noqa raquel kani

Noqa Raquel Kani. Noqa los Estados Unidos mantan kani. Runasimita rumani.

This is proof that I am learning something here in Peru. In Quechua, that means, “I am Rachel. I am from the United States. I speak Quechua.” (Not very sophisticated, I know, but I have had only a few classes so far!). Anyway, Quechua (and the dozens of other indigenous languages spoken in the Amazonian regions of Peru) have been a big part of my last few weeks. But, per usual, I have to retrace my steps and explain what I have been up to because I have been slacking on my blog updates. I could attribute this to my very busy and exhausting schedule or I could perhaps mention the wide availability of every season of the West Wing on pirated DVD – take your pick.

Two and a half weeks ago we went on a trip to Manu, a nature reserve in the Amazon about 10 hours from Cusco. Our trip ended up being delayed a day because of transportation strikes (called “paros” – literally a “stop”) that protested the Peruvian government’s plan to take water from a part of Cusco to help irrigate crops in another area of Peru intended for export to other countries. The delay was kind of nice, though, because it meant that we had a rare weekday without the standard 5 hours of class. We left a day late, at 4:30 am, completely unprepared for the ridiculousness that is a bus trip in the Andes. We were on a paved road for only about the first half hour of the 10-hour trip, and the majority of the time we found ourselves on the outside edge of impossibly narrow, windy dirt roads, face-to-face with another equally large truck trying to go the opposite direction. One look out the window to the thousand-foot cliffs was enough to make me sick. Nevertheless, we finally arrived in the Amazonian town of Pilcopata in the late afternoon, ready to spend a few days in the jungle. The climate change was very stark, as Cusco is very dry and fairly chilly and the jungle was exactly the opposite – humid and HOT.

From Pilcopata, we rode in the back of a truck (my favorite mode of transportation) to the community of Santa Rosa de Huacaria, where we stayed for two nights. Huacaria is a community of a few hundred people, and there are 4 languages spoken there – Spanish, Quechua, and also Matsiguenga and Huachiperi, two other indigenous languages. Both, but especially Huachiperi, are endangered languages – there are only a few hundred people left in the world who speak Huachiperi. Almost all of the adults speak their native languages and have passed them on to their children, which is great for the maintenance of the language but sometimes causes problems when those children want to go to high school outside of their community. In Huacaria we spent also spent a lot of time talking to a Curandero (“cure-er”) who is very respected in the field of traditional medicine. Coming from our very scientific, Westernized position on sickness and medicine, it was interesting to try to understand very different perspectives on the same issue.

After two nights in Huacaria we moved onto another community, Queros. This communidad was MUCH smaller – there are only 5 families and about 30 permanent inhabitants of the community. The community has shrunk greatly in recent years as people have left looking for better economic opportunities in the city. This might be changing, however, because a few years ago the community won a land grant from the government to use as a nature preserve and for tourism, so as to encourage people to return. Something very interesting that is practiced in Queros (and also Huacaria) is “tourismo vivencial” (“live-in tourism”), where the community hosts groups of visitors who are interested in experiencing “authentic” life in an indigenous community. This has changed the face of both communities, especially Queros, as they have begun to revive their traditional language and customs that have been fading over the years. This leads to many questions about authenticity and development, etc, and has made me think a lot ever since I spent time there.

Anyway, after 5 days in the jungle, we returned to Cusco in an equally harrowing bus ride, finally arriving to the city at midnight. It was this second 10-hour bus ride that convinced me that my lack of ipod was not allowing me to immerse myself better in the culture but was, in fact, only causing severe boredom. Moral of the story is that tomorrow I plan on forking over $200 to buy an ipod for the impending long bus rides.


i will update more about my last few weeks in a few days when i have more time! sorry this is so long