Clinica de San Juan, 2010

Not much to add this week. No trips since Lake Titicaca. That changes dramatically upcoming and final two weeks with Canyon de Colca and Machu Pichu. But, just in case anyone wonders if I am lost, needed to add a few comments.

So, other than study and travel, myh time has been partly devoted to volunteer work at a Children´s Clinic. Wonderful children, beautiful children, sad situations. In personal respect for their condition, I do not post photos of them. But, I will post photos of others not in the same circumstances.

“My children” have been abandoned by their family. Ages 3 to 15 they possess varying degrees of discapacidades (disabilities). Of the 40 to 50 in the section to which I provide time, only two small ones can walk without assistance. Most need sillas de ruedas (chairs with wheels). Possibly half cannot talk or express their needs. Many have minimal muscle control and cannot feed themselves.

Yet, despite all, they still shine “como un noche estrellada”, starry night. Several of the little girls have been given appropriate names such as Mira (sight), Luz (light) or my favorite little Quechua, Milagras (Miracles). When they recognize their amigo, the smile that comnes forth appears as the aura around the paintings of the Virgen Mary, found in all the iglesias in Sud America. It changes a dull day into Christmas morning.

I don´t do much. Mainly give attencion, where it is evident there is never going to be enough. That hurts. I also help feed those that need assistance. Almost 30 years since I have done that. Now that is a challenge. One incident really confused me. Lunch followed a day of excitement as the children received new shoes. You could feel their energy. Later, I was feeding a little pal Rodrigo. At first things went well, but then he began to cry, progressively louder, unceasing. I had no idea. Finally the director sensed the cause and removed his new shoes, yes, too tight. But, Rodrigo is one that cannot talk.

One more week with my little friends. I will miss them. I will wonder about their situation, their care, their future, and others that will follow. I will wonder if the runaway parents pause, remember, regret. Can it be possible to ever forget? How many others are there in the world? And how can we avoid them?

. . .
Life plays its tricks, some cruel but fair
And only a fool can pretend they don´t care.

When there´s too many memories for one heart to hold
Once a future so bright now seems so distant and cold
And the shadows grow long and your eyes look so old
When there´s too many memories for one heart to hold.

There are those moments and they just never fade
Like the look in (their) eyes and the way the light played
God moved in that moment and the angels all cried
And they gave you a memory that you´ll have till you die.

And there´s too many memories for one heart to hold
Once a future so bright now seems so distant and cold
And the shadows grow long and your eyes look so old
When there´s too many memories for one heart to hold.

S.Bruton

Titicaca, 2010

Well a good feeling this morning (Sunday). The greatest peace and calm I have had since arrival, now marking the half-way point. I have had other moments, but not equal. The weekend travel did not start with such positive inclination. A 10:00 PM bus departure in Friday night rain, with targeted arrival at 5:00 AM Saturday. Since I do not sleep on plane or bus my anticipation was not great. But, arrival was on time and three hours later I was on a tour bus on Lake Titicaca, highest navigable lake in the world, and second largest in S.America. It is over 50 miles wide at some points. The lake besides its immensity is quite clean, and taking a horizon viewpoint, its blueness merges into a mirrowed shade from the sister sky.

The first stop was to the floating islands of Unos. Very interesting. These man-made islands were originally created centuries ago as a means of escaping and avoiding enemies. Constructed from the rooted mats of reeds that grow in the lake. These are cut in the shape of large spongy blocks. Then the reed shoots are layered criss-cross on top creating a mattress far more solid than I anticipated. Until waves are created by other passing tourist boats there is not much sensation of undulation at all. One-room solar powered homes are constructed of reeds as well, light, efficient and lightweight. They can easily be lifted and moved, a requirement as the islands decay about every 15 years and new ones have to be built. The islands themselves are easily anchored or moved. In fact often several islands are towed together to create a soccer field. The place was interesting but a bit like Disneyland with an appearance that all activity, native dress, dance, etc. Was geared to creating a fantasy world for the tourists. Still, these people otherwise have lived in the same style for centuries.

