We arrived near the main square around 3 and although we could tell people were getting ready for something big, nothing was happening yet. Balloons and red cloth decorating the balconies in the plaza, police for keeping the peace (I assume...), people walking around, but nothing major. When it finally seemed like people were flocking and ready for something, we found a place to stand and began guarding our space...people were serious about this procession, and making some money too. There were people everywhere selling flower petals (for throwing), palms in the shapes of crosses, ice cream, cotton candy, and lots of other snacks. It was like a parade in the US...except completely religious. People who were in the procession lined up in the street with banners and waited. And we waited and waited and waited. I think we stood for over an hour without anything really happening. Finally, we could see the giant crucifix wobbling down the street, moving inch by inch, poco a poco. After forever, it was finally in front of us and we could see why it took so long-it must weigh a million pounds and was carried by special red-cloaked men who kept passing off their responsibility to other special red-cloaked men.
Flower petals flew, people cried, there was a marching band, I thought I was going to be crushed to death...all for this slow, crazy procession. I´m really glad we went, although we realized when we got back to Oropesa last night that something similar happened here in the streets, too. But we made it back to the beautiful city of Cusco and were part of a very old tradition. I´m glad we went, but I´m glad we can breathe again! (The photo of us is meant to demonstrate how tightly packed we were in the crowd, but I don´t think it accurately shows how bad it was.)
And finally, here´s what I made in school today. (Did YOU know that boys and girls are different? Actually, I don´t think we learned this stuff until 5th grade, and I KNOW there wern´t any clever little coloring sheets...) I got my own sheet to color and many of the children were distressed when I began coloring the boy´s hair brown, not black. I explained that we´re all different, right? They were also worried that I didn´t have a notebook to glue my picture in and made sure to hand it to the teacher so I could also get a "bien" stamp. One girl was kind enough to show me where to write my name. Que lindo.
