Marinera

Lina and Teresa worked every day on the ranch with Uncle Jorge. Not only did they work with the Alpaca, but they helped in other ways, too. They put hay in the loft and tightened the loose screws on the stall doors. They even took two days off from the Alpaca to paint the barn, inside and out.
As the days were always warm, the nights were always cold. Even during the hottest stretch of summer, it never got hot enough to leave a coat behind. Lina discovered that fact on road trips along winding mountain roads with Uncle Jorge. Today was just another one of those cold summer days.
Aunt Paola raised a soupspoon in front of her mouth, blowing gently to cool the broth.
“Would somebody like to taste it for me?”
Teresa volunteered. Aunt Paola held out the spoon. Chunks of chicken, potato, and onions peppered the creamy yellow broth. Teresa took a sip, and then fanned her mouth.
“It’s hot!” exclaimed Teresa.
“Does it need anything?”
“It tastes very good. What kind of soup is it?”
“Aquaditos de Pollo.”
The rich and chunky chicken soup warmed Teresa’s tummy.
“It really hits the spot,” said Teresa.
“You’re just saying that,” said Aunt Paola.
“Some days it’s so cold, I wish we could have this for breakfast.”
“Today your wish is my command. Everyone wash their hands and faces while I set the table,” said Aunt Paola. Uncle Jorge and the girls crowded around the bathroom, taking turns cleaning themselves.
They gathered at the kitchen table. Teresa led the prayer, and then everyone enjoyed Aunt Paola’s soup.
“What will we be doing today?”
“We’re going on a field trip,” announced Uncle Jorge.
“We’re getting something for the Alpaca?” asked Lina.
“No.”
“Are we going to fix the barn?” asked Teresa.
“No.”
“Then what are we going to do?” asked Lina.
“We’re going to the Inti Raymi.”
“I love Inti Raymi,” said Lina.’
“What is it?” asked Teresa.
“It’s the Festival of the Sun,” answered Aunt Paola, “There’s music and dancing and food. So many people gather around to celebrate.”
“That sounds fun.”
“It’s my favorite time of year,” said Aunt Paola, “Now, hold out your hands for me.” She dug through her change purse, counting through the coins inside.
“50 Nueva Sol apiece. That’s yours to spend any way you please,” commanded Aunt Paola.
“Thank you, Aunt Paola,” said Lina.
“Thank you,” said Teresa. She counted through her coins again. She had fifty soles, just as her Aunt promised. She tucked the coins into her pocket for safe-keeping, patting her jeans with her hand.
“We’d better get going,” said Uncle Jorge, “I don’t want to miss anything.”
Everyone loaded into the hatchback and rode towards the festival. The car swerved through streets that zig-zagged through Cusco. Even before they arrived, Lina heard festival music. The sound of trumpets, drums, and flutes filled the air.
“It’s getting too crowded to drive. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” said Uncle Jorge. He parked his car on the street. Everyone climbed out.
Not only were there many cars on the streets, but Lina also noticed yellow mini-busses like the ones at the airport. People filled the sidewalks, traveling this way and that. Mostly, they were walking toward the festival, like Lina and her family.
Three rows of stone, built like short castle towers lined the valley. Like Uncle Jorge said, the Sacsayhuaman Fortress was quite a wonder, each stone carefully stacked into its proper place.
A wide arena opened up in front of the wall. Dancers in bright red and yellow costumes performed, singing, dancing, and playing instruments. The dancers.
Uncle Jorge found a spot and sat down to watch the performers. One performer, clothed in a colorful headdress stood in the middle of the arena. He chanted as he raised his hands toward the sky.
“What is he doing?” asked Teresa.
“He’s imitating the prayers of the Ancient Incan priests. Today is the shortest day of the year, so they would pray to the Inca Sun God, for the sun’s return.”
The performers danced and chanted as the crowd watched. Uncle Jorge tapped his feet to the beat of the music. After a short while, Lina grew hungry. She tapped her Aunt on the shoulder and whispered into her ear. Aunt Paola took Lina by the hand and led her to another part of the festivities.
Aunt Paola walked to a counter, where an old man was selling tamales. Aunt Paola and Lina each ordered one tamale and a drink to share. The man wrapped the tamales and placed them on the counter. Aunt Paola handed the box to Lina while she paid for the tamales.
“I thought I was supposed to use my money,” said Lina.
“You can use it for yourself.”
“I thought I was.”
“I will pay for the food. You buy something fun.”
