Our last day at the clinic. Once again, a beautiful morning beamed through my window and I jumped in the shower to have my last trickle of a very crummy shower. I made the mistake of stretching this morning, grazing my hand across the shower head and completing the circuit that formed from the bare wires connecting it to warm the water, and my wet feet. Needless to say, I didn't need coffee this morning!
Martha met me downstairs and offered me in the most English words she has managed to string together since I met her, "Would you like to see my cuy?"
Huh?
Turns out, cuy is the regional delicacy here: Guinea pigs! Martha took me to the storage room where 50 0r so guinea pigs huddled in the corner, waiting to become fried cuy on a stick!
Vicki was back to her sparkly self, and Luis Elvis, a young boy who had to have a triple lateral club foot correction, was in good spirits.
Today was the day they get to go home. In the other room, Roosevelt bravely gave a smile, hiding the pain he felt from his shish-kabob leg procedure. I interviewed Roosevelt and his dad about why he wanted the surgery so bad. Roosevelt simply stated he just wants to be able to cross a room without bumping into things and being laughed at by the other kids. Wow. If there ever was a statement to bring home why these doctors do what they do, it was right there.
Everyone packed up their things. Surgical instruments, packing supplies, unused orthopedic hips. It was time to go. We packed up three vans of people and bags and left Coya behind us, well, except for the parts that will always stay with us.
We went to Pisaq for lunch, but Cassie, Todd, Maddie and I opted to see the Pisaq Ruins, a massive Incan city that rivals in size Machu Picchu. We didn't have time to see the whole thing, so we broke out the Griswald Family rush-and-see energy to probe as far in as we can and rush back–not an easy thing with something this beautiful and high up, you'd think we were chain smokers who just finished a bacon buffet the way were gasping from a 50 yd jog–downhill!
Since the Pisaq bridge was washed out, the 40
minute drive to Cuszco (Qos'qo in Quechuan) will now stretch to about two or more hours. The landscape was beautiful. Billowy clouds floated above, and the sun ignited the velvety green carpet that draped the hillsides. We rose above the terraced mountains to grassland meadows, the higher, jagged, snow covered Andes tops now revealed.
At first impression, Cuzco seemed like a Baroque inspired, crowded, polluted city.
But as you peel past the outer layers, the Inca ancestry of the architecture (Theirs are the masterfully cut stone walls, the Spanish built the mortared ones) and the beautiful Plaza del Armas reveal why it is considered one of the most beautiful cities in the Americas. At night, as you stand in the plaza, its hard to look straight up at the constellation Orion and drop your gaze to focus on the cityscape, as the pinpoints of light that dot the hillsides are almost indistinguishable from the stars above.
Several of us went to one of the tourist favorite pubs and downed the coldest beer I think I have ever had. Maybe it was just weariness from having warm drinks and cold eats, but this was definitely a degree away from ice crystals, and my palate was very pleased! We ate traditional Andean food that served everything from cuy to alpaca (tastes like steak!)
and a traditional dance display which...I got pulled up to show off my unflattering dance moves, and my ass set on fire. Apparently some courting ritual dance. Oh well, at least it entertained the team!
The Quechua word of the day:Tupananchiscama-Goodbye, until we meet again.
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