Tripping on San Pedro at the Temple of the Moon

NOTE: This is a factual blog post about an intense but wonderful drug experience I had three days ago. If you feel this may be upsetting for you (mom) please either don´t read it or try to hold your tongue.

Echinopsis Pachanoi, commonly referred to as San Pedro, is the oldest cactus on our planet. It dates back 20,000 years and has been used by many civilizations, including the Incans here in Cusco. It was banned by the FDA in the US in 1970, but is perfectly legal here in Peru. Many tourists will come and pay a lot of money (sometimes several hundred dollars) to have a Shaman help them with the experience of San Pedro. What these people don´t know is that you can do San Pedro all by yourself, safely and cheaply, without a Shaman trying to put restrictions on your experience. And that is precisely what Laura, Nebraska and I did. What follows is a picture heavy (since the trip was so visual) post about the wonderful and bizarre experience we had on San Pedro, from start to finish.

In order to prepare, we fasted for about 12 hours. Some websites suggested fasting for longer, but we all love eating too much to quit for very long. San Pedro is for sale at the San Pedro Market (how convenient). We read several websites about the best ways to take the drug, and had resolved to buy the actual cactus itself and cook it, since that was what we were told was most effective, and we thought that the cactus was the only thing for sale. After asking several vendors in the market where we could find San Pedro, we stumbled upon apparently the only booth that sells the stuff. Here´s a picture of the booth and the girl, about 17 years old I would guess, who sold us the goods.

The Booth

The girl had everything. Full cacti, pre-mixed beverages that only required heating up, and she even offered us an Yauasca cigarette, which is a much more intense drug that I´ve heard should only be used with a Shaman. Though we had heard that the tastiest way to consume SP was to use actual whole cactus, we couldn´t resist the dried up San Pedro powder she offered. While all other forms of preperation took several hours, all we had to do was put the powder in hot water like tea and drink up. Then, she claimed, about a half an hour later we would begin to trip, and it would last for 4 hours.

One Dosage

Each bag of powder, enough for 1 person, cost 5 soles, which is currently $1.58. So for $4.72 the three of us were able to have the most intense and fun trip that we´ve had. I´ve only done mushrooms, but my two companions have done more, and still said this trumped it. But, before the fun starts, you have to work a little bit.

San Pedro is notorious for tasting awful. We knew that it would probably be a little harder to drink the stuff like tea, so we bought some lemons and honey to help us get it down.

Limes, Honey and San Pedro waiting for water to boil.

We began to ingest it, and the taste was WAY WORSE than expected. The horrible bitterness stuck to the back of your throat like glue. The concoction itself looked like green phlegm, and the worst part was, in order to get the proper dosage we each had to drink four mugs of it.

Goopy

It took about an hour and 15 minutes before we were all done. Laura puked halfway through her ingestion, which is not all that surprising, most people vomit at some point (we all did as you´ll read).

Laura no likey.

Step 1

Step 2

Step 3. Repeat.

Since the woman at the booth said it would only take a half an hour to set in, we were all feeling a little strange (and Nebraska and I slightly queasy since we had yet to purge) and decided to get outside as fast as possible. We had read that San Pedro is like mushrooms in that nature, and sunlight in particular are exquisite while high.

Unfortunately it was a kind of rainy day, which disappointed me at first. We all agreed to take a taxi to La Templa De La Luna, an old Incan temple (to the moon) that is free because it is not as intricate as the other ruins nearby. However, the Temple of the Moon is a giant rock in a valley with cliffs on either side, forests surrounding it, an expansive view of the valleys and fields of flowers on either side, and all of the steps, animals and caverns made by the Incans were carved into the side of a massive, natural boulder. Sounds pretty ideal.