Next stop to Amantani, a natural island, which was to be our one night stay. The group was divided and “fostered” to a Quechuan families. Myself and two dentists from Norway (I was the interpreter) were adopted by a wonderful three member family. Madre Irma, Padre Javiar, hija Nadie. Irma in particular has this smile that immediately brings the sensation of Inca heritage, simple, pure, connected to earth, sky, sun, moon. Neither shy nor assertive, she included us in the meal preparation.

Those on the island are for the most part self-sufficient, and a barter system paired with a communcal sharing of responsibility and productivity from quilted fileds dating to pre-Inca cultivation seems to work. But, the tourism, plus craftwork sales, definitely assists their survival. Still primitive, however, as our kitchen was a dirt floor, with a wood fire filling the cocina with smoke.
Incan history states that the first man arose from these waters of Lake Titicaca. Two temples, to the sun, to the moon, overlook the terraced fields. The overlook from these temples, above these terrazos, with more islands arising from the lake just as that first man, is breathless. Of course, being above 12,000 feet could account for part of that.

We had a fiesta night of folkdance and Andean music. Sleep was welcome afterward. I made up for the bus ride under several layers of aplacan wool blankets. I was as snug as the babies strapped to the backs of Quechuan mothers. I see now why these babies never seem interested in crying for attention. Movement is near impossible.
I awoke to birds and burros braying, among the many tended gardends of the communal village of Colquecachiman. There are ten communal villages on the island, mine one of the smallest. During the night I met my need for el bano (no indoor plumbing), finding no need of headlight as the stars provided all I needed. The display overtook even my Colorado prejudice for clear viewing. What a stressful thought knowing that many have not a clue to what a starry night really is.

After a pancake breakfast, I sadly shook the hand of my father, and kissed the cheeks of mother and daughter and said goodbye. We headed for one last island with pre-Incan connection. As we walked from the boat dock to the town plaza, marveling at the cultivated terraces that climb up the mountain, or fall to the sea below (perspective) I overheard one of the group remarking how this island resembled much of the Greek coast. Guess I put Greece on my list.

This was a fantastic trip and reversal of those initial expectations. Not sure what this next week offers. Perhaps more tranquil for time to rest and cram some studytime. We shall see.

Inca ruins, 2010

Another grand week. So much done, seen. Inca ruins, more processions this Santa Semana, visit to the largest mercado, local food tasting, parcial participation in the apprehension of a thief, as well as participation in an Inca ritual involving burning cocoa leaves, plus amazing scenic memories.

But, will focus on the seven Inca sites visited. Despite many fond memories of American native structures in Chaco Canyon, Mesa Verde and other locations, there is no comparison to the Inca construction. The skill displayed is incomprehensive. Massive stones, sometimes from distant locations, so perfectly quarried, cut, modified, sculpted, placed, that no adhesive is used nor needed. So perfectly fit that a knife blade cannot penetrate between. And not all are squared. Many have multiple sides, one in particular is famous for the twelve sides, each representing some Incan meaning. Yet, as if some great jig saw puzzle found on the tables at the senior center, all fit so neatly both in balance and shape to create massive walls, straight lines, withstanding centuries of earthquake prone tendency, which modern Peru cannot duplicate in strength nor structure. Some are placed not only for structural use, but also representation. See if you can find the duck in flight in the attached photos.

Built for varied purposes, ceremonial and religious ritual, commercial, military outlook and defense, noble or priestly residence. The location of these structures add to the impression. Many located on steep moutainside, layered on terraces climbing up the mountain. How was it done technically, how many people needed?
Many, particularly the ritual sites, have been engineered for water systems, from the numerous cascades in the area, with irrigation canals, fountains and baths for cleansing prior to entry. They still function perfectly without intervention. Simple, functional, beautiful. The sound of splash, the movement of wave within receptor, draws you, tempts you to put your feet under, but the guards watch. Yet, at one time, people gathered, cleansed, the entered for devotion to a variety of designees, almost all related to Pachumama – tierra madre.

