FESTIVAL OF THE SUN.

Life doesn't get any brighter than this sol crazed city in the weeks leading up to the winter solstice in the Southern Hemisphere! Inti Raymi, Quechua for Sun Party, is Cuzco's most celebrated festival. Our timing couldn't be more brilliant. We are here for the music, the parades, the elaborate floats and the costumes and the dancing that never ceases.

Under the Cuzco sky, there is a warmth permeating the cobblestone streets and the hundreds of people who dance on them from the rising of the sun until its setting. In the days and nights proceeding June 24th, people come from far and wide to gather and make merry. This morning as I sat in the bright light on an indigo blue balcony overlooking the Plaza de Armas, I couldn't have prayed for a prettier sight. All colors of the rainbow, just as the Inca bandera (flag), glistened. There were elements of stone and fortified structures like the great Cathedral and its mighty bells as well as natural elements such as the rich green grass and perky yellow blooms living there in the center of the square. A pair of Quechua women carried infants on their back and cradled baby goats in their arms. I smiled upon one lucky young boy, no older than 4 leading a procession of middle-aged dancers through the streets, twirling and stepping and waving his whip like the most valiant of Andean men. I saw whole families and the whole world seemed to be enjoying the journey in unison. I watched as a lame man crawled across the street beneath me, carrying the weight of his crippled legs swiftly. There were the rich and the poor, the weak and the strong, the old and the new being in perfect harmony. But the lovliest colors of all, turning in this real-life kaleidoscope, were Dad and Carmen sitting at the table next to me. Our shared joy tickles me to tears!

Dad and Carmen have abandoned me in the city for their adventure to Machu Picchu. It'll only be a mere 24 hrs solita (alone) before Anne-Marie arrives, but these days with family have spoiled me rotten and I have nearly forgotten what it is like to be in my own company, to let the wind fill my soul and explore with abandon. This has been a sacred journey, traveling solita as well as with my loved ones. I swear it is a constant evolution. I glimpse at a photograph from yesterday and it seems like a whole year has passed. I am rediscovering myself with every passing magical second in time.

For example, riding horseback with my Dad and Carmen through the hills to ancient Inca ruins. Leaving our saddles to hike to what many believe could be the Fountain of Youth and splashing handfuls of the cold rushing water all over my face with hopes to be forever young. Walking through Eucalyptus forests and stopping to chat with native farmers who are gathering and sorting their yellow and red skinned potatoes (known as the Peruvian potato because of its natural, national colors). Resting with my daddy on a bench made of soft green grass and carved into the mountainside like one of the niches (where mummies were stowed) in the Inca temples. Climbing atop the Inca throne and taking a moment to think in this seat where wisemen and kings once meditated. Going inside a cave representing a divine womb and coming out of it to be reborn as many have before me. Rushing with Carmen up to a stage where we danced traditional Andean steps for the whole dining room and returning breathless to sweet dad and Doug (my friend from Vilcabamba- crazy how he and other fellow travelers I have met keep showing up!) for more delighting in a show of traditional song and dance. We were almost the last to leave and we almost succeeded in having the lights dimmed to our liking. The reward for our endurance was a final, soulful Creole band- music from the Peruvian coast with mestizo roots- Carmen's favorite! We cast our shadows in the Saqsayhuaman (phonetically sexy woman) courtyard and Dad nearly had a heart attack when I insisted on going down the smooth (and steep) volcanic born slides. We are eating tons of fresh trucha (trout) whether on islands afloat on Lake Titicaca, the market at Matty's Restaurant in Barranco or from the mountain lagoon outside of Cuzco. I am still wearing a braided wreath around my head- the one the precious children from Lake Titicaca crowned on me as we sat on the shining golden reeds, playing and laughing in front of their tiny schoolhouse. Having to part with Dad and Carmen as they boarded their plane to Cuzco from Puno and then reuniting with them in a city that could not have ever been more sweet.

I had to take a wild ride with a woman I will fondly refer to as Carmen del Virgen and a daring driver I have dubbed San Juan (Johnny) who transported us safely by an alternative highway route in the midst of street protesters and civil conflict. It was a risk worth taking through the Cirquito de Cuatro Lagunas (circuit of 4 lagoons) where we wound in and out of the most breathtaking paisaje (landscape), occasionally going around blockades of stone, broken glass and tree trunks. After 6 hours in the green station wagon, still sparkling after kicking up clouds of pink dust, we were met with a fila (line) of cars that absolutely could not pass any more. Protesters destroyed the bridge and the only way to continue our journey was by foot. We walked about a kilometer- balancing across a plank high above the flowing river- to the other side where a bus had arranged to carry us the rest of the way.

The highway protest surrounding Cuzco has been ongoing for 1 month now. It is not a violent protest, but people have died. Jungle natives want their voices heard and sadly this protest is the means to their justice- defying the government who...

to be continued! Girls gotta party! Love and miss you friends- and- for a Fathers Day surprise, I may be returning to the States soon!!! Much sunshine- and soulshine (planetshine for Hart) on this glorious day.

I love you, Dad, Gene & Papa!