Las Aventuras del Lago Titicaca

 

Enjoying the first class bus ride

Floating island, Uros

Alex trying to warm up
in Puno

Reed boat on Uros

Inside our guide boat 

And another one bites the dust! Last weekend Alex and I were able to check off yet another item on the bucket list by visiting the world's highest navigable lake, Lake Titicaca. We began the weekend's adventure on Friday night at ten o'clock as we rolled out of Cusco, snuggled comfortably in the first class level of a Tour Peru bus, headed for the Lake Titicaca port town of Puno. The six hour journey landed us in Puno around four o'clock in the morning where we were then dropped off at our tour agency's office to sleep for a few more hours. Puno sits at a high 12,556 feet above sea level and when pouring rain is added to the mix, it makes for quite chilly temperatures. So Alex and I were not only grateful to have more time to sleep, but we were overjoyed when we saw a heaping pile of blankets for us to warm up with. Around eight o'clock we met up with the other thirteen members of our group and boarded the passenger boat that would be our voyage capsule for the next two days as we drifted around three of Lake Titicaca's ninety islands.

Gnawing on totora - it tasted
like celery 

After slowly motoring through the blue waters for two hours, we roped up at our first stop Uros. Uros is one of roughly forty-four "floating islands" or fabricated islands made of a buoyant native lake reed called totora. Originally the Uru people built these floating islands to escape from violence on the main land; if they we ever in danger, the inhabitants could release the wooden stakes at the bottom of the lake and move their island to a different location. Nowadays, these islands are mainly used to attract tourists. (With that said, I should note that I don't know if I have ever felt like such a tourist in my life as when we visited Lake Titicaca.) When I stepped off the boat, it was strange to feel how squishy the reeds were beneath my shoes; it was as if the island had some spring to it. No wonder the kids were running around barefoot!
We gladly accepted an offer to take a ride in the island's reed boat which was powered by a man who pushed the boat along with a tall, slender pole. The man pushing our boat along told us each boat takes about a month to make and everyone on the island helps in the construction of the boat, which they do every two years. After about fifteen minutes we docked back on Uros and were given a presentation about Uros and the other reed islands. Each island is approximately six and a half feet thick and holds roughly thirty people, or eight families. The children are transported every morning two hours by rowboat to attend school and surprisingly, each small house has electricity via solar energy. While visiting Uros was incredibly interesting, it was practically impossible to imagine living in such a place. I thought it was rough growing up in small-town Estes Park, but it really makes me cringe to think about being raised on an island that is no more than twenty-five yards wide. Talk about everyone knowing your business!

Me and our host Aurelia 

Alex at the entrance
to one of the reed houses

After peaking in a few totora houses and purchasing an overpriced memento, we loaded back on the guide boat and hunkered down for the hour and a half ride to Amantaní, the island where we were going to be staying for the night. We were greeted upon arrival by a group of native women, our hosts for the time being, with whom we were divvied up and sent off. Alex and I, along an Irish woman, Marie, followed our host, Aurelia, straight up the hillside to her abode where we were introduced to her husband and son. Quechua is the native language of the island and it was such an experience to listen in on the family's conversations. I have never heard such a language spoken in my life. I've heard Spanish, Portuguese, French, Italian, German etcetera, but Quechua is so rare that hearing it was like hearing music for the first time; there are flowing words but the language also includes many guttural sounds and pitches. After dropping off our backpacks our group hiked up to the base of two hills that peaked at the top of Amantaní,  Pachamama and Pachatata. Alex and I broke the mold of "lazy Americans" as we were the only two in the group who hiked the steeper Pachamama, or "Mother Earth" in Quechua. The hike followed a stone path boarded by acres of pasture, sectioned off by stone fences and held an absolutely breathtaking 360 degree view from the top. It was this view that really gave me a perspective on Lake Titicaca. All the lakes I have ever been to in my life have been surrounded by massive mountains, hills, trees or some sort of landscape that made the lake seem proportional. Lake Titicaca, however, really felt like it was brimming at the top of the world; like at any second, it was going to start spilling over. It's vastness resembled more of an ocean than any lake I have ever seen, and the islands sprinkled throughout truly looked like the tips of mountains. As Alex and I sat to enjoy the view, we both agreed that, while neither of us ever thought we'd find ourselves visiting Lake Titicaca, we were sure glad we'd made it happen. It is quite an extraordinary body of water.

