February 14,2009

Plodding uphill from the old cathedral.
Before long,
I am winded from the altitude,
And crazed by the noice of traffic and horns,
The smells of food and feces,
And the thick dusty air.

The cars, buses and colectivos,
Pack the streets solidly.
Often there is not even room
For pedestrians to squeeze between the gridlocked vehicles.

The sidewalks closest to the valley
Are filled with stalls selling tourist trinkets.
The shops behind sell tours, treks, adventures.

Slightly higher up the steep hill,
We walk through the witches market.
Here you can purchase tiny cars, houses, cell phones;
Anything that you want to aquire in the next year.
The stalls also sell llama fetuses, coca leaves
And sweets,
All are gifts for Pacha Mamma.
(Apparantly Pacha Mamma loves sweets.)

A bit more climbing,
And the stalls now sell light bulbs,
Sink plugs, door locks, brooms,
And cheap aluminum cookware.
The shops are packed with carnival clothing.
All handmade,
Clown outfits, masks,
Glitsy shawl pins.
Hundreds of colourful gathered skirts
Are admired by the indigenous ladies.
The many millinary shops
Have shelves of marvelous brown and black bowlers.
On the shop walls are calendars,
Featuring full figured, fully clothed women
Sporting benito sombreros.

We huff and puff
Higher up the mountain road.
Gradually most of the local people
and the traffic is left behind.
At the top we reach the cemetary.
Like mini high rise appartment buildings,
Each tomb is stacked on another.
Stalls in this area sell
Flowers and glitz to decorate the tombs.
Even the tombs themselves are for sell in the shops.

After reaching this heaven,
We reverse the hike back to the
Hell of noice and people and cars
In the valley.