Language School and other such things Cusceñan

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It feels like summer here in Qosqo today, although we are right here in the middle of the dry (cold) winter season. At night the altitude and lack of an atmosphere are evident in the night. The stars (arrayed in new constellations to my eyes) shine brightly over the high walls of the valley. And it is very cold. No joke.
Typically, when I wake in the morning it is a scramble to cover myself completely and quickly make mate de coca. Now that I am in staying with a Peruvian family and attending language school, here is what my typical day looks like:
7 am or so: wake up, get warmer, check my homework and do some review, and head downstairs.
7:30 breakfast: usually an egg and the ubiquitous round, flat rolls of south America, with Mate de Coca. My host mother, an incredibly nice lady named Gladys, makes it for me. Apparently it is not polite to offer to cook your own food while in a homestay.... I don´t mind, though.
7:45: walk to school. This takes about half an hour and it immensely entertaining as the main street I take is sweamped by school children in matching uniforms every morning. There are many Catholic schools in my neighborhood, and on everyblock there are also several venders hoping to sell sweets and trinkets to the kids, also.
8:30 Class begins: I have a four-hour class with three German students. Two are a couple, and in University for medicine. One is 19, hilarious, and studies economics. He is possibly more excited to be in Peru than I am. What I love most about the group is having a peer group of folks interested in more than tourism and who are making the effort to learn the language. Also, the profesoras (they awitch after two hours) are great and hilarious.
12:30 Class ends, I walk home, again swarmed by masses of uniformed children as they go home for lunch.
Afternoons: it wavies. Sometimes I just work on homework, read, drink tea, etc. Most days I go to the Traditional Textiles museum for at least a couple of hours, where there are slmost always a few Quechua weavers doing demonstrations on their back-strap looms. It is to the point where the usually recognize me, insist that I sit near enough to see what they are doing, and chat with me in a language that is secondary for both of us (Spanish). Well, that is actually only describing the men. The male weavers are more converant in Spanish, a little warmer and more curious than the ladies. So far, the women weavers talk to me through the men if at all, and seem to crack jokes about me in Quechua. I don´t think it´s malicious, but I definitely didn´t know what to make of the dynamic at first. Now I just smile and try to say nice things about their work. The weavers are constantly chewing coca, and are dressed in their traditional village dress, but all of this is balanced by blaring music of either a harpsichord-like instrument and female falsetto singing, or guns n´roses on the stereo. It´s amusing, and decidedly my favorite place in Cusco. Undoubtedly, I cry a little bit while in a trance from the rhythm of their looms. I have explained to them that I´m in South America to study weaving, and that the type of loom I work on is different. They sometimes joke that I should take over when one of them gets up from their loom, and I tell them later. It would be a shame to make a mistake on such beautiful textiles, made entirely from naturally-dyed handsoun yarn, and sell for hundreds of dollars in the museum´s adjoining fair-trade gallery.
Evenings: Homework, going on walks (even though the air is pretty awful here). As in Quito, there do not seem to be regulations on vehicle emissions, and the altitude doesn´t make it easier. Or, I hang out at home and talk with Gladys or her 19-year-old daughter, Anita.
It´s a new rythym and it changes everyday, but I thought I´d let you all know how things are going in beautiful Qosqo!
Chau,
Sus.

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