Offering ruin on Pachamama

Offering ruin on Pachatata

We returned home to Aurelia cooking dinner on an open fire and our room illuminated with candles... did I mention that we didn't have electricity? As the temperature dropped we found ourselves gathered in the kitchen attempting to warm up by the cook fire and having a broken conversation about what life is like on the island. Both Aurelia and her husband, Vincent,  were born and raised on Amantaní as well as the generations before them. Vincent followed in his father's footsteps by becoming a farmer and Aurelia weaved blankets to sell. While they both have a "job" their main source of income is from tourists, like ourselves. In fact, the entire island of Amantaní is supported by tourists. The families have a system where they rotate hosting tourists, which allows them to share the wealth instead of having only a couple families gain profit. Following a delicious, warm meal, Aurelia quickly dressed us in traditional, colorful clothing and led us to an empty schoolroom where we met up with every other tourist on the island, also adorned in customary Amantaní garb. We danced along to the beat of the three-man-band, holding hands and rhythmically parading around in a large circle. An hour later we headed back to our candle-lit room and hit hay (or should I say "hit the reeds" as our beds were resting on a heap of totora) excited for our adventures to come.

Saying goodbye on Sunday
 morning

Bolivia is in the background

We woke up early on Sunday morning to the sound of pouring rain on the tin roof and frigid temperatures. Hot coffee and steaming crêpes warmed us up and, after being escorted back to the port and saying thanks and farewell to Aurelia, we were back on the boat, rocking through the rough swells toward our last stop: the island of Tequile.    Unfortunately our guide failed to show up Sunday morning so our group was pretty much on our own for touring Tequile. Alex and I, along with some of our new friends, were able to trail another tour group who's guide pointed out the Bolivian port town of Copacabana as well as the Bolivian islands of Isla del Sol and Isla de la Luna. While we didn't get the chance to visit, it was neat to be able to look across the immense lake towards the Bolivian shore. 

Yummy lunch 

By the time we reached the top of Tequile, the weather had done a complete turnaround and instead of drizzling cold rain, the sun was shining hot and bright, without a cloud in the sky.  We enjoyed a delicious, classic lunch of rice, potatoes and fried lake trout and were given a presentation by a "stand-in" guide on various Tequile traditions. One example he shared with us was the different colored hats men wore or different sashes women wore when they were either single, dating, married or divorced. He also told us about the traditional courting procedure of a young couple; if two people decided they wanted to date, their parents would have to meet over this matter and if they agreed on the courtship the couple would have to live together for a year. If, at the end of this year, they were satisfied with the relationship, they would then marry. However, if they decided they didn't want to continue the relationship, they moved out and went their separate ways. 

With a twenty minute warning until departure back to Puno, Alex and I saw this as our "Polar Bear Club" opportunity and scurried down the other side of Tequile to retrieve our swimsuits from the boat. We joined a group of equally crazy Australians and, jumping on an opportunity of a life time, jumped off the top of one of the tour boats into the crystal clear, fifty degree waters of Lake Titicaca. 

Thank goodness the weather was gorgeous, because we were able to sunbathe on the boat during our three and a half hour ride back to Puno. I will say, however, that at 12,507 feet even three applications of sunscreen won't prevent skin-peeling sunburns! 

Upon arrival back in Puno, we enjoyed a delicious cold beer and dinner with our friends until nine- thirty, when we climbed aboard the bus back to Cusco. As we rattled home through the Peruvian streets, I couldn't help but be slightly saddened that another weekend had passed, and while it was an amazing one, it also meant that we only had two weeks left in Peru. 

Thank you all for reading and following along with our Peruvian adventures - I hope your all enjoying and stay tuned for what our final weeks in Cusco will bring!   