On the cab ride up the cab driver insisted on telling me over and over that it was raining, and asking was I sure I wanted to go to the temple of the moon. The last thing I wanted to do at that time was talk in a language other than my first, but I was polite enough, and in retrospect I think the conversation helped me stop myself from vomiting in the cab. It was an overcast day the entire time, and though sunlight was supposed to be exquisite, the massive, fast moving clouds, cool droplets of rain, shifting breeze and most importantly loud and vibrating thunderstorm that happened that day made up for the lack of sun.

All of us were feeling pretty strange by the time we got there, but I thought it only felt like being on a little bit of pot and slightly tipsy. I was able to walk, but it felt strange to do so. Laura and I hiked around a bit while Nebraska resolved to stay on top of the temple. Shortly after we set down the temple and into one of the ravines carved into the bottom, I burped and tasted San Pedro. Almost immediately I started vomiting.

I have never puked like this before. It wasn´t painful, though it was unpleasant to taste. However, it felt like something was coming out of me from somewhere other than my stomach. It´s tough to describe, but I have read of other accounts of strange vomiting. While both Laura and Nebraska´s vomit was clear, my was a hateful, dark green. Shamans say that when this kind of thing comes out of you, it means you are letting out something that has been wounding you or keeping you down. Let´s hope they´re right.

After I finished vomiting the real trip set in. What followed was 8 hours (not 4 like the girl claimed) of the most lucid, beautiful and moving drug experience I have had to date. I hesitate to compare it to mushrooms, but the appreciation and awe I had for nature was similar to how I feel when I have taken magic shrooms, except much more calming and powerful. It also had little to no paranoia, and also held some other sort of calming, lucid quality that mushrooms lack. The trip also turned out to be multifaceted, and was constantly changing. I experienced everything from extreme happiness, personal insight, a serious feeling of connection to Pachamama (mother earth), vibrations through my body, and towards the end of the trip, visualized various figures and dances in smoke from a stick of incense. It was fun, but I do have to say that every so often a wave of nausea would rise up, I would think I was going to vomit again, but then it would disappear. I´m going to post pictures that I took while tripping, to show you what kind of a place I was in.

We began at the top of a cliff overlooking the temple.

Jason contemplating Peru.

We all wanted to get as high as possible, so we climbed this baby.

Next we made our way to this ledge. Temple of the moon in the background.

Next we made our way to one of Cusco´s many magical (and sadly man made) Eucalyptus forests.

It wasn´t long before we were all laying down...

on this spoungy moss....

and stared at these treetops as they danced for us.

Starving, we decided to descend into the city slowly to find food. We came upon this little tienda built into the side of the monutain, and stopped for some water.

This was a trip.

We ended up staying for a few coca-colas, which are delightfully more fizzy at this altitude. Though the man running the tienda seemed a little cold at first, he eventually came out to talk to us. I hope we didn´t sound too much like idiots; oddly my Spanish seemed to be coming out easier. The first thing the guy did is come out and point at the rock that made up the wall behind where I was sitting. Then he explained in Spanish that the rock behind me used to be a sacrificial altar for the Incans. It was carved there because the rock where the tienda now stood used to resemble the crown of a head. Weird.

Sacrafice

Blue Nebraska was tripping me out.

The man behind the counter also eventually pulled out a bottle of clear liquid, which we later determined was fermented sugar cane, and offered us each some. We accepted once he told us it was good for headaches and stomachaches. We all were pretty hungry and still slightly woozy from the SP. It tasted like very strong wine, and I swear I could feel every little drop of it warming my throat and stomach. It was glorious.

We made our way down into the city, which was overwhelming. I have a friend down here who did San Pedro before going to a crowded bar, and that sounds terrible to me. San Pedro is a drug meant to be done in the most naturally beautiful place you can get your hands on.

We finally made it to an Indian restaurant, and though we were all able to put away a lot of food, it did almost nothing to end the trip. We made our way home, lit some incense and watched shapes appear in the blue smoke. By that time we were all ready for the trip to end, and luckily Laura made the discovery that a hot shower cut the feelings of San Pedro severely. After we all were showered, we took a moment to collect ourselves and then we left to get me my first tattoo.

