An Andes Reenact-mint: Sounds of Silence and Knowing Community

The other day, I walked the 1-hour-15-minute climb uphill to the Pumamarca school. I carry an iPod around with me a lot of the times, and I assumed this would be one of those times that I would stick the buds in and feel like I was in a movie, as I do so many times while wondering downtown Cuzco, blasting Coldplay into my ears as I am convinced Cuzco was a recording spot or inspiration for Viva La Vida. But today, I didn't.

And I am so glad for that. If I would have, I would have missed out. A full hour of almost pure silence in the Andes would have been a lost opportunity forever. It would have been a much more self-centered experience. I would have only known the wind by it hitting my face rather than hearing it move the eucalyptus trees. Drums and guitar I could listen to anytime would have overshadowed the birds' morning songs. I would have nearly run into the donkeys into the road instead of hearing their chewing and shuffling on the dirt road, alerting me I would need to move around them.

Sometimes it is exhilarating to hear your own breathing, your own heart beat, your own foot steps. While being surrounded by green you swear could swallow you up, you gain that tingly feeling of life, of being alive. We don't take much time to do this or always have hills upon mountains to witness such budding and growing and natural splendor. 

I got to hear quiet greetings as men and women walked soundlessly down the street, carrying rustling loads of vegetables. A little girl on the side of the road looked up, smiled, and said, "Amiga." Who would I have been if I had been plugged in? Women chatted with each other and men whistled as they worked the fields. My favorite sound was as I turned a sharp corner to come to an overlook across miles and miles of green land and yellow flowers, and I heard the clucking of chickens and a small boy's tender voice saying, "cook, cook" as he tried to move the chickens to their pen. 

One of the volunteers, Tyson, was talking about the sense of community he felt while in these villages. Each person knows everyone and is willing to sacrifice a little from themselves in order to serve the greater community. There aren't TVs, computers, video games, iPods, etc. to take us away from celebrating our neighbors and our human kindredness. And we all have heard it before in third-world countries. "The people were so poor, but they were just so happy!" Tyson talked about how we watch crime on the news, sit in front of computers, care about money and drive cars with four empty seats in them and then "come home wondering why we are so miserable." 

"Without wanting to romanticise being on the edge of poverty," he said, "I envy a simple way of life that relies on sharing, cooperation and close units in order to function effectively." They probably wouldn't dream of walking their own streets with an iPod to block out the tangible world right there. In a life of not many material values or screens, sounds or "luxuries" of lonely spaces, community is their greatest possession. It is easy to see why these people are so happy.