The Misa Challenge

I only remember going to mass only once before in my life and it was quite the event. I want to say that I was around 10 years old and due to my parents absence for the day I was left under the care of my neighbors and close friends, the Howards. I ate with them, spent time with them and ended up at the local church with them. Although not at all religious I truly was fascinated by the atmosphere and the overwhelming faith which resonated through the space. Of course as all things go in my life I managed to cause quite a scene when, during silent prayer, I knocked the Holy Bible off of the pew and onto the floor where, like the faith, if not with more force, the sound resonated throughout the chamber. Now, since then I have not attended a Church service until this very morning. I'm going to have to back up a bit though, tell you the stories leading up to my graceful return to religious services.

This week was filled to the brim with almost solely Quechua language class. Although we had afternoon lectures, the main focus for each and every SIT student was Quechua since it was our final week and we had our final exam scheduled for Thursday. Monday through Wednesday, after each 3 hour session of Quechua and after our 3 hour siesta we returned to the SIT classroom for cultural lectures ranging from Andean religions to gastronomy to musicology. Each lecture had its own high and low points but in general they were enjoyable, although quite difficult to understand. By the time Wednesday night came around all of the students had crammed themselves into a local cafe where we spent 3+ hours studying for what we thought to be a verbal and written exam able to kick our butts up and down the Andes Mountains. The next morning we all boarded a bus at 7:30 and began a 1.5 hour drive to the indigenous town of Qorca. Driving up and over the hills surrounding Cuzco, past the cities trash dump and across dangerously narrow ledges we landed in Qorca and was immediately set upon by the stray dogs of the rural setting. Making our way past the dogs, horses and cows we divided into three smaller groups and began our "exam". 3 hours of bread-eating, cola-drinking, coffee-hounding studying was not at all necessary for the exam that we faced. Each small group was presented to a family, and, as a group, all we were required to do was read a list of questions from a sheet of paper and write down the answers that were given to us by the Andean families. Even in Quechua, with the collective powers of 8 college students, it was almost too easy to answer all the questions correctly.

More important than the exam was the experience of spending an entire day in a ultra-rural Andean village. From the tours of the guinea pig pens to the Quechua guided explanation of all of the functions of a kitchen, it was beyond eye opening to trek through fields of cow poop in order to reach a living space or to cross flowing rivers to get to a platter of food. After the "exam" was finished, all of us convened at a house deep in the valley, a 15-20 minute downward hike. Upon reaching the house we saw more guinea pigs, plump and prime for a feast, and on a whim decided to take a dip in the nearby river. A handful of gringos plunging into icy water did not seem to phase the locals at all and by the time we had dried off a soccer game had been all set up and we once again passed the time by kicking a round ball between two rocks, a very basic yet exceedingly enjoyable activity. A hike down into the valley of course meant an eventual hike up out of the valley and through sweat, gasping breaths and a few tears I made it back to my haven, the bus parked on flat ground.

The return to Cuzco meant one more day of classes before the weekend and what the boys of SIT had dubbed the Misa Challenge. Having been asked to attend a Quechua mass at 6am on Sunday morning we had made the intelligent, college level decision to attempt to stay awake and dance at the discotecas from 10pm Saturday night until 5:30 the next morning when we would attend mass or "misa". With the recommendation by my host parents that I drink Coca-Cola as well as Burn energy drinks in order to complete the challenge I was rip-roaring and ready to take the misa by storm. Friday night was a night of dancing and meeting other foreigners which led perfectly into a Saturday of laundry, more cafe bread and the watching of Fight Club, a cultural classic. Energized, roudy and decked out in clean clothes I was ready to take the Misa Challenge by the figurative horns. To start the night all the boys convened to watch Due Date and laugh our way to the discotecas and what a night it was. One movie, an enormous pizza called the "Terminator", and 2 liters of Coca-Cola later we were all set to.......go to bed.

The Misa Challenge crashed and burned in an epic fashion equaling a Red Sox loss or the last month of a Mets season. Each of the SIT boys were asleep by 10:30 or 11, to the surprise of my host brother, and upon arriving to misa the next morning were subjected to comments which were as complex as "OMG, even WE stayed up longer than you" and as simple as "hahahahahaha". Quechua misa within itself was an experience, to say the least. I understood 5 words of the entire hour and for the most part spent my time bundled up in the drafty 40 degree church marveling at the ancient Spanish architecture of the Catedral de San Sebastian. Statues of Jesus Crista adorned the walls, sharing space with other Spanish Catholic saints and many, many, many candles. The priest was dynamic, inspired and had quite a set of lungs if I do say so myself. At the end of the misa as we all shuffled out surrounded by well over 100 locals I could not help but think about my earliest church memory and how even without the dropping of the bible and even with the 8-foot thick language barrier I still felt the same awe being in a space so packed with faith and belief. My host parents could not believe that Quechua misa had been only my second time at a church service, another aspect of Peru which I have come to recognize, a lack of religion, more accurately a lack of Catholic faith, is rare and met with questioning looks and at times even a light chuckle.                                        

Tomorrow I depart for a 16 day excursion to Lake Titicaca in Puno, Colca Canyon near Arequipa and Lima, Peru. I'll be staying with an indigenous host family in both Puno and in Colca Canyon, "chilling out maxin' relaxing all cool" with a number of alpacas and trying to balance my body between being ice cold and sunburned. Look out for some quippy posts during the trip and a recap upon my return. Unquestioning faith and a relaxed sense of time, these are what I have found to be the basis of Peruvian society and although I might go about approaching these two aspects quite differently I now can say that I have begun to grasp and understand a very alternative way of life to that of my own.

alpaCasey