high. Having been saved from my terrified thoughts of being lost in a city I had never been to before Jeremy took me for a quick tour, showing the face of Cusco. The city is a blend of colonial style buildings, Incan foundations and a more modern building style giving the city itself a strange feel of not being quite finished. In fact there are so many buildings under construction that I would be amazed if this city were ever truly finished like our western equivalents.

Following the main highways I saw the after effects of the first weekend of carnival, people walking around soaked to the skin due to the tradition that in the run up to easter water fights are held across the city, with a majority of people descending upon the citys main square the Plaze De Armas. A beautiful square at the heart of the city, it is dominated by the cathedral on one side. The other sides are fronted with colonial colonades, giving some much needed shelter when the rain comes down hard. Within the colonades are a myruad of bars and restaurants. Serving local delicacies such as Alpaca a particularly strange food that tastes very much like venison. While still waiting to try a guinea pig which comes roasted whole (head included, which breaks my rule of never eat something which can wink back) I have had the chance to try two of the local drinks, the first being Inca Cola. A soft drink much like cream soda, and the second being the local cocktail the “Pisco sour” made from pisco (a gin analogue) egg whites, lime juice and occasionally cinnamon. It is an alien, bitter drink which some how makes you want to have another.

As well as sampling the culture of the “naval of the world” I have been spending most of my time with the children of the Elim. The company running the Orphange, hidden in a small walkway off an unremarkable side road, the building gives little away. A mask of cracking paint, uncovered breeze blocks and rusting iron gates hides a completely different world. The children who live in the house are not allowed out often, and so they have created their own little world inside. A large main play room used for arts and crafts, music, dancing and the occasional paint fight is where the girls spend most of their days, with the other volunteers and I playing with them, helping them with some school work or initiating the aforementioned paint war.

The girls are a range of ages, the youngest is an amazingly cute girl called Selema, a street child whose age we do not know, before writing this I had just spent an hour making animal noises for her while reading a childrens book, let me tell you making the noise of a hippo is not easy, but the pain it causes as you almost hawk up your own lungs, becomes irrelevant when you see her smile and hear her life. Along with Selema, there is Patricia who I am sure you could use to power a city the amount of energy she has. The elder girls are just as much fun, if not sometimes aggressively so, I still have the bruises from a joint pinch under the ribs from Blanca and Lisbeth, two girls around 15 who never seem to stop enjoying calling us ugly, smelly or just hurting us. In fact it was these two and I who initiated last nights paint war, the marks of which I proudly wore on a night out to the Plaza de Armas.

On the other side of town lies the boys orphanage, a much larger building. So far I have only spent 1 day over there as getting there is difficult to say the least. But the one day I have spent there involved making pancakes for shrove Tuesday for them. Having enjoyed their treat the boys took us to the local park, where myself and another volunteer Ed thought it would be a good idea to play some basketball with the boys. A rather silly mistake on our part, the altitude (a cosy 3800 meters) makes everything more difficult, even the simple act of climbing stairs makes the fittest amongst our group (an ex-copper) out of breath by the top. With that in mind I am sure you can imagine what running like mad for 20 minutes did to us.

All in all an amazing start, sorry no pics yet, have taken loads but forgot my camera. I hope all of you at home are well and best of luck in everything you do.

Thanks for reading, will try to post some pics in the next couple of days, and another full post in about a week.

Much love xx

A warm welcome

Hello all, this is my little web thing to keep you updated about what I am up to in Peru, please feel free to share this and I hope I will be able to update it about once a week, hope everyone enjoys reading this and I'll try to keep it interesting. Wish me luck, by the time I have returned I will have colonised the americas x