Fiesta De Los Tres Reyes en Ollantaytambo

Sarah and I are very cognoscente of the time we have left in Peru.  With that said, at the beginning of January we had realized there are a few things that we have yet to do with only three weeks left; Things such as trying the ever-popular cuisine of cuy and ceviche and also visiting lake Titicaca.  We wanted to make our trip to Lake Titicaca for the weekend of January 5^th and 6^th but we had a conflict of interest.  Our whole host family was going to Ollantaytambo, a small town on the way to Machu Picchu, for a festival of dances.  Jully, our host mom, explained to us that January 6^th is an especially important day in the Catholic Church and in turn for the Peruvian culture.  It is the day that the three kings (Tres Reyes) arrived to Bethlehem with the gifts of myrrh, frankincense, and gold.  In celebration of this many towns in Peru have parties, music, dances, and of course, fireworks.  Ollantaytambo is a town that is known for its folkloric dances and a bullfight during their celebrations.  The opportunity to go outside the tourist soaked Cusco to a party in a native Peruvian town was appetizing.  So we put our trip to Lake Titicaca on hold.

            We started our trip on Saturday afternoon at 4 pm.  Half the family went in Tio Tomas’s SUV and Jully, Sarah, Sandra (an Austrian woman also staying in our house), and I took a collectivo.  We have taken this ride to Ollantaytambo before, but only stopped there for a twenty-minute break during our Machu Picchu trip.  So, we were excited to see more of the town.  But in typical Peruvian fashion nothing can be expected.  We had to take a longer route due to a bridge along the main road that was collapsing, there were multiple parts of the road covered with fallen rock, and finally a truck full of fruits had turned over in the road with women collecting the unmashed fruits to continue their route to the markets in Cusco.   After an hour and a half  we finally reached the one-way cobble stop road up the hill to Ollantaytambo.  

Roaming Parrots in the courtyard.

             We unloaded and followed Jully to a friend’s hostal where we were going to be staying the night.  The hostel had three parrots perched in trees in the courtyard.  We quickly left to see some dances.  On the way through the town to the main plaza we learned that our host family, including Padre Cesar, is pretty popular.  Jully had lived there when her kids were younger; Jully’s mother had owned a restaurant in the main plaza a couple years ago, and Padre Cesar lives in the town right down the road and preaches in Ollantaytambo frequently.  So everywhere we went we ended up stopping to meet a friend.   We arrived in the plaza just in time to see the beginning processions of the weekend’s festivities.  The plaza was full with masked, colorfully clothed dancers and a procession of hoisted, glass encased memorials of decorated dolls representing the three kings.  There was a walkway decorated in flowers in which the dancers first bowed to and then preceded to dance their way down the main alley to a church where mass was to be held.  The church was packed with people so Jully’s eldest son, Mauricio, walked me, Sarah and Sandra, through the rest of the town.  From what I could understand from Mauricio, Ollantaytambo is the only town in Peru that has ancient Inca ruins in which people still live in and around.

Colorful dancers in
traditional maks.

Beginning procession over
the flower walkway

            After grabbing some delicious pollo ala brasa from a friend’s restaurant we headed back out to the main area of town where the folkloric dances were going to be held.  We arrived to a crowd of people surrounding a small plazanita outside of another church at the top of a hill.  There were bleachers but they were already packed with people overlooking the dances that had commenced in a big circle. Groups of dancers waited behind the crowds in the alleyways drinking beer, as one group of dancers and musicians pushed through the crowd to the center of the circle.  Since Sarah and I are a good two feet taller than the average Peruvian we had no problem seeing the dances from a couple rows back. Each group had different colors, themes, masks, and dances.  There were two dances in particular that grabbed our attention.  The first dance, named Q’achampa, was a dance where everyone was wearing masks that looked like devil faces with moustaches.  I bought one because I thought they were cool.  Anyway, their outfits were rainbow colored like the official flag of Cusco.  They had bits of dangling metal jewelry all over their outfits that made chiming noises as they pranced around.  They also carried whips that they would occasionally snap.  At one point in the dance, two dancers at a time filed into the center.  One dancer stood as still as a stone as the other danced mockingly around him and after a few seconds the dancer raised his whip up and snapped it at the feet and legs of the other standing still.  He did this two or three times, and I mean hard with a loud whipping sound, and the guy standing still did not budge.  As soon as the first guy was done the guy standing still instantly jumped up happily and danced around in celebration of his retaliation as if nothing happened to his legs.  This continued for all the dancers until they came together for a small group dance.  Just then the music changed to a faster chaotic rhythm and the dancers immediately started running around, randomly whipping the sin out of each other in a ‘fend-for-yourself-manner’.  Every spectator on the inside edge of the circle was covering their faces with their hands or with the person next to them as anyone could have caught a stray whip to the face.  And some did.   