I made the decision while in the Eucalyptus forest that I wanted to get the mountains that run behind cusco tatooed between my shoulder. I have been wanting a tattoo for a while, and always telling myself that there is nothing I like enough to get permanently put on my skin. But then I came to the conclusion that I could say that forever, and that I ought to jump at the first pretty idea I had that didn´t seem like a fad. Unless a mountain kills my family, I think I´ll always have respect for the Andes of Cusco, especially after they showed me such wonderful things that day.

Preparing

Be a man.

It´ll look even better when it´s not bruised.

And that´s my interpretation of San Pedro. I recommend it to people who have some experience tripping, and who don´t mind suffering a bit to get to the high. I probably won´t ever do SP again, but I am extremely happy I did.

Things are coming to a close here in Peru. I leave Monday for a new adventure in Buenos Aires! Stay tuned.

Volunteering: Aldea Yanapay School

8 days left in Cusco and Peru before Laura and I wend our way down to Buenos Aires for 2 weeks of culture, steak and partying. So I suppose it´s time I write about perhaps the most central reason for my coming down here in the first place, which was to try my hand at international volunteering.

After months of searching online for organizations, and only finding groups that wanted me to pay $2,000 or more to come volunteer, I came upon this handy list of cheap or free volunteer organizations in South America. The organization I chose, Aldea Yanapay, seemed like the perfect set up. You can read over the website if you want to hear Yuri´s (the director) idea of what Aldea Yanapay is, but not surprisingly I found that the organization was run a little differently than what is written on its homepage. I have learned, having met many volunteers and explored several organizations since I´ve been in Peru, that it is safest to expect a certain amount of discontinuity with the way volunteer organizations profess themselves to be and the way they are actually run. Like most things that call themselves an organization, there is a lack of organization. Sometimes at Aldea things felt a little hectic, or like if you weren´t able to take charge by yourself with minimal instruction from the supervisors, you weren´t going to get anything done. However, as I said, I don´t think this is a problem specific to Aldea Yanapay, but rather a symptom common among many volunteer organizations in Peru.

I also found myself to be at some personal odds with the director the program, but regardless of my personal opinions, when you get down to it, Yuri is doing a lot of wonderful things for a lot of needy children. On top of this, Yuri was on vacation for the majority of my time here, so I don´t know him that well.

There are two organizations that I worked with, both which are funded by the Aldea Yanapay restaurant and hostel. The first was the Aldea Yanapay school, which is an after-school program for children between the ages of 5 and 13. It runs from 3pm until 7pm. The first two hours the kids are split between art, homework help, reading, games or computers. I spent my first few weeks teaching computers. Mostly the kids would just have time to have fun on the internet, playing games and such. Most of the kids don´t have computers at home, and some had to learn how to use a mouse. So needless to say, many of them were very excited to have the opportunity to play.

Ana y Vladi, siblings and adorable.

Sheila playing barbie games despite my protests.

Adair, one of the more challenging chicos.

After the first two hours were over, we would all gather together in the school courtyard and listen to Yuri or Jessica, the director of the school part of the program, talk about basic rules. Then around 5:30 English classes would begin. Each class would have its own theme, such as body parts or fairy tales, and the volunteers would try and teach a few key words, depending on the age group of his or her class. Each friday there would be a show where each class would put on a little skit, dance or something more hectic abstract for their classmates and teachers.

The school itself is small, but brightly colored and neat. Supplies are lacking somewhat, most of the markers are dried out and there is only scrap paper to draw on. But most of the kids are happy despite. One of the most amazing parts of working at the school is how affectionate the students are. As soon as you walk into the school, kids leap into your arms with a loud “HOLA PROFE!” and kiss you on the cheek, which is customary greeting in Peru. If they see you in the streets during off hours, they do the same thing. I had the sense that some of the children don´t get much physical affection at home, so it feels good to hug and kiss and hold them. Here are some photos of the school space:

Looking through the door into the school.

The school for the younger kids.

