Prologue
Part One
As I write this, almost 2 weeks after the fact, there is a full moon in the sky. Sometimes I pay too much attention to the passage of time, but the phases of the moon are, after all, the original natural calendar. This full moon is significant to me, because it is the completion of the new moon that allowed us to enjoy such breathtaking views of the milky way during our Choquequirao trek. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Before we leave for the trek, in this blog world, we still have Machu Picchu, and today's episode; Ccaccaccollo.
Ccaccaccollo is not just a strange word with way too many C's. It is the Quech’an word chosen as the name for our next destination. When traveling in the Andes, you will eventually be faced with bumpy, curvy, precipice looming roads that barely fit the vehicle you are traveling in. We were now faced with just such a road. Personally, I love heights, I like hanging over the edges of cliffs and airplane window seats. I'm not at all bothered by looking out of a bus window and seeing certain death merely inches away. Those of you that know me well will believe me when I say this, because you already know of my unnatural love of heights. Upon arriving at this small village, you can't help but think to yourself that you are now going to see the real Peru. This was especially true contrasted with the Cuzco experience of the past 2 days. Driving into the town's plaza, I gazed with wonder at the mud-brick homes, free roaming Llamas and Alpacas, and countless cattle and dogs, all seemingly free to do as they please, yet still willingly not wandering too far from home. There were similarly unattended children as well. But I could see why one wouldn't want to wander away from this gorgeous little village, perched, precariously on the side of a mountain. Shortly after arriving in the plaza, we were met by a crowd of the local, traditionally dressed matrons of the local households. This village, in my view, at least on the familial level, was very matriarchal in nature. Perhaps it's just the family I wound up with. We were paired off based on who we came on the trip with, which meant that Lindsay and I were once again paired together. Then it was almost like gym class, with the local women choosing up which pair of us they wanted to host. Our hostess couldn't have been any kinder, but her considerable hospitality was eclipsed by that of her husband, who's quiet kindness was very heartwarming to experience. We followed our "mami" (we were to be considered family members during our stay) to our home for the next few days. We were immediately separated from the rest of the group, whom we wouldn't see at all for more than a full day, except for a brief spotting of Steve and Nick later that afternoon. Once we arrived at our home, I couldn't help but think that this, as much as the ruins, was what I was here for. The architectural style of the houses in this village is noteworthy. Instead of inclusive homes where everything is attached as a room to a main building, most homes are a series of small 2 floor, 2 room buildings. Most of us were staying in what seemed to be a guest house, with a very nice, finished bedroom upstairs, and a more modest, dirt-floored dining room downstairs.
You know you're in Peru when you look out of your bedroom door and see this:
How awesome is that?
Here's a view of our room, and my bed:
Note the Inca-style alcoves in the wall above the bed. Neat!
For this whole trip, I've just been in a state of disbelief at all the sights and sounds that surround me. It's just so much to take in and process, and we've been kept really busy, so I've had no processing time. I'm just drinking it in as best I can, hoping that some of it will stick with me.
Shortly after our arrival, our hosts did what they would be doing alot; they fed us. We weren't hungry at all, but the food was excellent, so we ate as much as we could so as to not be rude. We were stuffed. We prayed that dinner would be very late. What's more, lunch consisted of Kenoa (sp?) soup, rice, potatoes (the main local crop) and trout. Those of you that know me know I don't eat fish. You also know that I don't eat fish because it makes me ill. Some of you have also suggested, and it makes sense, that my belief that fish makes me ill may be entirely psycho-somatic, stemming from a childhood episode where I got very ill after eating fish. I had begun to believe the psycho-somatic theory over the years, since I had sampled small amounts of various kinds of fish every now and then, and hadn't gotten ill from it for many years. So, I decided that I would probably be fine, and ate the trout. Which was yummy.
After our lunch, our "Papi", Victor, took us out to show us what he does around the village and its surrounding parts. I was/am very fond of our host. He was very enthusiastic in showing us the smallest details of their daily lives and activities. First he showed us to the bathroom, which was an outhouse up the road, and then up a hill on a small trail. He correctly guessed that we would need it at this time. He then showed us one of his fields, where he grows corn. He pointed out every plant of any significance that he utilized for any purpose that was growing in the area. I didn't have my journal with me, so I've forgotten most of the names. I do remember Kenoa (sp?) which is a grain that is used in making a common Peruvian soup, which we'd just had for lunch. He showed us a fibrous plant that they used to make binding. He peeled off a bit, rubbed it between his hands rapidly, and in seconds had a good quality twine. He then grabbed 2 random sticks and showed us how they used this twine to bind together wooden frameworks. I think he may have been surprised at how impressed we were with this. 
From here, Victor pointed to the next ridge over and said, in Spanish, "We are going to the quarry". It looked reeeeaaallly far away, but it wasn't so bad.
Here we're following Victor to the quarry, this is also the road we came in on, in case you were wondering. 
Here, Victor demonstrates the shaping of a rock, into a perfect stone block.
Victor showed us his normal, daily activities with such genuine enthusiasm, it was clear that he enjoyed the fact that we were so interested in what he does day to day. Our shared enthusiasm in the whole venture is one of the things that made this visit so worthwhile. It reassures one in the nature of humanity itself. You have to wonder, for example, what the cold war would've been like if the internet had existed at the time, allowing Russian and American average citizens to communicate with each other, and cut through the propaganda. I think at the root of it all, people are just people, and we'd get along fine if politics didn't interfere. But I digress...
