Reflections of Peru


by Heidi Quiram
Assoc. Director of Alumni Relations
and Study Travel Programs

When most people think of Peru, they likely think of Machu Picchu, llamas, the snow-capped peaks of the Andes rising to more than 20,000 feet, or perhaps Lake Titicaca with its floating reed islands.

These images are now etched in my memory, too, but after a two-week program traveling to Cusco, the Sacred Valley, Lake Titicaca, Arequipa, the Colca Canyon and Lima, I now think of Peru differently.

I first think of a surprisingly strapping hug from a tiny orphan girl; a shaman’s blessing as he prepares an offering to Mother Earth in honor of our visit to the Willoq community; the privilege of marching in Cusco’s Corpus Christi parade with our guide Odon’s family, the subject of photos snapped by locals (one of our participants joked, “Which of these things does not look like the others?”).

I remember the solemn looks of a few Willoq boys as they watched the shaman’s blessing, awaiting the bread and hot cocoa being prepared in the community kitchen. I picture the gorgeous, plump baby girl on her mother’s lap in the seat next to me on the bus ride up to the Willoq community — our bus driver stopped to give them a ride since we were going in the same direction.

I remember the feeling of exhilaration when river rafting for the first time, but more so I remember the guide of one of our two rafts pulling over to rescue a small cow stuck on the side of the river, unable to clamor back up the bank.

I think of these kinds of gifts that the warm, outgoing, generous-of-spirit Peruvians showed at every turn. Everyone was full of affection and not at all afraid to share that gift with us.

I remember Marco, the owner of the travel agency which made the arrangements for our group, telling us the greatest need in Peru was not money, but education and basic services throughout the country. These are not people looking for handouts or pity.

I remember our guide in Lima, José, ending our visit with this advice: “Don’t feel sorry for us.” We had started our last day in Peru — a 20-hour marathon before our plane ride to Houston — in the slums (barrio) of Lima.

Well, no — back up. Our first stop in Lima was the Episcopal church, in one of this sprawling city’s most posh neighborhoods, where water is used to create mini green kingdoms in this desert environment. In the hills surrounding the city there is no running water, no sewage system, no trash collection, no basic services at all — but there are 2 million inhabitants. We had stopped at the church to pick up Pastor Anderson, who introduced us to a parish in the barrio, where they have also set up a school for barrio children.

I remember the profusion of garbage in the barrio and the shocking number of flies swirling around it all. In my mind’s eye I can see the three or four ladies who greeted us at the barrio’s soup kitchen, representatives who deliberately came and greeted us.

I remember learning of the challenges facing Peruvians, but also remember hearing from Peruvians that what they need is not direct charity, but education and services. José made it clear that our goal in visiting the barrio was education — to understand the process Peruvians go through when they settle in the barrio with nothing and work their way toward permanent residency in the city — not to arouse our pity.

These are the images, sounds, and memories that stay with me, three weeks after my return from an impoverished country, yes, but ultimately one of beauty and graciousness.