A classroom.

Tres hijas waiting in the courtyard for school to begin.

The school area for older kids, in the same building as the other one. More classroom here.

Yuri and Jessica, directors.

Yuri with a seasoned volunteer, Raquel from Spain.

My first three weeks at Aldea were still during Peru´s summer break, so there were fewer kids than normal, about 20. The older and younger kids had classes together for the first two hours, and then were split into 5 different groups for English classes. I worked with the two youngest groups, and though I enjoyed them immensely, I found much of my time was spent trying to corral, calm and quiet them.

After taking some time off and working at the other program run by Aldea Yanapay at a police commisary with children who were being held (which I will write about later), I returned to the school for my final week of volunteering, last week. School was back in session, and the number of students at the school had almost doubled. Since my Spanish had improved and I had been around for a while, I was promoted in a sense. I was moved to the older school, where I ran the games class by myself and formed my own lesson plans for English classes. This is when I really started to fall in love with Aldea Yanapay. I loved having conversation with the 9-13 year olds, listening to their smart and funny ideas. They were also so affectionate, and it felt good to see how much they admired me. When it came to my last day, all of my students were begging me not to leave. It may sound cocky, but it brought tears to my eyes. Some of my older students:

Renoldo, my main man. He hardly ever left my side.

This little guy does not know how to play chess.

Everybody have fun! About half of the kids I was managing that day.

Joe was very timid, and spent most of his time watching me and the other kids play. He tugged at my heartstrings enough to get me daydreaming about adoption.

Twister es muy popular.

My lovely clase on our last day together.

That pretty much sums up the school. Next I´ll write about the more challenging, both mentally, physically and emotionally, week I spent volunteering at the commisarry. Chao for now!

Short Story: Buzz

I wrote this story in 2 sittings by hand while I was in the sleep study.  I was in the middle of reading Short Cuts by Raymond Carver.  I tried to mimic him some.  The only editor on this one has been me, so…

Buzz

My car radio didn’t work. I was thinking about how my parents would both be dead one day. First one then the other. It was getting late. I was tired. Not tired, exhausted. I still had a ways to go.

The heater didn’t work either. I had on my ugly green coat, my gloves and hat. My hands were hot, but the steering wheel was freezing. Without the radio and the heater it was almost silent, except when I went over 10 mph. After that a little buzz kicked up. It would have been easy to ignore with a radio or heater. It came from the back of the car, and stayed the same pitch. Sometimes I harmonize with it, but I was too tired. I was almost there.

I was wondering who would handle it better, me or my sister. I didn’t know if it would make us closer or push us apart. I didn’t know what it would do to her or to me. If we would grow up or down. It was so quiet and dark. My lights were the only things around. Even the high snow banks along the road were dark. As if there was no snow it would be easier to see. The snow was everywhere, except on the road in front of me. I could see my breath hitting the windshield. I was thinking about my sister and what kind of stuff she might keep locked up in her house in Michigan, and blowing my breath onto the glass. I was just thinking and slam.

I saw it coming just before it happened. His headlights were off and his car was black but I saw it. Before his left headlight hit mine, when they were just millimeters away, everything stopped for a second. The two cars dried in time like glue, and then released. My seatbelt caught, I barely moved. Steam was rising up and dissolving from under his hood. I stepped out first. He had to crawl through to the passenger’s side, and he came out saying “Oh jeeze, Oh jeeze. Oh man.”

I pulled my hat down so it covered my earlobes. It crept back up. I walked around to assess the damage. I was better off. My heater and radio and headlight were all busted. My fender was scratched down to the raw white underneath. That’s all. It was ok.

“Oh jeeze, I’m so sorry. Are you alright? Oh crud.”

“I’m fine. You?” We looked at his car, crumpled like a paper cup. It seemed impossible. I had been going so slowly.

“Me? I’m fine. Oh jeeze, but look at this.” He pulled on the fender and part of it came off. “Jeeze. Dang it.”