Dance circle in front of the church.

The next dance, named Herreros, was comical for the adults, terrifying for the kids, and left everyone in between vulnerable.  Jully had warned us about this dance because her youngest son Fernando had not liked it in years past.  In fact, as soon as it started he hid behind Jully and Sandra and was nowhere to be seen.   A loud deep drum started as well as triangle that had an ominous tone unlike the other music we heard throughout the night.  Slowly, dark masked and clothed men and boys dressed as shoe makers emerged into the center of the circle.  Holding wires and pliers they started to scan the crowd of people to look for a victim.  The crowd of people surrounding the circle started backing up as we could feel the tension rising.  Suddenly, unannounced, one dancer ran towards us parting the crowd of people instantly.  He tauntingly looked around the crowd, scanning everyone’s shoes and faces.  He walked back towards the circle again and just as everyone around us was exhaling from holding their breath, he turned back around and dove back our direction.  This time he bear hugged and grabbed the teenager standing right next to us.  Although some boys were taunting the dancer, it seemed as if they wanted to be captured but at the same time wanted to wrestle away once they were caught.  That being said one dancer wrestled the boy until the other dancers, who were taunting the rest of the crowd, realized they had a victim.  The scrum between the dancer and boy was aggressive but not violent until the rest of the dancers came and picked the boy up off the ground holding every limb at bay.   The crowed calmed down observing what was quietly happening to the boy for a few minutes.  Finally the dancers placed the boy back on his feet and scattered away, leaving him in the center of the dance circle with all eyes focus on him.  His shoes were wired and bound together.  As he hopped back to the edge of the circle the crowd laughed as one of the dancers tried to hip bump him to topple him over.  This process was repeated a few times with different victims.  Twice the person next to Sarah and I was snatched up.  At one point the dancers ran down the alley, sending people climbing into the back of a produce truck and up the wall of the church.  Once they were done they slowly retreated back into the crowd, the music died out, and all the small children reappeared when the coast was clear.  Soon after, the fiesta ensued with another group of colorful dancers and music pushing their way up the alley into the circle for their performance.

Mountain side ruin

That night the dances were scheduled until late into the night but we decided we were ready for bed.  We walked back to our hostel and settled in for the night since the next day, Sunday January 6^th, was the official day of celebration.  We woke up early Sunday and had some breakfast and set out to hike Pinkuylluna, a mountain overlooking the town.  It was Jully’s eldest son Mauricio’s idea to hike the mountain and so Sarah, Sandra, Jully, Fernando, and I joined him in the summit.  On the way up the mountain there were Inca ruins scattered along the mountainside.  We wandered off the beaten path and ended up taking a less traveled and steep trail that took us up the edge of the mountain.   Our Peruvian family, especially young Fernando, questioned every decision around every rock on how we should keep going up.  We passed a couple small ruins and eventually got high enough to see the flag at the summit of the mountain.  But with Sarah’s feet aching from wearing rain boots, (she was bummed she was ill prepared for hiking since we did not know we were going to hike this trip) and our Peruvian company all adventured out, we had decided to go to a point where some ruins were that was close to the summit.  We eventually made it and enjoyed the view of the small city below and then started our climb down. 

Mountain side ruin.

Ruin at the point that we hiked to. 

Mauricio (14) and Fernando (10

Sarah and I at the point overlooking the town. 

Hillside of spectators for the bullfight.

After lunch, we had one more thing to experience before we left back to Cusco: a bullfight.  We could hardly wait after lunch so we left a little bit early since we had already seen the crowds of people heading towards the arena.  The arena was packed but the hillside next to the arena, covered in Inca ruins, was also covered with Peruvians.  We decided to climb up the hill and found a good perch to check out the bullfight.  We waited for close to an hour watching vendors selling various snacks and ice-cream to the crowd.  Eventually the procession of dancers with the three matadors made it to the arena.  A microphone fired up and an announcer did his best to keep the crowd entertained as they readied the bulls.  Finally the bullfight began.  None of us had ever seen a bullfight but when we couldn’t deny its grace and beauty. The fluid like footwork and handwork with the red drape was amazing.  It seemed as if the matador was floating around the bull.  Just as they had finished teasing the first bull of the event and the crates of beer were beginning to empty, Jully told us it was time for us to go.  We had to leave earlier in the afternoon because we were going to try to take a bus back to Cusco and they are few and more expensive later in the day. 

