Alpacas and pick axes

Greetings from arid Arequipa, Peru.

(the view of volcan Misty from my room tonight by moonlight)

Since I last wrote I have only further fallen in love with Peru. It helps that my host Mom continues to hug me regularly and feeds me well.

On Monday morning John (English paramedic), Jeff (English retired prison officer), Kevin (Canadian fireman), Maria (Peruvian GVI staff with a heart of gold) and I set off to the "young town."

The van pulls into a paved street facing what appears to be a rocky hillside, but is in fact the residential area of the pueblo, and home to the water reservoir we are to build. We pile out, smother on the sun screen, collect our tools (which mind you consist of 3 shovels- one of which is broken, two pick axes- one of which is about to break, and a massive rod for stabbing sheer rock) and head up the hill. Its only a matter of steps before every muscle in my legs is crying out to me and my heart is in my throat. Welcome to the altitude.

The building site is a small area of levelled ground half way up the hill looking out to oddly green agricultural fields, littered with cows grazing and people working. We set to work full of bananas and enthusiasm and start hacking at the earth to make the foundations: a 2.5 metre x 2.5 metre trench to a depth of 50cm and 80cm in the corners. We have moved dozens of kilos of dirt and rock. The back part of the trench backs into the hill, formed by an angry volcano so long ago, with little inclination to move. I thought I was stubborn till I met this rock.

We each take it in turns to smash the rock with the pick axes, then shovel it out. Its exhausting work, and being the only girl (Maria is the overseer and general moral maintainer) I feel I need to earn my keep (I finally got my stamp of approval today when I helped carry 42.5kg bags of cement off the back of the truck, and when John said "You sure can weild a pick axe, girl"). When you aren't digging, you are drinking. At this altitude (Arequipa sits at a lazy 2,335 metres above sea level) your body craves more water, and in this sun, your body needs more water.

So for the last 3 days we have dug. And today the mason arrived. He determined we needed to dig a bit more here and little more there. So, I set out to axe at a certain corner. It was almost at 80cm, I mean, how hard can it be. The answer is: hard. I spent my entire day in this one corner. After I got it to 80cm the mason realised the whole thing is on a slight slope and determined it needed to be 110cm. I threw a slight tantrum, walked away, took in the view, ate a banana and set back to work.

For the next 3 hours I would dig with my hands (its too narrow for a shovel) and chip with a chisel and hammer. Dig, chip, dig, chip. And every time I measured I found I was actually adding centimetres to my dig. How on earth the hole went from 105cm to 102cm deep, I don't know.

At the end of the day I reached for the measuring tap, positive I had done it, I measured at 101cm. I actually cried. Partly because I was laughing, and partly because, well, I was crying.

So, today we left, with the trench almost done, and the promise of putting down the foundations tomorrow.

(This is the tap that they currently have to service the hillside of houses)

But, despite the nature of the work, I am really enjoying myself. There is a certain pleasure one gets when defeating a rock, even if it only the size of your hand. And there are other daily joys, like the two hours of Spanish lessons after building, the two alpacas I walk past every morning on my way to work, the view of Chachani as I walk home.

So, know that despite my blood blisters and sand fly bites, I am happy, among the dirt and rocks.

Oh dear, look at the time, its 8:22pm, way past my bedtime (no really, it is).

But before I sign off, next time you pass a rock, kick it for me, ok?

Alpacas and pick axes