Hualla

How does one even begin to describe Hualla, Peru? I'm at a loss for words and so close to not even trying. To be honest photos couldn't even do this place justice. Places like Hualla make me so glad to be alive, so glad to be human, and to witness this. 

We got to Hualla yesterday with a stop for lunch in Huancapi. The town was so small with people staring at us left and right. I met the most adorable little girl there holding a sweet little kitten by the neck. Poor thing, I tried to teach her how to hold him carefully and with care, culturally I realize how out of place that was. The kittens are tougher here. The children are tougher here. Life is tougher here and to survive everyone must adjust.

I took a photo. She insisted on handing me the kitten to see. I held the kitten, and I was part of this odd exchange between a young Peruvian and a much older white foreigner, myself.

We arrived in Hualla and we are quite literally the talk of the town. We've been told the population is around 3,000, but considering the expanse of the annexed districts that number seems small. Perhaps many of the buildings aren't inhabited. I would check that number but yet here I have no internet.

The town has an announcement system that booms at intervals throughout the day live announcements of what is going on in town. They start around 4 am as a wake up call to the town folk who need to head out to work in the fields. I'm told that we were mentioned on this mornings announcement, the foreigners have arrived. And compared to yesterday, I'd say the look on the locals faces upon seeing us has definitely changed from "who in the hell are you all?" to "oh those are the white people."

Yesterday we left to have a tour of the town, which ended in us walking up a short hill to the town square and being stopped as all of the children left school. For hours, until past dark, we were berated with questions in English, Spanish, and Quechua from the youngsters. Where are you from, what is your name, how old are you, what is your last name, over and over and over, followed by why do you have one piercing here but not on this side? What about in your nose? Did it hurt?! Can I touch it? Can you take it out? Many hands were held up as we compared skin tones and shades. I learned a few phrases in Quechua and forgot them just as quickly. It's impossible to learn on the fly, it's beautiful to hear too, not just by the elders but by small children who don't yet attend school and who don't even know any Spanish yet. Quechua may be a dying language but it lives on in the streets of Hualla, in the kitchens, in the children's games of soccer in the streets, and on the town announcements. And it's just as beautiful as you could ever dream. 

As are the children's faces, their sun kissed, dry skin faces. Tough little things they are.

We eat in a restaurant that is also a woman's house, Señora Gertrudes. She's very kind, and feeds us well. When we get tea, like say Chamomile, it is literally boiling water, boiled with Chamomile, like the plant. If that's not farm to table I'm not sure what is. 

We've been laughing about how much people pay back home for farm to table and organize or local produce restaurants. They should all just move to Peru. You can barely find a bottle of Coca Cola to buy here. 

The women dress the way you imagine Peruvian woman dress, it's beautiful. A culture of strong, hardworking people, all in this small pocket sized community. 

We walk around and everyone says hello, good afternoon, and so on, that or they just stare, like they've never seen a white person before, because well, some of them haven't. 

This morning the town icon, or symbol, of two alpacas on a high platform, above a fountain that has long ago run dry, was re-plastered and painted a fresh coat of neon orange.

It's so fascinating to think of all the students in the school being from the same single town. A place where global culture must be taught not simply absorbed through classmates, and after school activities.

Today we took our bus up another 1,000 feet to see a spot where a mass grave was excavated. The drive was rough but exhilarating, breathing at the top was a challenge. Today I went the highest on land I believe I've ever been at 14,126.02 feet (4,305.611 meters). We walked and talked and took photos. When we returned we had lunch. After lunch I spent some time reading on the roof. 

A few hours later we went to do some interviews with the team. It felt live and real and I'm not sure what words it deserves just yet. We sat in the mud brick home amongst their chicken and sheep and guinea pigs. They prepared dinner with corn and beans and potatoes as we talked. We sat on sheep skin mats on benches and rocks and plastic chairs. Donkeys walked past overhead as we sat in the open air section of the home. Neighbors would yell in, in Quechua of course. Later, their father bust through the door with what I can only assume was today's yield strung to his back, along with a donkey carrying a heavy load. A little later a woman fully adorned in Andean style came in also with a yield of crops on her back guiding the sheep into their pin. They feed up cooked corn and soup before we left, they were very sweet.

We talked and learned so much, about such complicated and painful things. In the end I took their family photo, in poor light conditions but still, they seemed quite excited. I live for those moments. It was beautiful.

We're cold all the time, not like winter at home cold, no, but like no heat indoors, never warm up, cold showers, kind of cold. The sun however is so hot, but only in direct sunlight do you feel it and you're usually too worried about getting burnt that you don't stay in it long. 

They have tea here which they've been calling mate, and you can get different kinds but here they have muña, and I have no idea what plant it is but it's supposed to be good for digestion and altitude, it taste good. 

Two of the girls have been sick and went to the doctor today, after we freed one from being locked in our bedroom for about 10 minutes. 

We walked around town a bit as we waited for space to open up to eat at Señora Gertrudes'. After dinner we checked on the sick and asked all about their Peruvian medical adventures and then played a few card games. 

We wake up to early here I must go to bed now. Yesterday's bedtime was 9:00, today's will be past 10:35, yikes! Buenas noches!

21/06/17 (the shortest day of the year)