Tantomachay, Pukapukara, Q’enqo, Saqsaywaman, Pisac,Ollantaytambo, Temple of the Son. All wonderfully different, impressive. I must say my favorite (Machu Pichu is in May) is Ollantaytambo. Immense coverage of the moutains and valley. The pueblo still occupies and lays over the same stone streets, and many of the walls stand as strong as centuries past. Too narrow for vehicles I can easily walk with the ghosts of the Incas. Hmmmm. I wonder. Would I have been king, noble, sacerdote (priest), artisan, or work in the fields, birds distant, water from the well aside.

We can make it, I know we can.
Only time will tell.
Let’s take a walk down to the water
Let’s go to the well.
Hear that low humming underground
Hear the skylark in the dell
While the world is sleeping
Let’s go to the well.
Sometimes my heart feels like a dandelion
Seeds scattered in a careless wind
Nothing to show for my life and time
But innocent wonder in the face of thunder
Feeling like something is about to begin.

Dia del Senor de los Temblores

This Monday was a major day in Cusco, celebration of the day of Senor protector from earthquakes. Almost an all day affair. A beautiful wooden carving of the crucifixion normally maintained in the cathedral in the central plaza is carried to a variety of churchs in the central area of town. Literally thousands observe the slow procession from church to church, beginning in the afternoon. As the crucifixion is carried through the streets, the observers throw billions of beautiful flower petals upon the crucifixion as it moves through the streets. I am not sure the of the flower except it is found in the area obviously and has high meaning to the andean people. This is again one of those strange mixtures of catholic and Incan belief. The ritual is similar to other catholic celebrations, while the image of Christ used in Incan fashion to acknowledge the connection to the mountains and mother earth is definitively tied to the Incan belief. I personally do not know how it is all reconciled. I can only witness to the fact that this day attracts thousands.

That night the procession ends after maybe five hours of movement around the central area of the city, where at least five churchs, massive, historic and beautiful, sit within a two block area. A Canadian friend and I met Elvis on the streets prior to the full gathering of folk in the plaza about two hours before the reappearance of Christ back to home presence in the cathedral. Elvis was trying to attract patrons to one of the balcony restaurants overlooking the plaza. This was a perfect overlook, so we accepted Elvis´invitation as well as his free offer of Pisco sour, the national drink of Peru. We enjoyed a simple meal, pisco sours, and awaited the arrival of the crucifixion. During this time the cathedral and adjacent church bells rang in response to each other. Beautiful the sound of the campanas. Particulary one massive bell in the cathedral bellowed out a beautiful base tone, that brought a tinge of emotion to me at least. Story is that the original clapper was of gold, but because the sound was so enormous it cracked both the bell and the tower wall itself. So, they replaced it with a smaller metallic version. Still, the sound was wonderful.

About eight the sighting came. By now the plaza was filled, standing room only. As the crucifixion moved to the front portal of the cathedral the crowd quieted. Slowly the cross was turned to face the door, but before proceeding up the steps, the men bearing the crucifixion moved to make Christ bow three times. And as faitfully linked, the crowd of believers kneeled. I failed to mention that bomberos, firemen and trucks were parked to the side of the church. When finally the crucifixion was marched back inside, the alarms screamed. Not sure the modern connection here, not really enamored of the use, particularly with the beauty of bells so easily present. But, that is how it was done. As soon as Christ was within, the alarms stopped, the crowd clapped and dispersed. That quick.

But, what a wonderful experience this was for me. Like nothing I have ever seen, nor felt.

Cusco, 2010

¡Aieeee Cuenca! ¡Increible! Que una experiencia positiva this has started to be. This timely place is like no other I have seen, visited, or lived within. Once the heart of the Inca empire it still holds close to that heritage despite the efforts of Spanish conquest and dominion to erase and displace. So instead, Cusco presents a strange, sometimes shameful, sometimes embarassing, mostly wonderful mixture (mezcla) of Inca ans spanish. The Inca language of Quechua is as present as espanol, adding to my confused attempt at learning spanish. Where the spanish came they destroyed virtually every Inca structure in their path. But, what is found in this wonderful place is spanish structure over partially destroyed Inca foundation. It is easily seen where Catholic cathedral or church stuctures rise from the walls of Inca temples. Religion itself has often united the multiple deity worship of the Inca into the Catholic ritual and practice.

