PERU holds a special place in my heart for more reasons 
than I can talk about in this forum.
This is a magical land and I am serious when I say "A lot more than llamas". Peru is the center of the fabled Inca Empire and combines enormous (HUGE!) mountains, the secret city of Machu Picchu (I don't know why they say it's secret, I didn't have any trouble finding it), the highest navigable lake in the world, and more Indians than in any other country in the Americas! I saw Indians everywhere I journeyed and for the most part (other than a few upstarts), they were very kind, generous, and tan people.
In the photo above you see me pampering a luscious baby vicuña. These little cuties are on the rise now with the help of dedicated people in the mountains of Peru. At one time they were almost extinct. It takes about 150 pelts from these darling babies to make one bedspread! I
prefer to have my linens made from an extremely high quality taffeta. It is shiny and feels very nice on my
voluptuous form. As a gesture of kindness, I offered to apply makeup to a whole herd of vicuña so that they would at least enjoy one day of glamour. After a disturbing little squabble with the ranch owners, I was told that this was not in the best interest of the herd. I was informed that vicuña already have long eyelashes and some people have even compared their appearance to Liberacé as he looked during the mid to late 1960's. This excuse seemed to have a lot of holes in it, but I had to accept it since I was on their property. As a consolation, I was allowed to apply eyeliner and rouge to a few of the older ranch hands. One proud but haggard cowpoke objected that this might make him look feminine, but after some prodding from his peers, he agreed. In the end, I believe that these tough men appreciated the fact that they had learned some basic makeup techniques. The little oval picture is one small example of the progress I made with this group of men. Feminine or not, these hard working ranchers were left with fashion knowledge that they will be able to pass on to their village counsel.
Indians are gentle people and I love them. Another trait of theirs is trickery. I visited a small marketplace where three brightly dressed children were drawn to me like a magnet. It must have been my colorful makeup that made them so interested in my face. One of them would not stop pointing at my head region. On this particular day, I was given a guide named Joerg (a Scandinavian dreamboat!) to translate for me. I do know Spanish somewhat (I eat at Del Taco often), but this village spoke a different language. It is called Quechua and sounds quite strange to a girl from Georgia. Joerg explained that these girls wear their 
bright caps
to advertise for a husband. I thought they looked a bit young for child rearing or marriage since they hadn't even learned how to apply false eyelashes. Trickery, as I have stated, is a big part of the Indian day. These three girls pulled a real gasser on me. First they convinced me to dress in an extra set of clothes they just happened to have under a mango cart. Then they made me put a large satchel around my neck. It was like a papoose on my chest rather than my back. After realizing that the bag was wiggling and shaking violently I became startled and alarmed. The three pranksters chuckled and Joerg informed me that the girls' baby brother (named Bob) was in the bag taking his morning nap. Joerg said that I should check on the infant. This sounded like a novel idea as the bag at this point was really jumping. When I stuck my face in the bag to check on poor Bob, I almost fainted at what I saw! A small jaguar was hissing at me and preparing to pounce at my face! I have a family history of ailurophobia, so the mounting laughter coming from these Indian children was very unnerving. At this point, Joerg said "Whoa!" and the chuckling halted. He then explained that the Jaguar was simply a remote control robot and that the father of the girls was controlling it from his Winnebago behind us. Apparently, this gag is repeated whenever an American wanders into the village. What a relief to know that I was safe. Needless to say, I didn't leave these girls with any makeup product.
bright caps to advertise for a husband. I thought they looked a bit young for child rearing or marriage since they hadn't even learned how to apply false eyelashes. Trickery, as I have stated, is a big part of the Indian day. These three girls pulled a real gasser on me. First they convinced me to dress in an extra set of clothes they just happened to have under a mango cart. Then they made me put a large satchel around my neck. It was like a papoose on my chest rather than my back. After realizing that the bag was wiggling and shaking violently I became startled and alarmed. The three pranksters chuckled and Joerg informed me that the girls' baby brother (named Bob) was in the bag taking his morning nap. Joerg said that I should check on the infant. This sounded like a novel idea as the bag at this point was really jumping. When I stuck my face in the bag to check on poor Bob, I almost fainted at what I saw! A small jaguar was hissing at me and preparing to pounce at my face! I have a family history of ailurophobia, so the mounting laughter coming from these Indian children was very unnerving. At this point, Joerg said "Whoa!" and the chuckling halted. He then explained that the Jaguar was simply a remote control robot and that the father of the girls was controlling it from his Winnebago behind us. Apparently, this gag is repeated whenever an American wanders into the village. What a relief to know that I was safe. Needless to say, I didn't leave these girls with any makeup product.
The last Peruvian adventure that I will discuss here involves the Morochuco women of the Ayacucho mountain area. There is
little known of these women. They live by breeding horses, sheep, and dairy cattle and only come to civilization for market or certain festivals. First of all, please don't think that these are dirty women. Our skirts are not soiled, they are just wet because we had to walk through a field of grass that was damp from a recent rain shower. For the life of me, I couldn't understand why we had to wade through grass when we could have just ridden on those smelly horses. To make it worse, I was forced to wear an infant on my back. When asked the whereabouts of the baby's mother, Elena (my pre-appointed guide) simply shrugged and gave me a sarcastic glance. I was ultra sensitive on this day. My supply of daily Vodka (I only drink Absolute) had dwindled to a frighteningly low level. Elena, thinking it was rubbing alcohol (I can't imagine), proceeded to strip her baby naked and give the writhing child a rubdown. I guess it didn't hurt the baby as it was acting normal in about four hours. However, this little scene left me high and dry in the vodka category. As a replacement, I was given a bottle of some sort of liquor called Chicha de Jora. This stuff was like drinking rat poison! It tasted similar to a mixture of ketchup and apple cider. Elena told me that it was made from corn. I have never and never will be a big fan of corn. In the photo you can see the toll this took on me. Headache is a weak word to describe my condition. Normality did not return until my return to Lima where I was able to purchase a case of Absolute in installments from the Swedish Consulate.
little known of these women. They live by breeding horses, sheep, and dairy cattle and only come to civilization for market or certain festivals. First of all, please don't think that these are dirty women. Our skirts are not soiled, they are just wet because we had to walk through a field of grass that was damp from a recent rain shower. For the life of me, I couldn't understand why we had to wade through grass when we could have just ridden on those smelly horses. To make it worse, I was forced to wear an infant on my back. When asked the whereabouts of the baby's mother, Elena (my pre-appointed guide) simply shrugged and gave me a sarcastic glance. I was ultra sensitive on this day. My supply of daily Vodka (I only drink Absolute) had dwindled to a frighteningly low level. Elena, thinking it was rubbing alcohol (I can't imagine), proceeded to strip her baby naked and give the writhing child a rubdown. I guess it didn't hurt the baby as it was acting normal in about four hours. However, this little scene left me high and dry in the vodka category. As a replacement, I was given a bottle of some sort of liquor called Chicha de Jora. This stuff was like drinking rat poison! It tasted similar to a mixture of ketchup and apple cider. Elena told me that it was made from corn. I have never and never will be a big fan of corn. In the photo you can see the toll this took on me. Headache is a weak word to describe my condition. Normality did not return until my return to Lima where I was able to purchase a case of Absolute in installments from the Swedish Consulate.