Our view from the hillside.

We gathered our things from the hostel and went in search for a bus, along with everyone else that was visiting in town.  It was mayhem finding a bus, but Jully used her magic and got us one to the next town, Urubamba.  We were talking about how we were unsure if we were going to get a bus ride from Urubamba to Cusco when Jully received a phone call and we were rushed off the bus to a friend’s truck that was heading back to Cusco.  I wasn’t lying when I said our family was popular in that town.  We happily got into the four-door truck and settled for the ride back.  The main road was jammed packed with people trying to go into town for the fiestas that were to come that night and bus loads of people returning from Machu Picchu.  We were on our way on the main road back home when we took a quick turn off along the river on a dirt and rocky road.  This was the local Peruvian shortcut back to Cusco.  We drove a little over an hour on this bumpy road, dodging pot holes and various landslides.  At one point we picked up a mother and her two daughters in the back of the truck for a part of the trip.   

 Woman and her kids catching a ride.

With our brains sufficiently rattled from the high-speed off-roading, we were happy to reach the last paved stretch back home.  We pulled off the road to a town that Tio Tomas knew to see the party another Tres Reyes celebration that was going down.  All of Peru was celebrating.  After a quick stop to check out an Argentinean dance, we were back on the road.  When we made it back to Cusco it didn’t take long for us to grab a bite to eat and head to bed.  We were happy to have gotten a true Peruvian experience of the Fiesta de los Tres Reyes but we were also happy to be home.  Another Peruvian adventure down and only two more weekends left to enjoy Cusco.  Next weekend we head to Lake Titicaca so look forward to a blog about that.  Thanks for reading!

Video of our Fiesta de los Tres Reyes Experience.

            

Año Nuevo en Cusco

You know that feeling when you wake up in the morning, knowing that your day is going to hold an experience of a lifetime? That was exactly the feeling I had waking up on New Year's Eve. Before I had time to even think about breakfast, Alex was up and dressed, stressing the fact that we needed to go buy fireworks. After witnessing the incredible display of fireworks on Christmas, he was determined to be a part of the mayhem on New Years. With the prize in mind, we scurried off through masses of people to Molino, the black market, we were sure to buy an array of fireworks. The streets were packed with vendors selling any and every yellow object they could come up with. We quickly learned yellow is the color of "buena suerte" or good luck, therefore the representing color of New Year’s. Everywhere we looked we saw yellow underwear, yellow bras, yellow feather boas, yellow plastic "Happy 2003"glasses (close enough), yellow confetti and most prominently, yellow flowers. We weaseled our way through merchant tents, Alex surveying each firework stand for the perfect collection of explosives and me scoping out fullest bouquet of flowers for Jully and the cheapest bottle of celebratory champagne. Content with our purchases, we swam home through the yellow-laced streets even more excited for our Peruvian Año Nuevo celebration. 

Alex and Angelica 

New Year's glasses = success

I was able to convince one merchant to sell me her leftover sparkly gold and silver pipe cleaners from Christmas and Alex and I headed off to the orphanage for a fun afternoon of New Year's crafting with the girls.  We arrive to an uncommonly quiet orphanage, with not a child in sight. I asked Janet, the director, if it was not a good day for us to come. She explained the girls were “napping” because they had a party to attend at church that began at midnight and they probably weren’t going to get home until around six in the morning. It was at this moment that Alex and I realized we were in for a treat. If a group of children were going to be partying at a church until six a.m., what in the world was our night going to consist of? Janet said it wasn’t a bad time to come because she didn’t think the girls were sleeping anyways. As I climbed the stairs to the bedroom I heard their muffled giggles and knew I’d made the right decision to spend New Year’s Eve afternoon with my favorite Peruvian kids.