I thought about calling the police, but decided against it. The man seemed to feel the same way. We exchanged information. He wrote his down on the back of a business card from some Chinese restaurant in a town I’ve never heard of. His name was Hank.

Hank took off his hat and smoothed his thinning hair. “Well jeeze. What do we do?”

“Can you drive it?”

Hank got back in his car, crawling across the seats again. In the light from my remaining headlight he looked like a child. When he turned the key the engine didn’t make a sound. All I could hear was the hissing of the steam, which was waning. We pushed his car to the side of the road. He was clearly in my lane, but we didn’t mention it. We didn’t need to. Hank steered while I pushed.

“You have a cell phone?”

“No.” I don’t know why I lied. Hank laid his head back and looked up at the blank sky. He clapped his bare hands together.

“I can give you a ride somewhere.” My engine was still running.

“Aw jeeze, I would hate to trouble you. I already hit ya.”

“No, no.” I said.

“I don’t live far. 15 miles. On Addison. Do you know it?”

“You can show me.

 

***

We didn’t talk much on the way there. I told him I was from Hollis. He said he knew a pastor there. Then he was quiet for a long time. I was driving so slowly. I didn’t want to hear the buzz. He tapped the window twice with his fingers. Then he looked through the glass hard like he saw something in the field.

We were getting close. My phone started to vibrate in my pocket. You could hear it. Its buzz was dissonant with the one coming from the back of the car. Hank said, “You just turn here.” That was all he said.

His house was small. We went in the back door. He made a path through the snow. I stepped in his foot prints, but my feet were just a little bigger. Our prints on top of each other looked like sedimentary rock. He opened the door, and suddenly I didn’t want to go inside. I wanted to stay out in the yard, in the wind and snow. It had gotten colder. I followed him in, shut the door behind me.

We went through a musty mudroom. It was close quarters, me and Hank in there taking off our boots. For a second it felt like I might fall on him. The cold air was sneaking in under the crack and biting our Achilles tendons. Hank let me in the house, then shut the door to the mud room quickly. He kicked a purple towel back against the crack to keep out the cold.

The interior of the house was 1952. It was all wood paneling and brown carpet. It was all bulk furniture and yellow lights. We were standing in the living room. The enormous wood framed TV with a small screen, just like the one my parents had in their bedroom, was on softly. I couldn’t make out the picture but it was playing some old tinny song that I recognized. An ancient woman was sitting on the couch looking towards the television. She didn’t turn to look at us. I wondered if she was deaf.

“She’s in here,” Hank said. He wanted his wife to meet me. Meet the nice young man who gave him a lift. Hank led me towards the kitchen. We walked between the woman and the television, but she didn’t move an inch. She looked like a wax figure, melting slightly in the glow of the screen. As we walked by we screwed up the reception, the TV screen buzzed and distorted, first for Hank, then for me.

She was in the kitchen wearing a pink nightgown and holding a red mixing bowl in her arms like a baby. She was short and almost perfectly round. The nightgown came up above her knees, and loops of fat hung down from her thighs like a hound dog’s face. I didn’t want to notice that, but I did.

“Hank? Oh, you brought company. Hello! Who’s this, Hank?” She pointed her face at her husband and looked at me out of the corner of her eye. She began mixing whatever was in the bowl again with the fork she was holding. It went click-click-click-click-click.

“This is Ray…mond.”

“Hello, Ray!” she said. She was so cheerful. It seemed to me to be too late to be cooking something, but maybe I was wrong. It occurred to me that I had no idea what time it was. It felt very late, but maybe I was just tired.

“Hello.”

“I have some bad news, honey. We got into an accident. Me and Raymond here. Completely my fault.”

She turned her head to the side like a sparrow. “Oh, no. Is everyone all right?”

“Yes, we’re fine. It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Well at least you’re all right! That’s the most important thing. And you’re all right, Ray?”

“Yeah I’m fine.”

Someone was moving around upstairs. Hank and his wife looked at each other.