It is almost too easy to get lost here. There is a slight patchwork of street placement. However, there are almost as many incoherent, almost invisible, pathways diverting to unknown intersections, many using the very Incan rock roaks laid out between temple sites. Way too narrow for vehicles you have to follow as young Judy Garland walked and sang up that yellow brick road. Not too far fetched an idea either as on Temple of the Sun, its blank walls still visible, once had gold on those walls, that reflected the fullness of the sun down the Avenida del Sol toward another distant and massive defensive structure, Saqsaywaman (pronounced in a drunken drawl as Sexy Woman). If you squint your eyes you can easily imagine the mirrowed rays of gold bouncing off the stone avenue from the temple walls. Of course the spanish took the gold and ran.

People are everywhere, Peruvian and turistica. Even on these strange side streets you often will find a Quechuan woman sitting against the walls weaving some textile creation from llama or alpaca. And, most expectedly wanting to sell her products. I have yet to see any signs of affluence, so all are in constant wait to sell good or service, artwork, craft, shoeshine, food, photo. Some Andeans dress in full cultural attire, bring their youngest also so attired, and even llama or alpaca, themselves often decorated, expecting turisticas to take photos, for a cost of one sol, or about thirty cents. Why not? And, these children´s faces could change the heart of the coldest and most greedy on Wall Street. Certainly memories and photos to have and share.

Since few read this far, I will come back next week with tails of Inca ruins.

I hate graveyards and old pawnshops
For they always bring me tears.
Can´t forgive the way the rob me
Of my childhood souvenirs.

Memories they can´t be boughten
They can´t be won at carnivals for free
Well it took me years to get these souvenirs
And I don´t know how they slipped away from me.
(S. Goodman)

Lima, Peru 2010

Hola mi familia y mis amigos. I am doing my best to renew my blog. Technology here makes it difficult,but we will try. The high-tech infrastructure is weak. Plus, keyboards and other stuff are also different. However, do not give up yet.

My first days have been in Lima. Three days, one and a half too many. Very busy place, many people. Not much color except in the plazas and parks. But, a learning experience still. My hotel, the Bolivar, is and was a historic colonial. Quite nice, except it does have need of repair and maintenance, though the structure itself is beautiful.

I am not much of a museum guy, except, of course for art galleries. And so my disappointment that the one art museum, Museo de Arte, was closed for renovation until April. I have found some art in surprising places, much and most is tied to the Inca tradition in some way. Amazing the detail demonstrated centuries past. Includes the high importance of the shark, bull, owl, puma, condor and snake. Animals are indeed critical to the understanding.

Essentially visited only two places, the central area and one called MiraFlores, which is a section that lies next to the coast. More modern than the central area, upscale, and high dollar. One park named in honor of President Kennedy, another Parque del Amor, which apparently on the weekends fully demonstrates its name. A gigantic stone sculpture of two lovers in grasp and kiss lies within the park. Impressive overlook of the coastline.

Also went to a pre-Inca site, Huaca Pallaca(?). Consisted of pyramid, plazas and outlying buildings. Even though it predates the arrival of the Inca, it still demonstrates amazing ability with structure. They used a form of adobe, with dirt and conch shell, which provided the source for lime. No filler in between the bricks were used. Yet, the structure has withstood numerous earthquakes, even though recent effort to rebuild fallen areas with modernized replica of the adobe have not withstood recent earthquakes. And, we pay rising college costs for skills not able to compete with centuries old abilities? Explain that to me. Anyway, the place was amazing in size. Apparently human sacrifice of young women was an occurrence here. But, before the decapitation they were anesthetized. The burials in the location were reserved for the higher class. The sacerdotes, that is, priests, were buried here. For some reason they were decapitated after death, and a wooden mask was placed where the head once was. Another ritual was the breaking of huge vessels that I could easily hide in, similar to the tradition of some weddings where glasses and plates are smashed. All in all an interesting place.

