Peruvian Home

Home, sweet Peruvian Home.

For the next two months I'll be living here in Ollantaytambo, Peru. It felt good to arrive and finally meet the family and see the town that will have me as a guest till August 25th. Exciting and relieving.

My room at my host family's home in Ollanta, looks out to dry mountains, dotted with Inkan ruins and dusty horse paths. A river runs below them, carving out the valley, dirtied with pollution from the all towns in the valley. A beautiful beach with grey sand, ideal for sunning, would be ideal for swimming if the river was clean. The growth rate and lack of environmental awareness/education is a horrendous combination. The people of this land are rapidly and unconsciously destroying it, along with corporations. All in this mad dash to profit from tourism and the globalized economy we share. Glimmers of its beauty are apparent from a distance: snow capped mountains, terraced hill sides and fingers of blue wood smoke reaching for the sky early in the morning. But the beauty of my host mom's smile, my host sister's excitement about Lady Gaga or the camaraderie that comes from drinking beer with my cousin can only be felt from a few inches away.

The host family is wonderful and the house a shambling collection of bits and pieces. The kitchen and dining area are adobe with tarped ceilings and dirt floors. Currently visiting the dining area is a Virgin and a daily prayer group at 5pm. Cooking to the sound of old women reciting Ave Marias is novel and slightly creepy. In the kitchen you'll find about 40 guinea pigs running around, squeaking and eating alfalfa. Called "cuy" here there are source of protein; fatty, gamey and totally edible. Guarding the cuy is dirty little white kitten who spends it's days napping near the fogon - a wood fired stove. The fogon sees the most cooking action, soup, rice, potatoes, but we occasionally use gas. Nearby the family has farmland with peas, alfalfa, a grumpy old cow, more cuy and plenty of wood for cooking fuel. Just outside the kitchen is the chicken coop and the yard. 9 hens freely roam under the sun and rooster's watchful eye while laying an egg every few days or so. Three, small in size but bursting with bravado, dirty white dogs - Yogi, Oso and Pelusa - guard the complex, barking late into the night at every moving shadow. They chased a huge pig out of the yard last Monday and I laughed so hard as they did. The living quarters are two stories high, cement and rectangular. Cool during the hot days and cold during the cold nights. I'm on the bottom floor, in the largest room that I've ever called home. Such a change from the tiny SF boxes people call apartments.

The family is Ana Maria(mom), Alejandrina(neighbor), Margarita(sister), Katy(sister), Abrahm(adopted son), Rueben(cousin) and Goyo(adopted son). Ana Maria is the president of a 2,000 member women's association that formed to fight injustices happening to women in Sacred Valley. In addition to being politically rad, she farms, runs the family, operates a store downtown and is great to simply talk with. Alejandrina cooks and cleans but lives up the road. A bit surly, but with a deep, fleshy laugh that warms my heart. This leads me to do silly shit in an attempt to make her smile. Margarita works for the municipality but spent 6 years in Italy studying to be a nun. Realizing she wanted a family, she kicked the habit and returned home. We bake cakes together and generally act like brother and sister, punching, stepping on each other's toes and teasing each other about enamorados. Katy is in high school and literally jumped for joy when I busted out the Lady Gaga. Abrahm is 8. He spends his time spinning tops, playing in the dirt and complaining about doing chores. We have much in common. Rueben drives a combi, collective van, between Ollantaytambo and Urubamba. He just broke up with his wife and is living with us for a while. Goyo is working on a local political campaign and the national literacy effort. He is in and out of the house. The mix of people is well balanced, woman led and pleasant. The time we spend in the smoky, squeaking kitchen drinking mate, eating and joking is comforting, healing. I feel at home.