Thoughts on life in Urubamba after one month

It has been almost one month since I have been wandering the dirty, dusty streets of this small village and I am not going to romanticize or idealize it. Honestly, I cannot say I love it. Life is hard for me here (as it is for many, I think) and I have days where I do not know what I am doing here. I am conscious that I have the privilege to leave if I choose, and so I gather my thoughts carefully and try not to take everything so seriously, but I am not going to lie: it is really hard. And then there are the days where there is a moment where I know I am in the right spot, some little lesson learned, some interesting tidbit of knowledge gained, an interesting connection made and I know I am living less ordinarily right now. This image is from the lookout point of the Caminata Cruz (a hike up to a cross on the mountain) looking down at the sacred valley and Urubamba. Sometimes I have to remember to look up to see in what an extraordinary place I am living. And from this perspective of looking down at the town where I am living, I also gain new insights; somehow in living in this environment it is easier to start to see our lives as much smaller in contrast to the sublime Andes mountains in the distance. It is easy to see the beauty in the landscape but more difficult to see the beauty in the streets of Urubamba, yet I wonder where it is hiding, it must be there!

The streets are indeed dusty, dirty, and shit filled; often they seem to be used as public washrooms for both humans and animals. The infastructure here is very poor, so many buildings built with adobe bricks and concrete, are crumbling and in poor condition, the signs sloppily painted on with house paint. The sidewalks also are crumbling and you have to constantly watch where you step for fear of falling into the random holes and placing your shoe in a pile of poop or a puddle of pee from the hundreds of stray dogs that roam the streets. Familiar sounds are dogs barking throughout the night, and the early morning crowing of my neighbours the roosters that keep me awake at ungodly hours of the night.

Life here is also generally hidden behind closed doors; there do not seem to be a lot of people in the streets at any given time, although most people here do walk most places because it is a small town. When I peek through the double doors into shops that double as residences I see family life going on, the chickens walking around, the laundry hanging from a wire, the fire burning, the moto parked just inside, the baby toddling in a walker, the pile of corn husks stacked against the adobe bricks and maybe a cuy or two if I am lucky. This is an image of my new next door neighbours, taken from my roof top apartment, another new interesting perspective from which to view my surroundings. From the street, you could never see this life going on behind the closed, locked door facing the street.

And because it is a small town, I am beginning to recognize many familiar strangers: the teenager, Amar, who works in the bakery Antojitos from early morning to late night who serves me chocolate cake. Cesar the chef who is from Trujillo and makes the best burgers in town at the Sandwich Lab. The ladies in the internet cafes and locuturios. The police officer always standing outside the bank. I am even beginning to recognize the stray dogs of the city. It is also these connections with people that also give new perspectives on living a life in this place.

And I just keep moving, like everyone else. Another Monday comes around and I find myself walking to the school at 8am along with the rest of the town in the midst of Urubamba´s ¨rush hour¨ which, of course, is nothing like Toronto´s! It is interesting none the less, how despite all the contrasts and differences between my culture and the culture here, life moves on in the same ways. People have jobs, they go to work, they come home, they shop, they cook, they clean, they take vacations, they have relationships, they have families. Of course they do! Life is keeps moving and what seems extraordinary to me here, is of course quite ordinary and normal to the people whose lives I am quietly observing and in whose lives I am attempting to blend in. It is easy to see the beauty in the mountains and landscape of the land but I am finding it challenging to see the beauty in the streets of the village, yet I it is there somewhere, hiding in the cracks and crevices of the crumbling adobe bricks. What do you think?