Returning Home – Dave Bailey
Cusco Found – Poem
Brick Layered streets
Narrow sidewalks
They make me think, feel, explore
Uneven underfoot as I move between people and cars
Where am I going
The joy of not knowing
Confidence fills me
Is it someone to meet
A store to be found
Or is it the sweet new smells from small cafes and restaurants
That will lead me, Move me
An open door
I duck through
Bright colors, beautiful browns fill the walls
Broken Spanish, broken English
We communicate what we can
Items in hand we bargain
Price drops sale made
This poem was about a short walk I took through town one afternoon. The feelings and sounds surrounded me, making for peaceful reflections in my thought as I wandered around Cusco. I saw children playing, families laughing and shop owners looking for the next customer. How different are these images from the ones in 
America, I ask myself. The streets are older and history has formed its wrinkles on the landscape surrounding Cusco. Many centuries of building and destruction have layered the city with Incan walls buried in new architecture. It is hard to comprehend the desire to destroy a culture and its people, as did the Spanish to the Incans. Our world today has not been immune to this destruction and it reminds me that civilizations past and future require us to think deeply about our actions and motives. The Incan ruins in Cusco are a reminder of the past embedded in the new buildings that form a new Cusco. I say “new” loosely because for us, here in America, change can happen within a couple of months. Time flows differently in Cusco and the outlying cities. Change may take many years. To simply fix or build a new road or put up a new building is a process that is governed by the resources at hand, and much of the time those resources are limited.
The re-entry back into the culture of America wasn’t hard enough it felt to easy to slip back into the routine and not feel the cultural change that just had happened. It may be strange not to feel the change, but the two weeks in Peru was just a brief moment in time and one that only let fragments of a rich culture soak in. I was feeling selfish, I wanted more time to absorb Peru. I returned to the States with curiosity and a desire to go back. The mountains whispered in my ear as I flew back to Lima, their voices peaceful. Lima quickly shifted my experience back into the challenging big city culture with America graffitied all over it. McDonalds, Burger King and American music on many stations inundated my senses. I didn’t mind the Obama stickers and hats that dotted the landscape of the city, but where was I? I asked myself. The taxi driver blurted out some Spanish and I quickly returned to Lima in my thought. Evening had come, in the cool air of the night the city was just waking up and hunger had made its way to my stomach. Down the street I went to a suggested restaurant, where I knew speaking Spanish would be important. Finally words flowed with some helpful hand gestures and a sandwich appeared. Both young and old people packed the seats in this 50’s style soda shop. My seat was a bar stool at one of the high counters where two other people also sat. They spoke Spanish back and forth, but then the older gentleman blurted out some English, I think because he was frustrated. Soon I found myself talking with them and they were happy to share their thoughts about their country and our new president. The hour was late and I was tired; an early departure was awaiting me so back to the hotel I went with a bowl of ice cream in hand, where American movies would put me to sleep.
Early to the airport and a long flight to Miami would cover the next 8 plus hours. On the plane I found myself sitting next to a young woman from London who had just been to Machu Picchu via the Inca Trail. We chatted for a while but soon her eyes were no longer able to stay open. As a teacher that is my worst nightmare, putting my class to sleep, so I hope that boredom was not the cause. Later we continued our conversation and I realized I wanted to speak more Spanish than English. This was apparent when Spanish words would come out during the dialogue. We made our way out of the plane into the Miami airport. It was a hub of activity and our chat continued as we went through customs. She was headed to London, which put her gate at the other end of the airport so I thanked her for her curiosity about The Link School and sharing her thoughts with me.
Denver would be the greater shock, being in the central part of the states, but it was funny how South America would not let go of me. A couple from Venezuela sat next to me on the plane. Great I thought! I could practice my Spanish. My 6’4″ frame, comfortably smashed into my seat, went in and out of sleep for the next 5 hours, that is my feet fell asleep then my legs and even my rear end. Wow! I don’t think I even closed my eyes and almost my whole body got some sleep. I had a brief conversation with the couple next to me about where to ski in Colorado and how the conditions where. I really had no idea about the conditions at this point, but made a guess that ended up being correct. My Spanish took me only so far in the conversation and his English was about as basic as my Spanish, but the great thing was that the fear of trying to communicate with someone in a different language had vanished. Hiding behind a language or the thought that I can’t do that or I can’t communicate well is a frame of mind that limits us and what we are able to accomplish. I just wish cars could communicate better since I was told where the car was in the parking lot, but still ended up wandering around with the cold air biting at my bare neck. Bare, because I was brave enough to get a haircut in Peru, only knowing how to say, cut a little, and not knowing how to say, too much. Well, not a lot I could do after the first cut, which was a lot of hair. At least it grows out. Lights blinked as I gave into the idea of just hitting the door unlock button; so I guess cars can communicate.
The snow began to fall as I headed over the pass and my thoughts of the Venezuelan couple skiing in beautiful powder made me want to go ski. The trouble was my arms, legs and rear end were awake, but eyes were growing heavy as I tried to dodge snowflakes hitting the windshield. I knew I would be tired in the morning. The long straight road came into view and at the end would be my bed. I paused thinking deeply for a moment and even stopped the truck. I was home and tears came to my eyes as gratitude for the people that helped make this trip happen and the people I so love in this community filled my heart. How expansive our love becomes when it is not bound by time or place but radiates from our thought. This was a gift that had no price on it, and I can only hope that it extends further as the opportunity to meet new people and to explore the world continues.