Delicious dinner

Alex and I helped them make classic sparkly New Year’s pipe cleaner glasses. They got a kick out of them and couldn’t wait to wear them at their party later in the night but after an hour of crafting and trying on each others glasses, they scurried back down to their room insistent on getting in a nap before the big night began.  Alex and I followed suit and returned home to nap before going out to dinner and meeting up with friends for the night.

La Plaza de Armas close to midnight 

During our search for a suitable restaurant, we stumbled upon a small courtyard with Justine’s Pizza and Wine tucked quietly in the corner. After enjoying what we both swear to be the best pizza we’ve ever had and a bottle of delicious Chilean wine, we paid the $27 bill (we are SO spoiled) and headed off to a local hostel to meet our friends.

King Alex at the hostel - notice all
the yellow! 

The hostel was completely crazy. A large television was displaying countdowns to midnight across the world, so every hour a new group of people would go absolutely bonkers welcoming the New Year in their part of the globe. Around eleven thirty we decided to make our way to La Plaza de Armas, the central gathering area for the city of Cusco to celebrate. You could hear the premature fireworks and booming music from blocks away, hinting at the chaos unfolding in the center. But as we rounded the corner to the plaza, I finally understood what Jully meant when she said that everyone in Cusco went to the center for midnight. With the exception of firework-launching zones, the plaza was packed to the brim with people. Groups of rowdy college kids were jumping wildly to the live music, excited little kids were dashing around with sparklers, packs of drunken partiers were trying to sing along with the band and men were dashing in and out of firework circles, lighting various explosives. It was sheer pandemonium.

Alex didn’t waist a second in lighting his fireworks. I warned him not to blow his hand off as he ran off to one of the firework zones and he returned with an ear-to-ear grin, saying he gave the firework to a little boy standing next to him. Apparently, Alex proceeded to light the firework, and the boy, with an expression of sheer excitement, launched the firecrackers straight into the air. Everyone in the near vicinity scattered like rats as the boy calmly backed away, fireworks exploding at his feet and a perma-grin glued on his face. As the minutes ticked down to midnight, the craziness of the plaza cranked up. When the clock struck twelve the entire plaza erupted in an ocean of cheers, screaming and excessive firework lighting. I’m not sure how or when it happened, but at some point everyone standing in the surrounding streets started jogging clockwise around the center, dancing, singing, laughing and screaming as they went. It didn’t take long for more people to join the procession and in a matter of minutes there was a river of jovial partiers flowing through the plaza. Of course Alex and I couldn’t just stand by and watch this event unfold. We jumped right in, skipping along with the crowd. It was incredibly fun and definitely a highlight of the New Year’s celebration, but when we emerged from rapids of people, I noticed that in the hustle and bustle of the excitement, my wallet had been taken. While it was a bit of a bummer for me, I bet it was an even bigger bummer for the person who took it, when they realized I didn’t have much to offer. After Alex realized he was given a fake ten soles bill, we decided to cut our losses and head back to the hostel to reunite with our friends, who we inevitably lost in the crowd.

We returned home around four in the morning, fully satisfied about the manner in which we welcomed in 2013.

New Year's breakfast at Jacks - yum! 

In keeping with the welcoming of the New Year, we woke up the next day and enjoyed a heavenly breakfast at Jack’s Café, arguably the best breakfast spot in town. With full, happy stomachs Alex and I reminisced about our New Year’s; we enjoyed great food, friendly company, an amazing midnight celebration, parading around the plaza, even more crazy fireworks and all the while dwelling in the incredible city of Cusco, Peru.

Yes, New Year’s 2013 is sure to never be forgotten.

The Peruvian Christmas Experience

Our small but brightly shining
Christmas tree

Feliz Navidad y Año Nuevo de Cusco! I hope this post finds everyone happy, healthy and enjoying a wonderful 2013. As you can imagine, spending the holidays in Peru was QUITE the experience. With that said, I’ll begin by saying that the quantity of fireworks set off during Christmas and New Years in Peru doesn’t hold a flame to the best Fourth of July fireworks show in the States… pun intended. I’ll explain more on this point, but first it would be good to share a little about what happened before the explosions begin.

