Saluting our country in a cornfield: Happy Third of July!

Okay, so the Inti Raymi drama and dancers were cool, festival of Chokakillka out of this world, and random days off from school much appreciated. But my new favorite holiday is the Third of July.

Because the people of Ollantaytambo aren´t too concerned with some stupid American holiday, there were unavoidable conflicts tomorrow and we decided the Declaration of Independence could have just as easily been signed on the third and threw a party tonight.

It´s weird, having been in Peru for about five weeks now, what reminds you of America. We made a wish list of things that would make our fiesta legitimate, and people tried their best to make it happen here.

Some ideas turned out better than others. The marshmallows for s´mores from Urubumba were tough in a way marshmallows just should not be, the cheese was not cheddar, and instead of apple pie there was apple crumble. There were no pickles to be found.

But overall it was a success, and the Peruvian influence wasn´t all for the worse. There was an obscene amount of guacamole, and no shortage of potatoes or corn. There were more woven scarves than patriotic attire, and while there wasn´t a single American flag in sight, there was red and blue jello. People had to improvise.

There were real hamburgers with buns, watermelon, potato salad, coleslaw, and s´mores roasted over an oil drum. There were even hushpuppies, courtesy of Jacob, who did the South proud with his cooking.

 There was non-Peruvian music coming through the speakers, and we sat in the concrete courtyard as though on a picnic. Someone drew a Twister board on pieces of paper and I called out ¨red food on blue¨to my heart´s content. We set off ¨fireworks,¨otherwise known as gunpowder tied to a broomstick,  in a cornfield outside Ollanta, and someone put the Star-Spangled Banner on repeat on iPod speakers.

Toasting the United States against the backdrop of the Andes in the moonlight, it was  a salute to our beloved home country and what it represents, as well as an appreciation for everything Peru and its people have given us.

God knows our country isn´t perfect, but I´ve come to realize that for the most part, we have it pretty good in America. The average American child has far more opportunities avaiting him than the average Peruvian does, although these advantages do come with responsibilities. To global awareness, cultural understanding, and some degree of humility, for starters. 

I´m starting to think that you have to leave the United States to begin to understand what it means to be American.

I was 10,000 miles from the nation´s capital, but toniight´s celebration in a cornfield in Peru was the most fitting tribute to our independence that I could imagine. Even if it was a day early. So happy Third of July, everyone. Tomorrow you better appreciate your civil liberties and cheddar cheese.

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Festival Videos

Here are two videos Kelsey took of the festivals. The first video is our reaction to dancing during the festival of  Choquekillka the weekend we got here. The second video shows the bullfight from Sunday afternoon. Click on the links to view them on Vimeo!

Festival Video Diary from Eliza Kern on Vimeo.

Grab the Bull By the Horns from Eliza Kern on Vimeo.

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Bailamos en el Fiesta!

Yesterday was the last day of the festival and therefore the most elaborate and wild day of partying yet. After eating cuy for lunch, which was actually pretty good, if a little greasy and gamey, Kelsey and I went down to Jarrard´s house for the festivities.

Now, to be clear, getting to Jarrard´s house requires about twenty minutes of walking through Ollanta and down these humungous steps that were built by the Incas. What were probably very intimidating to the conquistadors attacking the city five centuries ago is also intimidating to Jarrard, who climbs them daily to get to Ollanta. And to those of us who visit him.

There´s a church near Jarrard´s house that was the main site for the festivities in the afternoon. We made friends with a little girl who was fascinated by our cameras, our shoes, and pretty much everything we had with us. Jarrard wasn´t exactly inconspicuous with his large camera, tripod, and fuzzy microphone, which children found fascinating.

Side note: Some of us, ahem, Kelsey and Jarrard, seem unable to distinuish children´s ages from their phyiscal appearances. However, I consider this to be a personal skill of mine. I have now begun shouting approximate ages when I see children in the Plaza or around town, and Kelsey or Jarrard will then ask their ages to check me. It´s probably about time that we start working.

The festival was crazy. Everyone was eating and drinking chicha, and there was more dancing. The entire ceremony was in Quechua, meaning we were totally lost as to what was going on. Quechua is crazy. But after some sort of religious ceremony that involved a lot of food and stringing a chicken up on a rope, they hung a piece of maize from a rope and men on horseback rode by and tried to grab it. Drunk men on horseback is pretty much universally funny.

(Some of the dancers getting ready to climb on each other´s backs and try to grab the maize. Epic fail.)

Kelsey and I headed back up the hill of death to Ollanta for dinner, and Jarrard met us in the Plaza later where the festivities continued. All of the dancers had danced up the hill in a huge procession to the square, where the party got started around ten p.m. The three of us were watched them wind their way through the square when suddenly the masked men grabbed Kelsey and me and we found ourselves dancing in the Plaza with crazy Peruvian dancers. Jarrard was all smug that he hadn´t been grabbed to dance, when of course, he was sandwiched by two very old, very short men, and was forced into the fray as well. It was such a blast.

Then they set of ginormous fireworks that were fairly frightening considering their size and proximity to where we were. There is a reason that you´ve never stood directly under fireworks before. But we survived, and they were admittedly very cool, if loud. We called it quits around eleven, meaning we will never escape our reputation as wimps. Oh well.

This morning we headed over to the primary school where we´ll all be teaching in the mornings. Supposedly because it´s a private as opposed to a public school, it´s more organized and structured, but CATCCO hasn´t placed any volunteers there yet, so it´s just a guess. Hopefully I´ll be able to go over to the preschool, or el jardin, three days a week and do art classes for about 45 minutes, which should be great.

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