The whole thing is surreal: at night, I sat in the kitchen, on a mud bench covered with straw, and watched the grandmother (Mama Sabina) in full traditional clothing, tend the fire in the mud stove. Cuy (guinea pig) scurried along the floor; a cat lay at her feet and a dog under the table. There is no electricity; the only light came from the fire and the small bit of sun that managed to fit through the door. Intermittently piglets, a rooster, and chickens would enter, only to be promptly shooed away in brusque Quechua by Mama Sabina. We ate-potatoes and pork- and sat chatting. I was feverish; Luis wrapped me in woolen and blankets and placed me on a bed of hay by the fire. When finally around 7PM Luis' uncles arrived from Kolpas bringing the things we had left behind, I was able to get to my Advil and go to sleep on the bed of hay Luis had made on the porch of his mother's home. It was the most comfortable bed I'd had in days; thickly laid straw covered in animal hides and five thick blankets. At first, the night was a thick black and the stars were the most brilliant I had ever seen; later, when the moon made its appearance, it shone so brightly it was hard to sleep.
Apparently our bed had been made where the chicken also likes to sleep; she wasn't willing to give up her bed so easily. Once I was settled under the covers, she settled on top of me. Although I tried to move her, she repeatedly aggressively returned and nested on my knees.
August20 - Wednesday
We woke early, 6AM. I felt much better; we ate breakfast - bread and potatoes. I observed while the men -Tio Juan, Tio Nemecio, and Luis- sorted potatoes for planting. At 12 I bathed -a luxurious pot of boiled water- which felt incredible. The wind was cold but the sun was out and the water hot - it was the first I'd bathed since Saturday, and after two full days of walking and three nights sweating under thick woolen blankets, it was time. We sat and talked in the sun; I watched as the men sorted more potatoes; we ate lunch: a fried egg, potatoes, and freshly killed cuy.
After lunch the men went to cut more hay on the other side of the mountain. I stayed behind, and here I find myself: seated on rocks, watching women in colorful outfits traverse the slopes, tending their animals with large bundles on their backs and small children trailing behind. Men ride across the fields on horseback, others return slowly from planting, their tools in hand.
Halfway through the afternoon I move down the hill to protect the sacks of potatoes from the grazing pigs; the only sounds are the bleating of sheep, the wind whipping through the hills, and the occasional whinny of a horse. In the fields between the houses graze sheep, cattle, and pigs, while dogs sleep and chickens roam.
Its hard to comprehend: surrounded on all sides by mountains, in the midst of homes of mud and straw, there is no thought of electricity, running water, cars, or phones. I sat and watched the sun set over Rondoní. As the sun lowered in the sky, the mountain was framed by a spectacular light; I understand why there is so much folklore surrounding Rondoní - he dominates the distance with impressive stature.
When Luis and Tio Nemecio reutrned, we went to eat in Mama Juana's house. It gets dark by 6:30, so by 7:30 it feels like bedtime. It is the definition of pitch black, in a beautiful, sleep-inducing kind of way.
August21 - Thursday
(morning entry)
We woke around 5:30AM, as the sky was starting to lighten; I laid in bed and watched the rising sun burn up the clouds around Rondoní in reds, yellows, and blues. By 6:30 the clouds had returned and I could no longer see the great mountain.
It is before 7AM; it is cold. It is Thursday, August 21. I still haven't called home, classes are in session now, no one knows where I am. I'm surprised that I'm healthy. I'm still blown away by the thought that I am the only foreigner to ever visit these parts.
Luis and Tio Auroldi have gone on horseback to other villages to find workers for tomorrow in the fields. The plan is this: today, they will search for workers. In the afternoon, I think they will work in the fields. Tomorrow, others will come to help; they will plant.
(afternoon entry)
Today: It is interesting being here. I've been enlisted to fetch water, tend the stove, and today I helped plant potatoes. What a vacation. We ate breakfast -fried dough, coffee, and potato soup- and when the men were ready we headed up the hill to sembrar (plant). I carried with me a lamb -no more than 4 days old, umbilical cord still attached- that Luis had found lost on the hill. As the men began their work, I climbed to the top of the mountain, to two of the highest peaks. From there I could see Huamali and gorgeous mountains as far as the eye can see in every direction. At the very top of the highest point, I could just barely see the peaks of the Cordillera Blanca looming in the distance. I descended -with the baby lamb still tucked into my shirt- and helped with the planting a bit until Mama Sabina and Mama Juana brought lunch up the hill. It was the most traditional Andean scene! After lunch we stretched out in the sun, listened to Cumbia, and chewed coca leaves. I helped plant a bit more and then wandered to the top of another mountain. From there, the view was once again (surprise surprise) stunning. I descended; the planting moved to another area; the sky darkened and began to rumble. The wind became bitter and I retreated to the hut from which they guard their animals at night. The days are laboriously slow: it is only 3 or 3:30 and I could swear it should be approaching night.
As the sky darkened Luis urged me to return to the house; I descended quickly, falling along the way; much to my delight I found enough water in the village with which to wash my hands and face. Its only 4:30 and I'm ready for bed! I pulled out my MAC to look in the mirror: my face is sunburned and chapped by the wind. I definitely look a bit more serrana!
lunch on the mountain
chewing coca with a lamb in my vest //Potrero:
planting potatoes
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