A short walk through the crowd led to another group of performers. Dressed in ornamental costumes, a couple danced for a crowd. They held their backs straight and stomped their feet as they circled each other. The man held a white handkerchief in his hand. He waved it in the air with each step. Each step the man and woman took were deliberate and calculated.
“Is this part of the festival, too?” asked Lina.
“I don’t think so. They’re dancing the Marinera. It’s not a tribal dance.”
“Where did It come from?”
“It came from everywhere.”
“What do you mean?”
“Listen to the music. It’s a little bit Spanish, a little bit Gypsy music, and a little bit tribal rhythms,”
“You can hear all that?” asked Lina.
Aunt Paola nodded her head. “The music and dancing tells the Peruvian story, from the Spanish sailors who came here centuries ago, to the wandering Inca tribesmen, who ruled over much of South America. This dance represents our past.”
Lina mimicked the Marinera dancers, holding a napkin like the man held his handkerchief. She danced around her Aunt.
“You are such a lovely dancer,” said Aunt Paola.
“It’s easy,” said Lina.
Aunt Paola turned her head toward Lina. Lina continued circling her Aunt. Her flourishes became more animated, like the male dancer in the middle of the crowd.
“I wish I could do that,” said Aunt Paola.
“You can do it. All you need is your napkin,” said Lina.
Aunt Paola grasped her napkin in her hand and straightened her posture. As Lina circled Aunt Paola, she stomped the ground with her feet. Aunt Paola grabbed Lina by the waist and swung her around. The more they danced, the faster Aunt Paola spun her niece about.
“Auntie, I have to sit down and rest. I’m getting dizzy.”
Aunt Paola let go of Lina. Uncle Jorge had been watching the girls for quite some time. When Lina sat down, he took her place. He borrowed Lina’s napkin and gave it a whirl about Aunt Paola’s head. She winked at her husband and continued dancing. He wrapped his hand about her waist and spun her around.
Soon, Aunt Paola had changed from spinner to spinee. She became dizzy, too. She pulled away from Uncle Jorge, collapsing next to Lina. The crowd cheered Aunt Paola. She got back to her feet and curtseyed, then sat down again.
“That was some fun,” said Lina.
“It sure was,” chuckled Aunt Paola. Meanwhile, Uncle Jorge grabbed Teresa and danced with her. Other couples followed along, joining the Marinera dancers in the middle of the circle.
“Look what you started,” said Lina.
Aunt Paola smiled, “It wasn’t me. It was the dance. Marinera is in every Peruvian’s blood. That’s why it’s called the National Dance of Peru.“
Lina watched her cousin and Uncle dancing. She began understanding what her Aunt meant. The Marinera was a very romantic dance, filled with a wide variety of movements. The song finished and everyone in the crowd applauded.
Uncle Jorge and Teresa joined the other two. Uncle Jorge breathed heavily, winded from the dancing.
“How can you be tired? You work all day long,” asked Aunt Paola.
“I usually walk from one place to another in the barn,” answered Uncle Jorge.
“Maybe you should try dancing from now on,” said Lina.
“I think that was enough for awhile.” Uncle Jorge relaxed on the ground. The rest of the family joined him. Teresa stared into the clear blue sky.
“The cold ground feels so good,” she said.
“It sure does,” agreed Aunt Paola.
“What would you girls like to do after this?” asked Uncle Jorge.
Just then, a train whistle blew in the distance. Lina sat up and looked in the direction of the sound. The train at Aquas Calientes was ready to take sightseers through the mountains.
“That train whistle just gave me an idea. I’ll give everyone one guess what it is,” said Lina.
“Haven’t you been up to the ruins before?” asked Uncle Jorge.
“Nope.”
“I haven’t been there, either,” said Teresa.
“I guess this would be as good a time as any to visit.”
Uncle Jorge stood up, dusting the dirt off his clothes. He reached down, helping each of the girls up to her feet.
As they walked toward the train station, the train whistle blew again. A large gray-black cloud rose from the smokestack. Everyone joined hands, walking side-by-side.
Each of the girls was anxious to visit Machu Pichu. They had read about it in books and often wondered what it was like. Although Aunt Paola had lived in Cusco her entire life, she had not visited the ruins since she was Teresa’s age. She, too, was anxious.
Uncle Jorge had been there as recent as last Spring. Still, he was anxious, too. The ancient Inca ruins on top of the mountains filled Uncle Jorge with pride.
As they reached the station, they found the the next train would not leave for nearly an hour. Still, each of them figured the journey was worth the wait.
Uncle Jorge bought four train tickets. He passed them out then sat on a bench, waiting for the next train to arrive