Day 15: May 13 - Quechua culture day

Weaving

We found our homestay family through an organization called Awamaki,
which works with indigenous weavers up in the highlands above
Ollantaytambo. Part of the work they do is ensuring that the women
receive a living wage from the weavings they make (aka "fair trade").
They also work with the women to teach them improved weaving
techniques and ensure that the next generation of young women receive
the appropriate training as well.

Awamaki also arranges weaving workshops for visitors. Some stay for
weeks at a time learning traditional Quechua weaving techniques. Some,
like us, get a short introduction to weaving.

We left at around 9 am Peru time - so, closer to 10. We were part of a
small tour of about 10. Our guide, Emma, is a young British expat who
has been working with the women for about two years. She gave us a bit
of an explanation of the area and the culture on the van ride up the
mountain. The people of the town, Patacancha, wear traditional
Peruvian clothes and speak Quechua, the indigenous language, but many
also speak Spanish. They are mostly agricultural, but some of the
women now make a wage from weaving.

The ride up to the town was a little over an hour long. The road was
winding with many switchbacks and a few narrow passes. We're in the
dry season right now, but we did manage to get stuck in a rutted muddy
bit of road on the side of the mountain. We all got out (except the
kids and the driver) and pushed. And pushed some more. And again.
Soon, one of the back wheels was almost completely buried and the
chassis of the van was touching the ground. After a little digging
with a wrench, and some strategic placing of bits of shale, and lots
more pushing, the van dislodged and we were back on track.

Emma explained that Awamaki workers try to visit the weavers in
Patacancha once a week in the dry season. But in the rainy season,
they may not make it up the mountain for a few months, since the roads
are impassable. And there are communities much farther up the
mountain. Getting stuck for even a few minutes gave me a small sense
of the isolation of these communities.

Up in Patacancha, we were each assigned a teacher who gave us a little
lesson on weaving. Solanne and I (mostly me) made a bracelet, and
Derek and Maïa (mostly Maïa) worked together on their own bracelet.
Our teacher, a 20-year-old woman named Jesusa, was quiet at first but
was soon full of questions about life in Canada. My Spanish is
limited, so explaining a few concepts was tricky, but I got through it
and Jesusa was understanding enough. She asked about my kids, my age,
my salary (!), whether people in Canada believe in God or go to
church, what I do for a living, what grade the kids are in, what
languages I speak. She also remarked on how big my kids are (which is
hilarious to me since they are among the smallest in their respective
classes) and how old I was when I had kids. Not easy topics to cover
in a third language, all the while trying to manage a technique that
still borders on magic for me (I really didn't understand the
mechanics of weaving). Solanne watched a fair bit, picked some flowers
and wandered around to see what others were doing. A few times, I
wished I wasn't literally tied to the stake and could escape the hard
questions.

Once we were done our lessons, the women brought out their wares,
which we could buy directly from them. Apparently they are a very
egalitarian community and they try to share the sales among
themselves. The girls each got a tiny wallet for 3 soles each ($1). I
got a purse and a belt. We later went to the Awamaki shop to buy some
more, one piece that was woven by the master weaver of the community.

***

Festival

In the evening, Sonia our homestay host brought us to a celebration.
We weren't clear on details but we knew we would get to see some
traditional Peruvian dancing, which apparently the young poeple of
Ollanta are famous for. Little did we know that we would not only
witness a festival of sorts but be part of a parade!

We took a bus-van (also known as a combi) to the town of Urubamba. The
combi was designed for about ten passengers, but at any given time
there were more than 15, and just as I thought we were full up, the
combi would stop to pick up another passenger or two. We had a few
conversations with other passengers, all of whom were always
interested in where we are from. One woman couldn't stop looking at
the girls' eyes and commenting on their colour. I suppose that it's
not everyday that Urubambans get up close and personal with gringitas!

Sonia and Ferdinand's 14-year-old daughter, Corali, goes to school in
the nearby town of Urubamba. Her school, which my oldest friends will
appreciate, is called Instituto La Salle (I went to École secondaire
De La Salle). The celebration was the anniversary of the founding of
the school here. So we visited the school first, where the kids, from
kindergarten to college, were preparing for the parade. The school
campus is covered in murals of La Salle, many of him with little
Peruvian kids (I'll post pics when we get back).

As it got dark, the classes lined up and began the procession through
town, which would end in the town square. Each class had its own
performance; many were dances, but some were floats and the tiny kids
were dressed in various animal costumes. Each class was followed by
the parents of the children. Sonia invited us to come along with her.
So there we were, a family of gringos, marching in a very Peruvian
parade. Urubamba is not a tourist destination, as witnessed by one
little spectator who shouted when he saw us: "touristas!!" We clearly
stood out.

About halfway through, we left the parade and took a shortcut to the
main square and found a spot on the very crowded church steps to watch
the end of the parade. We bought fresh popcorn - the best and most
"corny" tasting I've ever had.

The 30-minute ride home on the combi was late but uneventful. The kids
were exhausted and fell into bed fully clothed, surely with spinning
Peruvian girls dancing in their heads.