Here's a full scale example of what Victor had shown us earlier with his reed twine:
What he showed us next was very telling indeed about the current culture of Peru, and South America, and even most of the world. Just over the ridge from the quarry, in this tiny little village on a mountainside in the Peruvian Andes, the community had come together and pooled their resources, hired a massive industrial bulldozer, surveyed and plotted out, and were now building...A Full Size Regulation Soccer Field. Perched right on the edge of the mountain.
These people don't have indoor plumbing, flush toilets, a reliable uninterrupted water source, heat, telephones, or most of the things we take for granted. But, they were going to have a full size, regulation soccer field for their community. Think about that for a minute. It was at this time that it began to dawn on me just how important that sport is to even these mountain dwellers who don't even receive a regular newspaper. It occurred to me how absolutely every male I had seen in this community, except for the children who happened to be wearing their school uniforms, had been wearing some sort of Jersey or T-shirt promoting a soccer team or player. For those of you who believe that America is too sports obsessed, you can relax a little. It's still true, but this kind of puts it in perspective a little bit, doesn't it?
To me, being an anthropologist, the most amazing thing we saw the entire day was on our way back from the soccer field-to-be. In a lower part of the quarry, some workers had uncovered what seemed to be an Inca burial.
An actual Inca burial. Most archaeologists only dream of being in on an actual burial find, and they just happened to come across one while Victor was showing us around. 
Victor made a show of picking up the major bones individually, and holding them next to their corresponding body part on himself, to demonstrate the parts of the person he had found. To be sure, this burial was not being treated scientifically, but they assured us that the remains would be reburied, and their resting spot not disturbed in the future. To these folks, they had merely accidentally dug up grandpa in the backyard, said "oops!" and just reburied him. Personally I wondered if these bones could be old enough to be Inca. Who knows how someone might have wound up dead under a big pile of rocks out in the middle of the Andes. But, Victor told us of the ruins that lay on top of the nearby ridge (that we, unfortunately, didn't get a chance to visit, despite Victor's enthusiastic willingness to take us there), and I got the impression, through our 60% understanding of his Spanish, that happening upon their burials wasn't all that uncommon. At least, no one there that day seemed all that amazed or surprised by it. Shortly after this he pointed out a crude, rounded stone structure that I think he was implying was a known burial. 
The walk back to town gave us some breathtaking views. Who wouldn't want to live here? 
This is our outhouse, as seen from about a mile away. It is, literally, the highest building in town. See it there, the little blue building? 
Panned back now, here's a view of the community, as seen while approaching it:
On our way back, we stopped by a family friend's house, where the lady of the house was demonstrating how they separate the wheat from the chaff. An ingeniously simple technique was employed that involved simply pouring the wheat from a bucket, slowly, while there was a stiff breeze. The more wind resistant wheat grains would fall relatively straight down into a pile, while the lighter chaff would be blown further down wind into a separate pile. Neat! Victor then demonstrated how they loaded up those huge bundles of wheat and carried them on their backs. He then prepared a more modest load for me to try out:
It was actually amazingly light. I could've carried a lot more. Really.
After our outing, we were invited to a light dinner, consisting of popcorn and crackers. We were extremely relieved, since we were still completely stuffed from lunch. They then said something about 7:30, which we interpreted as meaning that bedtime was then. So we headed upstairs and I chronicled the day's events in my journal. Then, at 7:30, a knock on the door, and we were informed that it was actually dinner time. The popcorn had just been a snack. Uh oh. As I had written in my journal, "Oh my God, they fed us again! The mere thought of eating another single bite was too much to bear, and yet we were faced with another 2 course meal. I ate as much of it as was humanly possible, not wanting to offend our kind hosts. I finally explained to Victor, 'Me estomaga es muy pequeno, y la comida es muy grande!'" (Since I didn't know how to say 'I'm full', I said 'my stomach is very small and the food is very big!'). He understood what I was getting at, and explained that since they worked hard all day long, they came home with huge appetites. So after a very tasty but barely touched dinner, I wondered how I would deal with the inevitable trip to the outhouse after dark. Unfortunately, as it turned out, it was something I'd have to deal with several times that night, if you catch my drift. It's official, my aversion to fish is not merely psycho-somatic. I shouldn't have eaten the trout. I can only blame my fish aversion, since Lindsay ate exactly everything that I did, and was fine. On one of my several trips to the outhouse that night, I stopped to take advantage of my first real opportunity to gaze in wonder at the amazing star display above my head, with no city lights or light pollution of any kind anywhere nearby. I saw, for the first time, the famous "Southern Cross" constellation, which is only visible south of the equator. The Crosby, Stills, and Nash song, "Southern Cross" immediately came to mind (to quote: "When you see the Southern Cross for the first time, you understand now why you came this way, for the truth you might be running from is so small, but it's as big as the promise of the coming day"). So with Graham Nash's voice in my head, I tried to sleep in spurts for the rest of the night, with a very upset stomach, and the feeling that I would be expelling from both ends at any moment. (To be continued...)