“Would you like some coffee, Ray?” She gestured with her elbow at the coffee machine on the counter while still beating furiously at whatever was in the bowl.

“No, thanks. I need to get going. I still have a ways to go.”

She looked disappointed.

“You know,” Hank said, “I think might finally get me a cell phone. If I’d’ve had a cell phone tonight, Raymond wouldn’t have to had come so far out of his way.”

“We weren’t far,” I said to his wife. “Just down the road. Fifteen minutes.”

“Jeeze, Marla. You should see the car. I busted it up good.”

“Well, I’m just glad everyone’s all right!”

The person moved around upstairs. It sounded like they were right on top of us. Marla set down the bowl on the drain board and wiped her thumbs across her forehead. She left behind a streak of something black. The person moved upstairs again, the floor creaking under their weight. We all looked at the ceiling. I wondered if they had kids.

“I had better get going.”

“Alright. Let me know if anything happens to your car, Raymond. You know, problems can show up later after these sorts of things.”

“Will do,” I said. I turned to Marla, who was making her way to sit at the table. “Nice to meet you.”

“Be careful,” was all she said as she dragged a chair out from the table and fell into it.

I crossed back through the living room. The old woman was still sitting and staring. She hadn’t moved an inch. I walked behind her this time. I stopped. I leaned forward to look at her, to get into her line of vision. I looked at her hands. They were folded on her lap, small and wrinkled. I left her sitting there. I looked up the stairs just before I stepped into the mudroom. It was completely dark up there.

***

I passed Hank’s car again and drove for about a mile. Then I turned around and pulled over by the place where we had made contact. I crossed the road. My breath was rushing out of me in a huge cloud. I watched it go up above my head and then dissolve. There was no sound except for the drag of my shoes on the pavement, then crunching through the snow as I approached Hanks car. I opened up the passenger’s side of the car and crawled through. It seemed somehow colder in his car than outside. Everything was so damn still, nothing was moving. I watched my breath smash against the windshield over and over. “Let’s go, let’s go.” I said. “Step on it.”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I was hoping whoever had called at left a message, but there was no message, no number.

Hiking At You

Me and my most trusted traveling companion (and roommate in my new apartment) Laura have begun hiking at mountains on days when we have nothing to do.  Since the sun has been shining more now that rainy season is coming to a close, and Laura and I are both taking a week off from volunteering, we have had more opportunities to hike than before.

Hiking in Cusco, at least the way we do it, is a very different experience.  Everywhere you look in this city giant mountains are standing in the distance, and so it would seem that there are many trails and paths through woods and along mountain ridges.  But you´d be wrong.  On most of these mountains, pueblitos go nearly to the top, and then when the mountain faces become too steep to build upon, there is nothing but vegetation.  While there are stairs or roads (or dirt alleys or stones shoved into the ground) that lead up through the villages, if you want to reach the tops of any mountains you have to be willing to go without a set trail.  This can mean anything from encountering wild packs of angry dogs to sliding down rock edges into trash filled ravines. 

I´m going to try and use pictures and descriptions, like I do, to try and give some sort of an idea about what these hikes have been like.

First, a more conventional hike.  On one of the smaller mountains, in a place called Saqsaywaman, one of those big white, european looking Jesuses stands with his arms outstretched towards Cusco proper.  Typically it costs tourists a fee to enter, but I was lucky enough to have my friend Miguel show me a way to the statue without having to pay.  It involved walking into the artsy section of Cusco, San Blas, and taking about 3million stairs up to the road that led to Cristo Blanco.

The millions of steps were worth the views.

Finally, after stopping several times to let my sea level lungs gather themselves, we reached the top of the steps and walked down a quiet road until we reached him.

I love you this much, Cusco.

And this is what Jesus is looking over.

My city.

I thought it was kind of funny that Jesus had his back turned on some real natural beauty.

Jesus hates trees and fields.