Hundreds of women and children
 from the countryside sleeping
 in La Plaza the night before
selling their goods at the Market. 

As I stated in a previous post, unlike the U.S., where we start preparing for Christmas in November, Cusco doesn’t really get into the Christmas spirit until the week of… or should I say day of. Alex and I left the house on the morning of December 24th with plans to visit the annual La Plaza de Armas Christmas Eve Market our host mother had told us about. We quickly realized that what we thought was going to be a leisurely afternoon in the city was going to be quite the opposite; it was as if every Peruvian realized they had yet to do any Christmas shopping and flooded the streets in a frenzied, “I need gifts” panic. Being a member of the Almond family, and naturally being late for most events, I felt completely empathetic and right at home at the sight of this.  Thankfully, however, I had done a small amount of Christmas shopping the day before Christmas Eve and was able to breathe a sigh of relief, knowing I was slightly ahead of Peruvian schedule.  

So, after riding in a crammed collectivo and weaving our way through throngs of hasty shoppers, we finally arrived in the Center.  Alex and I have explored quite a few different markets during our time here in Cusco, but never have we seen anything like this. The roads were all blocked off in order for hundreds, literally hundreds, of white merchant tents to crowd the cobblestone streets, leaving only narrow walkways for the thousands of shoppers to mosey through.

Christmas Eve Market in La Plaza de Armas 

With all five senses on overdrive we began touring through the tents, admiring the craftsmanship displayed in every one. Merchants were selling anything from fireworks, to pottery, to small glittery clothes and cradles for baby Jesus dolls – anything you wanted could be found at this market. After picking out a few little gifts and coming dangerously close to buying an adorable, fluffy, brown Christmas puppy, Alex and I decided we’d had enough of the sights, sounds and smells and settled for a cup of coffee before heading back home.

Fountain decorations in La Plaza

One of the city's many nativity sets

As darkness rolled in, we had yet to find an Evangelical church to attend for  Christmas Eve service. We accepted an offer from Jully to go with the family to their Catholic church and around eight o’clock, eight of us piled into Padre Cesar’s car (Father Cesar is a Catholic priest from the Sacred Valley who stays at our house every weekend) and drove up the winding hillside roads to the Catholic church. If you’re anything like me, you are probably imagining a beautiful, historic Spanish cathedral where people attend, dressed in their Sunday best while a booming organ plays in the background. Again, I couldn’t have been more wrong in my assumption. We pulled up outside a small, concrete gathering area laden with small posters of Jesus and Mother Mary and were greeted by a small congregation dressed in old jeans, jackets and scarves. Our clan pulled up a rickety wooden bench and settled in for what I was sure to be hours of Catholic mass. The service commenced as Padre Cesar welcomed everyone to Christmas Eve service and cued the lone guitar player to gather everyone to worship through song. The congregation surprised me once more by rising immediately and joining together in boisterous singing and clapping. When I noticed a family’s dog pacing impatiently around the congregation and the intense game of freeze tag being played by a group of rambunctious children behind us, it became clear that this service wasn't going to be what I had in mind. With an appreciation for the unexpected Christmas Eve service I was attending, I focused my attention on Padre Cesar’s sermon; my first and only Spanish sermon. He told the classic tale of Mary’s struggle in finding an inn and the birth of Jesus Christ but what I found most interesting was his message directed to the children. He reminded them that Christmas was not about the material gifts, the best present, or what they didn’t get that their friends did. I was immediately struck by flashbacks of the countless Christmas Eve children’s sermons I listened to growing up. It’s funny how I appreciated this message more now, as a young adult, than I ever did as a child. A short hour later, members of the congregation were invited to bring forward their baby Jesus in order for it to be blessed before placing it in the nativity set at home; this explained the excessive amounts of sparkly baby Jesus doll accessories on sale at the market earlier in the day. With arms open wide above the dozens of baby Jesus', Padre Cesar said a quick prayer and just like that, the service was over.

The host family dog, Scott,
being taken back inside
after repeatedly attacking
live fireworks... it was in his
best interest. 

