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.