We left
Cuzco floated on a river of tearful goodbyes. As many from our friend as from
the campesino mamachas, and caseras at our local Mercado. The locals (not the
new generation of mestizos) don´t handle our easy going, transitive lifestyle as
casually as we assume. The idea of “leaving” is harsh and sudden, and cries of
dangers away from home and family. Home and family are their dearest
possessions. And, so, tears flow, even from Berta and her sisters, with whom we dedicatedly bought
all our market goods (thus the reference “casera”). And an especially
difficult and surprising farewell from Señora Isidora´s Mama, who couldn´t
recognize us from every other passing gringo until just a month ago. But, finally,
greeted us cheerfully everyday with “Hola Mami” and “Wee-nas dias Papi”. As we
parted on our last day, she posed for a beautiful picture before realizing
what the day meant, and begged us to be safe, willed our return, implored us
from behind dark, watery eyes. She clasped our hands and kissed us each directly
on the lips.
::sigh::
The beauty of these people is unmistakeably
Cuzquenian Quechua, and immediately transformed as we traveled to the coast of
Lima, and continued North to Piura. It´s a genuine culture of the Andees. It is
Quechua. It is now home to our hearts.