The gang hanging out before the
 fireworks and feast

We returned home to warm soup and appetizers before the Christmas Eve feast. Most of the ovens in Cusco are propane fueled so in order to properly cook the traditional Christmas turkey, and ensure the best flavor, it must be sent to one of the various “cook houses” around the city with up-to-par ovens. This being said, dinner was planned for around eleven o’clock at night. We spent the night laughing, playing games, snacking and drinking “generales”, a favorite Peruvian beverage of sweet rosé wine mixed with pisco liquor. As midnight rolled around, there was still no word on our turkey. But, as our host family started lighting sparklers in the house, we quickly realized that midnight was no time to worry about silly things like eating. No, no. It was time for the show to begin… it was time for fireworks. With the stinging scent of sparklers filling the house, the eleven of us (our host family, their cousins, fellow house guest Sandra, Alex and I) filed out into the street. Sandra, Alex and I had no idea we were going to be greeted by a fiesta of colorful explosions filling the night sky. I am not exaggerating when I say the amount of fireworks that night was like nothing I had ever experienced in my life. At twelve o’clock on the dot the entire city of Cusco erupted with vibrant skyrocketing blasts, deafening hisses and pops and the smoky scent of gunpowder. Seven-year-olds lit off professional-grade mortars, toddlers wobbled around waving spitting sparklers, hunched over old men scurried away from their lit rocket launchers, middle-aged house moms chased after each other holding roman candles, and barking dogs frantically tired to smother erupting firecrackers. It was the kind of firework show people prepare weeks in advance for in the U.S., but here, it took merely seconds for the entire valley to flare up. Furthermore, I thought that anyone who wanted to set off fireworks of massive proportion needed training and a license: not in Peru. If you knew how to spark a lighter or strike a match, you were welcomed to the party.  The bulk of the explosions lasted well over a half hour but, with stomachs growling and a second wind of energy, we resorted back into the house, ready to feast.

Overjoyed by eggnog success 

The Feast

In minutes the table was laden with pasta salads, sweet potato casserole, homemade applesauce, spinach and almond salad and a massive, steaming turkey. As we happily enjoyed every dish, our family warned us of even more fireworks during New Years and told us about the various firework injuries of years past. Alex and I had spent the entire morning experimenting in the kitchen, successfully attempting to make homemade eggnog. As the dinner plates were removed from the table, I anxiously dished out cups of creamy eggnog, reminding our family and guests that it was strictly an experiment and not to worry if they didn’t like it. It turned out I was the one not to worry.  Let’s just say that if we ever decide to make Cusco home, Alex and I will make a very nice living selling eggnog. They LOVED it. By loved it, I mean they all wanted second helpings and when Alex and I woke up on Christmas morning, not only had the family already helped themselves, but they had also prepared containers full for Percy to take to family and work. While we may have introduced them to the delicious beverage of eggnog, they one-upped us by adding pisco to the mix.  Normally I strongly dislike mixing my eggnog with common liquors like whiskey or rum, but the addition of pisco was truly a delight. I only hope I’ll be able to track some down when next Christmas rolls around.
It was well after two o’clock in the morning when our party started winding down. With full, satisfied stomachs, a new understanding for the meaning “firework show,” and the feeling of homemade-eggnog-accomplishment, we said our buenas noches’ and drifted off to sleep with the muffled sound of never-ending fireworks.
Considering most of Cusco was awake well into the night setting off fireworks, eating Christmas feasts, and salsa dancing, Christmas Day itself was very uneventful. Alex and I woke up close to noon, exchanged a few small, meaningful gifts and spent most of the day snacking on leftovers, checking out nearby skateboarders breaking in new boards, and watching A Christmas Story on Netflix. Following in typical Christmas Day fashion, I didn't change out of my pajamas all day. 

Letters and Colorado greenery sent from my great mother,
great friends and great family really made our room
 spectacular.  Thank you again! 

I know the Peruvian Christmas experience will forever be a highlight of this trip. We were introduced to so many interesting customs and were able to participate in numerous local traditions. However, it was also a treat to share some of our own warmly welcomed traditions with our host family. With the perfect blend of the "new" and a little bit of the "old" Christmas 2012 was definitely one for the books. 
Realizing Christmas has come and gone is a continually dull feeling, but there is always the excitement of New Years cheer to lighten the mood. And just as our host family had warned, New Years in Cusco was quite... cheerful. Stay tuned!