Back in the central area are numerous beautiful and grand churches. Hard to choose one more beautiful than the next. Totally decorated, showing both the appreciation of art and faith as well as the use of art in developing and demonstrating faith. For me it is too bad, even deplorable, that the modern American church seems (to me) devoid of any connection to art, despite its gift to mankind from a higher power. But, . . . Still these iglesias son muy hermosas. Sculpture and painting in the most impressive demonstration of skill, effort and love. Enjoyed them all.

Did not enjoy the overall stay in Lima too much, though not unhappy with the stay. Just too many. But, lots of activity, particularly after sunset, and the streets filled with people. Too hot for me also, the Colorado Kid. Despite overcast skies I got burned, but I will survive.

I am already in Cusco with my family and have attended the first class. Cusco suits me. In a beautiful valley o.and much more. Will convey more later. Cial

October, 2009

I’m better with my muscles than I am with my mouth
I work the landscape in the summer
And raise the dust down south
And when I feel those chilly winds
Where the weather goes I follow
Pack up my traveling things, go with the swallows

And I might get lucky now and then
Sometimes I win some
And you might get lucky now and then
Sometimes you win some.

Now I’m rambling through this country glad (mad) as a man could be
Think I’ll just lay me under this old tree
On and on we go through this world of shuffling
If you got a truffle dog you can go truffling

But I might get lucky now and then
Sometimes I win some
And you might get lucky now and then
Sometimes you win some.

(M. Knopfler)

One last journey here in Colorado before I catch my breath and direct myself south for work and winter in Austin. Beyond that is hope for continued discovery.

This journey literally nudged and shoved me to the edge of cliffs where I saw an expanse of line, color and shape, that begged for view and then expression, whether a scream of wonder and amazement, or through the potential of paint, or photo. From the encouragement of a friend, who calls me a “seeker”, I first visited the Colorado National Monument, and then later returned to Pagosa along one of the listed “scenic routes” between scenic destinations in this land of beauty.

First, the Colorado National Monument slapped my senses with a perimeter drive around the rim of mesa cliffs, overlooking from a distance the town of Grand Junction. I reached this wonder in the last two hours of the day, not near enough time to take advantage of the changes in shape and shadow as the sun descended. Still, even in the sparing moments of the daylight, the creative changes of land surface caused by the interacting elements of erosion and the varying hardness of rock, provided a gallery of natural sculptures and colorful murals that excited both sense and emotion. To be blessed to stand above, beside and above such creation only brought questions, without answers, to my worthiness and receipt of such reward. What justified my gift, what action had I taken to deserve this view, my shared presence? What scripture passage says “seek and ye shall find”? For, me, the only thing it seems I have done is, as my friend noted, be a seeker. Something I cannot deny, a rather simple acknowledgment, that wraps many times around the packaged contents inside. Not just a search for sights such as this monument, but almost a quest for place and location, understanding, expression, change, impact, connection and too often control. Certainly a struggle to let one lead and assign others to follow.

Second day sent me down the route of river and stream, Gunnison, Dolores, and others unrecognized. Through red stone canyons, carved and cut deep, by the waterways running alongside, hundreds, maybe even a thousand or so feet below the tabletops. A marker notes the age of some of these rocks, some even older than the Grand Canyon. In some ways this route resembles the Grand Canyon, though the water is not as wild, nor the depths as great. Still, there were as many and varied canyons, broken off the axis road as the shattered lines of a windshield splintered by a kicked rock from an unconcerned 18-wheeler recklessly speeding by. A 30-mile distance covered took more than two hours due to my constant need to pull aside and gaze and gasp. Cottonwood was in full golden cover along these liquid trails, providing a color wheel of contrast to the red canyon walls, and the occasional olive green juniper. Such beauty seemed unconcerned about my presence or impact, having seen and felt the steps of the first humans thousands of years ago, later followed by Native American dwellers or travelers, then the Spanish, eventually miners (seekers themselves). There were a few markers to note the first interlopers, and some direction given to show evidence nearby. But, there had to be undiscovered signs hidden, or at least, unobserved, of indications of other seekers, others transient in their lifestyle, others curious and needy to establish their place and purpose. In this amphitheater, it is impossible for me to believe or accept that previous steps could have been taken otherwise.

Now back at home, having to pack for that trip down south, another scene, another setting, a continued search.