Hola Abancay

Abancay sits on the side of its own mountain, as seen from another mountain, with still another to the left and a range in the background.

Everything in Abancay is on a slope. I kept winding up on the south side of town, like water rolling to the lowest point. I´d say 80 percent of the townspeople live above the two main commerce avenues, and the rest below. Bad planning for the people above.

The city of supposedly 100,000 sits about 7,800 feet above sea level. So, tired of climbing streets, I climbed a burro path (yes, get it out of your system folks -- tos in his natural environment and all) as far as I could. That´s where I got the pic above.


Elisio clambers up a burro trail for lunch at home every day, and Friday probably didn´t eat as much as usual, after bumping into an anglo on the way.

Up this path, as I was admiring the view -- and catching a little breath, comes this kid scurrying like he´s done it. Elisio, 15, was on his way home from school and stopped to chat. He´s probably seen a couple of gringos up this way in his life, but not too many and fewer so good looking. Elisio was in colegio, which must be some equivalent of high school. Elisio asked where I was from, and if I had kids. He was pleased with the answer, and especially pleased to hear that "mi hijo vive en Irlanda." Elisio has three sisters and three brothers. Slipped him a couple soles for the chat, and off he went.


Prodding a couple of burros and horse uphill with her granddaughter, a spitfire is about to come around the corner.

On the way back down, which isn´t easy because there are no branches to grab -- it´s all cactus along the path, I ran into a woman and her grandma marching a horse and a couple of burros up the hill. I grabbed a quick pic before I could really see grandma. That didn´t stop grandma from just about jumping me. She got herself all wound up and gave me her finger-wagging best tongue-lashing. How dare I take a picture without paying. The more I smiled, the louder and faster the old lady got. The granddaughter was smiling and enjoying the scene -- about three miles from civilization on a dirt road some old lady reaming out an old anglo -- and I began to laugh. And the old lady grabbed me and pulled me over so my face could be closer to hers for the full effect. So I pull out a 50 centimos coin -- she grabs it and gives me some more. I gave another 40 centimos, laughing and protecting myself, and she grabs it and wags some more. She walked off bitching, and I walked off laughing.


Adobe bricks are pretty large -- about 18 inches long by 6 wide and 8 deep.

Just down the road a few yards, this fella turning adobe bricks to enhance the drying process, and a few of his mates all heard the ruckus and thought it quite amusing. But they weren´t going to say anything. They were building three houses at once and didn´t need the interruption. Quite a few of the houses in Abancay, especially beginning on the outskirts, were made of adobe.


Back in town, up pops the latest of about four parades I´ve run into -- the 75th anniversary of a girls school.

So, I´m walking along and suddenly there´s a din, which isn´t real unusual. A parade has commenced, and thrown traffic into a mess. I hang out a few minutes, and it´s all schoolgirls marching. I mosey towards the back and right as the parade passes and the crowd thins out is this blatant Anglo. So, I ask what this is all about == chances of him knowing are as good as my understanding an Abancay resident.

Well, he knows -- he´s Allen George, a doctor from Nebraska, married to a doctor from California, who together have been doing missionary medical work in this area for eight years, and he has two daughters in the school.

We followed the parade a while and chatted, and I met his daughters. I told him I personally knew two very high positioned newspaper people in Illinois who would like to offer help in some way to people they or friends of theirs knew could use the help. Well, I´ll be damned, but this doc, who spends most of his time in the villages outside Abancay while his wife works in the city, says their church mission supplies them with all they need, but thanks for the offer.

Manana: Cuzco, the Incan word for navel, because Cuzco was the navel of the world.