Five days ago, I snuck into a cemetery (Written Dec. 3rd, 2013)

Can’t believe I didn’t think it was noteworthy to write then, because how exciting is that last sentence? I wandered over to the health post on Friday afternoon only to discover that Friday afternoon is also known as no one is in the health post on Friday afternoons.  Only the tech Lydia and her adorable daughter Giselle (see the pictures of Peruvian children in the previous post for reference) were there.  After we exchanged pleasantries, Lydia said that she was on her way to collect pasto (grass) and would I like to come.  Just so we’re all clear, when anyone invites me to do something, anything, to pass the time in Huantar, my answer leans towards, “Yes please, thank God.”

So we closed up the health post, Lydia assured me that she had the cell phone in case there was an emergency (Ha), and we started to walk towards pasto.  We walked past the locked entrance to the cemetery and began to stroll along the adobe wall until we came to a section that was lower than the rest, slightly more worn in places, almost as if there were steps carved into the side.  Surely we weren’t going to…yes, yes we were going to break into a cemetery.

Under the gaze of some Quechua abuelas (did they approve, did they disapprove, no one will ever know) Lydia, Giselle, and I clambered over the wall and into the graveyard. 

As a sidenote, I actually really enjoy graveyards, especially, if anyone’s curious, Lakeview Cemetery in Cleveland, OH.  I went there in the spring of 2013 and golly did I have a blast, dead people in Cleveland have impeccable taste in gravestones.  Though I have to wonder if all presidential tombs are always so ostentatious.  Back to the more recent past— for a half hour or so I helped Lydia and Giselle pull up grass, clover, flowers, and other plants that cuyes (guinea pigs) like to eat.  Apparently they like soft plants.

It was a whole other view of Huantar that I hadn’t yet seen.  Tall windblown pines along one edge, grass free of animal feces as the dogs hadn’t yet learned to climb the wall, new views of snow-capped peaks in the distance, and the quiet that always seems to accompany graves.  Maybe one day I’ll buck up the courage to sneak in there on my own, and I’ll find a secret corner to read and write letters in.  Also, if anyone would care to research if there are any curse-like effects from pulling up grass in cemeteries and let me know, I would be much obliged.

Besos.

Enjoy some Peruvian cemetery shots:

The mountain to the East, bare rock shooting out of the valley floor

Snow-capped peaks in the distance

The nurse tech, Lidia, and her daughter Giselle

Dead rat found in a cemetery.  I found it...poetic?

Mountains on the road to Chavin

Pine trees and Peruvians long dead