I'm resting in Phil and Lynn's house today, experimenting with an expectorant for my cough, and enjoying the smells coming from Lynn's kitchen.

I'm also thinking about what to say about my trip to Peru. Relatives, and I hope my friend John, are coming over for lunch tomorrow for "show-and-tell." The irony, of course, is that most of the people invited now read this journal, so if I think of anything particularly clever and write it down, I'll just have to think of something else tomorrow anyway.

Lynn and I have composed a menu which includes flavors I have enjoyed on my travels, while being available in the local markets here. I wish I had managed to bring that bottle of pisco, because it would be fun to try to replicate the cocktail "pisco sours" which I enjoyed in several restaurants. Oh well. I hope the person I accidentally left it with will enjoy it. I was thinking about leaving a present for the house I was visiting, anyway, so perhaps it's good.

I've been writing in a paper journal I bought in Cusco, as well as online here. I won't attempt to copy from one to the other -- too much work, and also I like observing the difference in flavor that results form the two modes. This is becoming almost like a letter or announcement forum, while the paper journal remains personal and free from any obligation to make sense in any immediate way.

Things I want to remember, that are not yet written down:

The lady in the shop in teh back corner of teh impossible-to-find courtyard in Cusco -- we laughed almost to the point o tears in trying to communicate. With Kristi and my broken Spanish, her good-hearted attempts at English, and a pen and paper for complex constructions like 'Like a Bull in a China Shop," we got along well. She impressed me for several reasons:
1) She was working on a simple cross-stitch as we entered, and did not approach us saying "Senorita" or attempt to convince us that we needed anything extra.

2) Her stuff was a broad variety, good quality, and she was honest and informative. For example, she pointed out the difference between dishes with oxide glazes suitable for dishwasher or microwave, and others with less durable paints intended for decoration only -- even after I seemed to be developing an attachment to a painted bowl which I did not end up buying.

3) She did this all with limited common language, and was among the several gracious and friendly people who mare Kristi and I feel we were welcome and appreciated as people even with our linguistic limitations. (Being informative with limited common language is a customer service skill that goes beyond the ordinary in any place I've been.)

So I bought a little more than I needed. While packing and carrying, I was convinced I'd gone nuts and bought too much; now that I've arrived and am looking at the number of things and the number of people to share them with, I wish I had bought half again as much of everything.
Note to self: In future, consider using the post office for lightweight gifts. Things like gourds, reed pipes, and even lightweight sweaters would have been easy to ship, probably more cheaply than the retail markup in the states.

Another memorable encounter: I met Gustavo, our guide from the tour, in Lima on my last afternoon there. I was able to see his house -- his sister's miniscule and very furry dog was extremely adorable, and it was gratifying to hand-feed and play with it since it had been depressed during the previous absence of its owner. We went out to downtown Lima, finding some things closed for the national holiday and others in full swing. We tried pisco- and other liqueur- tasting at an open-air fair, very crowded, good stuff. I bought a bottle of a particularly good and characteristic pisco, which I then accidentally left with Gustavo instead of bringing with my stuff. Hope he enjoys it, or shares it with his family.

We also tried one of his favorite things, a fried confection like pumpkin-flavored donuts with dark caramelized syrup. They didn't have our classic "pumpkin pie" spices, so the effect was a little like a sweet version of tempura-fried squash. Tasty, but definitely strange to me.

(the phone rings, I carry it to Lynn and discover that the marvelous smell is coming from another batch of the marvelous zucchini soup described in my earlier post about good food. It's that reliable combination of garlic, onion, and butter, with just a hint of the more subtle flavors that will make up the bulk of the soup. Back to Lima:)

The art museum, which was luckily open, had displays of art based on the Peruvian flag and other nationalistic notions. Some of them were remarkably clever, enjoyable, or thought provoking, especially with competent translation by Gustavo. There were a couple of plays on the words "La Banderia" for flag and "Lavanderia" meaning laundry, B and V having essentialy identical sounds in Peruvian Spanish. Controversial images including red-for-blood, white-for-milk; comic presentations of Peru's presidents throughout history; portrayals of "evaporated" heroes and indigenous people; and across the exit, blank white flags hung with red words on the floor, as if all the color had dripped from the blank panels. You had to push the panels aside to exit, all the while seing words scattered and overlapping into illegibility. "Patria," "clan," "indigenes," "guerra,"familia," "corazon," and many others now slipping from memory.

It was a good day, in spite of the strangeness imposed by airline schedules, naps, and a call from Gustavo's out-of-town brother to say that his grandmother was sick, meaning he would have to cut short our visit and take a 6-hour bus ride to Nasca, with the tiny muppet-like dog. I hope she's OK. (The grandmother; I'm not too worried about the dog.)

I'm going to go help Lynn soon, but there's too much to remember.

The clouds and sky on my last day, alone, in Cusco.

Learning Quechua from Achilino, and spinning from the ladies at the weaving school.

The generous courtesy of Nilda Callanaupa, in giving us a ride and sharing her school with us on short notice, and of the weaving masters at the school, sharing not only expertise but food, drink, and charm.

The roomful of guinea pigs we noticed on the way out, functionally like a rabbit hutch, but earth floor, a stile instead of wire cages, and much more squeaky.

Boiled water.

Mate de coca, anis, o manzanilla.

The two things I've noticed the most in returning: with gratitude, clean drinking water available on tap; a public drinking fountain in the third world would be like a fountain of juice or soda here, something beyond comprehension.

And toilet paper goes in the toilet again, not the wastebasket. I had almost adapted, and now have to be careful in reverse.