And here is my guide and amigo Miguel.  He is also the one who often has me help him out at a local bar on busy nights.

What a friend I have Miguel. He walks with me and talks with me.

Three crosses stand by Jesus as well.

And now for an explanation of one of the more difficult hikes I went on.  Only a few days before this post, having a beautiful day and minimal hangovers, Laura and I, along with a lovely Canadian named April and a boy we call Nebraska from, you guessed it, Nebraska decided to hike.  Instead of taking a typical tourist route like I did with Miguel, we simply picked a mountain peak and headed towards it with the goal in mind of walking until we were on top of it.  Previously Laura and I had done this with the Viva El Peru mountain pictured below, and we ended up sitting on the bottom of the “s” in Cusco and taking in the city.

Look way in the background for the Viva El Peru. This is one of the views we had along the way to our new mountain peak.

That hike was fairly easy, the hardest part was trying to find a direct path through the city since that mountain is on the opposite side of Cusco from where we live.  This time, we picked the only mountain top that was high enough to be seen from inside the courtyard of our new apartment complex.  We knew it was going to be higher, but we didn´t know what obstacles would stand in our way before we got there.  That´s the thing about mountains, they stoic peaks look like they should slope down gently until they meet level ground.  But this is rarely the case.

First we began our trek through the city, encountering once again many steps and scary dogs. 

Mossy stairs.

More city walking.

 As is often the case, in order to reach the mountain we wanted to mount, we had to cross over several other large hills, or bases of mountains to get there.  Unfortunately for us, we came to a point along a path on one of these pre-mountains that ended in a deep, angry looking ravine.  Though most of us thought it was insurmountable, fearless Laura said she thought it would be fine to slide down the rocky slope into the ravine, then walk through the crevase until we were on the other side.  We were all nervous about it, but from the top of the ravine we could see a road that ran along the base of the mountain we wanted, and saw inviting looking steps running almost all the way up to the peak.  Not to be defeated, Laura decided to sit down and slide into the ravine first, to prove we could do it.

Laura´s controled slide.

Unfortunately, we didn´t anticipate how quickly the rocks could give out into a mini landslide.  Laura´s controled slide quickly became uncontroled, and lucky for her the drop off into the ravine at the bottom of the slope was only a few feet.

Laura´s dust cloud, and if you look closely you can see the woman herself enshrouded.

And the slide wasn´t without consequences, or benefits if you´re one of those people who enjoys scars for their story telling purposes.

Gross.

The rest of us found our way down alternate paths into the ravine, and mostly arrived unscathed.  Though there was some grabage accumulated in the small creek that ran through the ravine, there were no rodents or other frightening creatures to speak of.  We did come, eventually, to a small waterfall, and it took some meneuvering to hop down it one by one. 

Finally, we made it out and could see the road close by.  We followed a slight path down the other side of the mountain that held the ravine, only to find ourselves trapped in an enclosed piece of private property.  Two garden hands were outside, and understandably laughed at the four dirty (one bleeding) gringos that came seemingly out of nowhere into the backyard they were maintaining.  But a friendly woman inside the house unlocked the gate for us with a smile, and we were on our way.  We walked along the shoulder of the road until we reached the steps, about twice as many as I had walked up to get to Cristo Blanco.  Here are some views seen as we ascended.

Enormous and low clouds are garunteed since the rainy season has ended.

We reached the top of the stairs breathless but happy.  It was incredible that there were so many houses, and lots of children on bikes, living quiet lives at the top of this great peak.  We speculated that the children, after school each day, had to trek up those stairs to their homes.  I wonder how often people descend into the city, seeing that there are small stores on the mountainside. 

Fellow hikers at the top of the steps. From the left: Canadian April, Michigander Laura, Nebraska

Though we were all breathing like asthmatics (myself in particular), we weren´t going to stop at the top of the stairs with still a peak ahead of us.  We foraged our own path through a small forest only to find that someone was growing crops on top of the mountain.

Wheat can be a beautiful thing.

