Yesterday I went to a small pueblo called Chinchero where there is a festival this week. It started raining and hailing so everyone hid undercover. I ended up on the porch of an old beautiful church with many locals. I was the only gringa because most of the tourist buses had not arrived yet. The young men were all dressed in traditional festival clothing with hand-beaded hats, pants, and shirts. They play music and dance, kind of like a marching band. During the festival they carry around crates of beer. The mood was very festive in spite of the weather.
The locals got a kick out of me because I speak a bit more Spanish than the average tourist and try to speak a few words in Quechua, the indigenous language.
One of the older men suggested a photo of me and the two men I was sitting next too. Next thing you know, they were pouring me beer, asking me if I was married, and laughing at every word I said. It was a rare opportunity to chat with them and to get a photo with the whole band. We were all laughing and getting a kick out of each other. After a while, and the rain subsided and they continued on marching on through town and over the hill to celebrate with more dancing, music,
drinking, and eating.
These are my favorite moments of my travels. I feel blessed. After all, I came to Perù with hopes to have moments like these.
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