Calendars are a popular gift thanks to the imminent approach of the new year. They're used to advertise restaurants, gas stations, lawyers, and so on, though the visual aides used in this handy marketing scheme don't quite correspond with the subject matter. Airbrushed women donned in scandalous panties decorate these glamorous 2x3 ft calendars. We were the recipients of such a gift thanks to our last taxi driver who miraculously delivered us to the remote mountain town, Huancavelica. As it was not reflective of our tastes, we managed to leave it in the taxi without the driver noticing. Fortunately, she (yes, a female taxi driver!) will probably assume that we left it because I had no idea what she was saying and therefore, won't be insulted. I had trouble understanding her--in part because she spoke so quickly but mostly because she kept mixing Quechua, the Peruvian indigenous language, into her sentences. Or maybe I just didn't understand her....?
The ride to Huancavelica from Huancayo was fairly uneventful. We only broke down once in the 3 hour, 80 mile trip through the mountains. A kind group of men stopped to tow us to the top of the ridge with a rope tied to their bumper, so as to jump start the car. The driver was possibly the worst I've ever met in all of my travels, but the phenomenal scenery was captivating enough for me to drag my eyes from the land-slide piles around each 300 degree blind turn that she took with one hand--the other hand was occupied either with her cell phone or crossing herself. Nonetheless, she was a kind woman, as was the older Peruvian couple in the colectivo with us, and gave Will and I an empanada de calabaza (squash stuffed empanada). They were highly curious as to who we were, how many babies we had, and what we did for a living. as we have entered a more conservative region, it seems prudent to say that we're married, but that we don't have kids because we intend to continue our education.
We are quite a spectacle for the locals, creating cause for much giggling amongst groups of friends as some daring soul says "hello" in English. In Huancayo, we saw two other foreign families. So far, we have seen none in Huancavelica, and that seems unlikely to change considering how many friendly shouts we heard from the taxi: "Mira! Extranjeros!". (Look! Foreigners!). So far, the town appears to be a major gem, well off even the lightly treaded tourist paths. Though it is difficult to get here, it's worth the time for the thermal springs, boulder laden cliffs, neatly terraced fields, and a $12 dollar room with a panoramic view of the impossibly steep mountains. We will venture out tomorrow, but today we will stay buried under thick woolen blankets nursing high heart rates and short breaths thanks to our 13,000 ft elevation. It was dizzying even to walk the single block from the town square, giving us a brief sense of what it might be like to be an obese asthmatic.
I am always astonished at the availability of fresh water. I've noticed that some people are more likely to buy water for the sole purpose of slicking back their hair rather than for drinking. When buying water, I must differentiate between still water and carbonated water. Yesterday, I asked for a bottle of water and the cook pointed to a case of Inca Kola, which happens to be a shade of yellow on the same spectrum as Mountain Dew. I clarified my needs, but in doing so realized that soda is actually considered carbonated water. Oy ve!
While the majority of the world understands that it is summer in the southern hemisphere, highlanders are bundled in thick woolen coats to ward off the chill of what they call winter. It is the rainy season, and with rain once or twice each day comes much cooler temperatures than those that I experienced during my brief stint in the highlands in August, four years ago. Yet the hills are vibrantly green, whereas I had only seen what appears to be a Mediterranean desert.
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