Huaraz

On the way to Tarica I now sit by my amiga each morning. She is about 10 and always lifts up her lunch box inviting me to the window seat beside her. We talk about the dancing and carnivals in Ancash, her sisters, her pets. She has a lot to say and patiently giggles explaining words I don't understand. Now I turn back when I get off the buss to wave goodbye as she rides off en route to school.

On the wonderful arguably arduous walk home I pass by the market. Numbed knuckled one day I sought out gloves. A cheery lady dove through her piles of alpaca to find me a pair and we talked about the colors she chooses to use. Now she drops her knitting needles for our hello hug and i catch my breath before heading off to my home on the hill. 

Yesterday was my last day working in Pablo's studio. Ive translated orno (kiln) instructions to english, and he has brought in photos of his studio from the past to illustrate his stories. Among all the photos of his students and organizations he has worked with, there is an old black and white photo of him working on the same wheel  I use each day! He has been the best maestro ive had in pottery, teaching me in spanish and sign language. I hope one day I can return to his studio. 

Miércoles por la Mañana

I asked Professor Luis if I could use the kitchen early the next morning, so no one would have to wake up at 5 to prepare my breakfast. The mountain bound bus was scheduled I pick me up at 5:30. The next morning I wake up hungry and smell pancakes like a desert wanderer imagining an oasis. Walking down to the kitchen I tried to guess what the smell was coming from. Surprised, I saw Luis in the kitchen spatula in hand 'panqueque?'  Amazing, the best way to start off the day of hiking to Laguna 69.

Motion Aftereffect

Focused on making my bowl I hunched over the wheel, with a kick now and then to keep it going, never peeling my eyes from the spinning disk. My teacher Pablo asked me a question, and as i looked up I couldn't help but to smile as the room swirled counterclockwise. An exemplary case of the motion aftereffect.

I am amidst my two week stay in Huaraz. An incredible ciudad surrounded by massive mountains, with fresh air that bites when the sun goes down.  Professor Delgado and I connected through the Teach Hauraz website, for two weeks I will live with his family and the teaching volunteer Jordan. A joyful Canadian. At 7am I walk with Professor Delgado to the school bus, a nice charter like bus, to get to Pablo and his pottery studio in Tarica. For an hour or two Pablo teaches me how to use the kick wheel and choose traditional Huaraz graphics to etch into my creations(bowls? cups?). Pablo only speaks spanish and has a lot of information to share. After class I hurry down the hill to take the combi,  a local van back to Huaraz. Usually awake for the ride back to Huaraz, I get to see the country side in motion. Women in the traditional northern wear of tall stiff hats, puffy skirts and sweaters, pigs tethered to the hillside eating or sleeping, huge bulls, loud donkeys, and colorful clothes swinging on clotheslines. As so as we get to the merccado I bolt for lunch at the house, not an easy feat as it is perched on a hill. Climbing in this altitude makes me question my fitness. Why all this trouble for lunch? The professors wife is an AMAZING cook and always gives generous with the servings. Lunch is always the traditional peruvian soup first then main course. After lunch I head to the roof to 'study spanish', a great intention that usually turns into a nap. But I always set an alarm so that I can wake up for my spanish lesson with Sindy, the professors daughter. I have been quite foolishly confident with my spanish, though I can usually get my point across in conversation, these classes illuminate my grammatical ignorance. After class Im back on the roof to do a circuit workout that Jordan taught me. (Okay well today was the first day but I feel as though it will become a habit). Then back inside for a quick warm shower. Ive accepted different tasks, like translating kiln instructions for Pablo, so I am busy till dinner. Another delicious feast. 

Siesta

I love the movement on the dance floors in Barranco. Though original plans had me sleeping in central Lima for my stay, I recline now on the roof of my hostel in Barranco. The artistic district by the shore. Yesterday, in central Lima, Sandra and I walked to Plaza de Armas and Chinatown before meeting up with Luis to have a Pisco Sour at the Hotel Bolivar. We decided to leave the bustling central and head to Barranco for the night. Luis was born in Arequipa and guided us to the beach, the best seafood dinner, and the block of bars and discotheques. The music kept the dance floor alive no matter crowded or spacious.

We spent today walking around Miraflores. They had a mice problem a few years back and brought in cats. Unlike the cats of the Cinque Terre that seem to watch from every roof and corner, the cats in Miraflores stick to the parks. In the fenced off grass they coil up to sleep, or watch park patrons lazily. We walked for miles by the cliffs where the parasailers launched right next to the Parque del Amor, a catless park. The park is perched on the edge of the cliffs with a wonderful statue of a passionate kiss and dozens of love quotes. "Conjuncion de la carne y el espiritu eso es el amor" Percy Gibson

Landed

In attempts to find the perfect hole in the wall restaurant I looked to my 10yr old guide book. Three blocks down the honking streets of central lima I found La Choza Nautica. Glass doors, a security guard out front, white walls, a bit of a fail as far as a small homely place.  Once seated I saw ceviche pescado was at the top of the menu, 'quieres picante?' Si!

At night flanked two friends from the hostel we ventured to the Parque de la  Reserva. At first the waterfalls seemed lovely but then the show started, without my camera I could only bask in the colors. Hopefully tonight I will return armed so I can capture and share the beauty.