The Routine

     After two weeks of work and almost three weeks of being in Urumbamba we have mostly discovered the pattern of gringos who live and work here temporarily. Wake early and have bread, butter and tea, trek through  the crowded streets until we reach ProPeru around 8:30. Usually we wait until about nine to learn our destination ("Peru time" is very relaxed) and walk back down to the bus station where we clambor into a combi (cross between a van and a bus, seats optional) or else dive 3 at a time, into a passing moto (a seat and an awning placed onto the back of a motorbike). 20 minutes later we arrive in towns that -despite their proximity to Urumbamba- are vastly different. Janahuara is rural and spread apart and while Ccotowinchu seems to be more organized there are few species of trees that have managed to create a stunted life in the arid, rocky terrain. 
     After hiking for a bit, our boss Jaime (hi-may) tells us which houses to build stoves in and we split ourselves into groups, usually two groups of three or four. We then enter into the gates of our respective houses fingers crossed: hoping that the mud is good, hoping the platform was built under the lowest part of the roof (less chimney to build), hoping for things we don't know that we are hoping for until they don't work out, and then we remember to hope for it in the future. First, we are greeted by the chickens and geese that reside within the gates, picking their ways around the hoe. Often times a baby or toddler will be playing quietly nearby, incorporating the livestock into their own little world. Then we enter into the the kitchen, or where ever the stove  will be. Once we placed  a stove in what I believe was someone's bedroom, as it had two neatly made beds. We flung the mud as carefully as possible, mindful of their blankets and decoration. 
      After being greeted usually by a woman and sometimes her husband (or conviviente, which is a spouse by law, although they are not legally married, something that seems to occur here as much as it does in the US) we are greeted by the cuy, which are guinea pigs raised to be eaten. Usually there are 10 to 15, and they run loose around our feet as we  build. Often timid enough to stay out of our way, the ones today were brazen and danced merrily around our shoes as we walked.  Also, it isn't uncommon for a chicken to use the opportunity of the open door to come in and watch our progress, perching on a rock or table and once even sitting on a bed. 
     Three and a half hours later we are hopefully done slinging mud, piling bricks, and stacking chimney tubes and we emerge from the home, find a means of transportation back to Urumbamba, and leave for the day. After walking home and shaking out my mudcaked clothes, I eat lunch with my family and then walk back across town for an hour and a half Spanish lesson. Then every other day we hike up a small mountain, use the Internet at the office, and come back for dinner. Dinner is a jovial affair, but at 8 or 9 my roommate and I are ready to sleep. Breakfast-work-lunch-class-mountain-dinner-bed... a simple routine that hasn't yet become boring as it is so rare. Also, because I have so little to do I get so much more done- I've e-mailed people I haven't talked to in years but wanted to, and been able to plan for this summer and next semester in ways I wouldn't be able to if I were still in the US. Life in Urumbamba is pastoral in someways, but I could never do what some people in our group have suggested, and live here. As much as I enjoy Peru, I'm incredibly excited for the Miami airport layover on the way back to the US, where I can buy a Wendy's frosty and a hamburger, and understand all of the signs.