From the wheat field we saw yet another quiet cross on a ledge, and decided to walk to it and see if there was a view.  Well…

One of my favorite pictures I´ve taken in Peru.

Much higher up than Cristo Blanco.

A large moon came out early to see us on our hike.

Satisfaction.

Coming up on this bloggy, the new apartment and information on the actual reason I came down here, volunteering.

Carnival in Caóya

And now I´m going to talk write about Carnival.

Carnival is, hands down, the most needed foreign holiday for the USA.  It lasts for weeks at a time, flowing haltingly in typical Peruvian fashion, culminating today and last Sunday in small towns around Cusco.  The theme of  Carnival in Peru is water, and it is a time for everyone, all ages, to get anyone you encounter in the street completely wet. I took a bus with two friends, Corey and Kirsten, to a small town called Caóya to celebrate, and mojado madness ensued. 

The bus ride was inexpilicably beautiful, and only cost about one dollar for the entire 45 minute journey.  Several times we passed through sections of the sacred valley, where low laying, colorful fields filled the space between incredibly dark green mountains.  As we drove along, children on the side of the streets with buckets of water or baloons would hurl them at the car windows as we rode past.

   The bus dropped us off at the end of a long avenue that was packed with people running, screaming and throwing water in many different ways.  Buckets were blunt and popular, but some of the middle aged ladies prefered the little water guns, and young children in balconies loved using water baloons.  Perhaps the most effective were the large water cannons.  I noticed that boys aim for girls and girls aim for boys, which was lucky for me since boys seemed to be much more prevelant.  However, within moments of stepping onto the street, we were all completely soaked.

Corey got the wettest the earliest.

What you see in Corey´s hand is also a theme of Carnival.  I believe it´s just called spray, and it is somewhat similar to silly string.  The difference is, instead of shooting out some toxic, sticky, staining goo, it simply sprays out soap.  It isn´t strong soap, so it eventually disolves, and it was nice because my clothes needed a wash.

Me spraying nothing.

Symbolic?

For a while the three of us ran around the square at the end of the avenue, chasing and being chased by various Peruvians.  Eventually we found a safe place to stay underneath an awning, and we were able to watch the traditional dances going on in the square.

After the dances we all were a bit hungry, and had been hankering for some choclo con queso since they had been selling it on the bus ride.  We were walking to a restaurant when a shirtless man, quite inebriated, chased us down with a bucket of water.  After he had soaked us, he invited us back to his house for choclo.  I was initially wary, but Corey said sure. 

    We followed him through a field towards a valley, and then into his home.  It appeared to be some sort of artists´colony, complete with a pregnant woman cooking.  The shirtless man, Oscar, was a drum maker, and he showed us the room where he constructs the drums.  It smelled like popcorn and spoiled milk. 

    They sat us down, and served us some scary looking choclo which we ate hesitantly, all praying that it wouldn´t make us sick.  Oscar and his other friends started dancing and dancing, drinking and drinking,  smoked us up (or out or down depending on where you´re from).  As they were borrachando, they decided that they needed to dance with the girls, closer and closer, until we pulled out and left.  But not before getting sprayed by a little boy that lived there, and seeing about 20 guinea pigs living in harmony on the kitchen floor.  Here are fotos.

The colony.

The abandoned houses behind the artists´colony where I wish they had lived.

Incredible aim for someone who is still mastering walking.

I was told not to put this on the internet.

Cui

Once we had finally extracted ourselves from the house, we were able to focus on the scenery around us.  Here it is.

Piggles

 

Accidently touched one of thos cacti.

We took a cab home since all of the buses were packed with people, so much that there was hardly any place to stand.  We came back to find all of the people still at the hostel completly soaked, as a gang of children had come in when the door was open and attacked everyone.  It was rough, because everyone was defenseless since there was no water in the faucets in Cusco that day, all the children had used it up.  Just another one of those things that happen here in Peru, that would make many US Americans freak out, but Peruanas take in in stride.