Sientete

You travel all the way to Cusco in Peru. You bring with you a limited knowledge of the areas history. You jump at the chance to witness an age old ceremony to celebrate the Winter Solstice and honour the Incan Deity Inti. You research the event. You learn that the last time an Incan Emperor oversaw the ceremony was 1535. You learn that the Spanish Conquistadors and the Catholic church in all their infinite wisdom outlawed the ritual shortly after. You wonder how the locals celebrated this event without the consent or permission of those in charge. You ask yourself how similar this recreation, which started again in 1944, was to the original. You get up early on the day. Wait around the common area for your friends who you agreed to meet. You wait a long time. You learn the Spanish word for hurry from the gentleman manning the gate. You use that word. You make your way to the festival for a cultural feast.

After deciding to forgo the start of the parade in the city´s centre; Plaza de Armas, you make your way with locals and tourists alike up the narrow windy streets and steps of Cusco. Bull fighting taxis. Urine and rubbish waft through the streets. It doesn´t put you off. It reminds you that the rules are different here. The expectations are different. What we consider important, or repulsive holds a different position in the moral hierarchy. It´s nice. But far from perfect. It is pleasant to be walking amongst a crowd of Peruvians.

We reach the edge of the city, and hit steps built by the Incans to take us to the ruins Sascsayhuamàn, once the head of the Puma. The puma represents power. We walk the steps. The altitude doesn´t do much but make you breathless. We reach the top of the hill overlooking the stage that was set up for the recreation and the ruins. We take our seats and wait as other tourists and locals start to shrink wrap around us. Closing in. Things get cosy. The family in front have brought a picnic. Roast chicken and spaghetti. My mouth waters. The family behind have a small child. He squirms and twists, but the parents skillfully pass him backwards and forwards without saying a word. Only parents know this art. They outsmart the child with props. A paper cup offers minutes of entertainment before the game gets tiring, only to be replaced by a paper hat. I smile at the family and they smile back. I feel like they are sharing their day us. It feels nice.

The ceremony starts. We can see the performers dressed in bright colours dance down the ruins. When they reach the ground level they disappear behind the crest of the hill. The people on the crest stand for a better look. Locals and tourists slowly start to stand. Group think. The first group think. Like a whisper that starts a hurricane people start throwing their hands up in frustration. All around us we start hearing the chants.Sientete. Sientete. Sit down, Sit down. It slowly escalates. Before we know it, we are chanting in unison, "Sientete, Sientete, Sientete " A group of us from the hostel start a Mexican wave. The lightheartedness of the others wins the Peruvians over. And we are accepted into the mob. We join them. Small rocks and food arch through the sky and strike unintended targets.Sientete . The ceremony continues. We start clapping as the rocks arch. The ceremony continues. The family behind me are calling out too. They are the closest to our group of gringos. We call out as one. The ceremony continues behind the wall of people and the crest of the hill. A small child further back mimics her parents and the mob;sientete. sientete . The sound is muffled by the calls, shouts and laughter of the people. It is never aggressive. It becomes a game. An old lady up ahead and to my right launches a rock. Perfect trajectory. Lands on my leg. I look up. She starts talking with her hands at me. I feel confused. Ididn ´t throw my rock yet. I spent too long picking the perfect projectile. It´s a science. You don´t want to hurt anyone. And you don't want to hit an innocentbysitter . The ceremony continues. The family behind laugh at my misfortune as the small child is distracted by a carton of juice. Their smiles are genuine. The rocks and food continue to fly. The gringos in the target zone up ahead retreat. They slowlyzig zag , stumbling, swinging their hands awkwardly. Stepping through a living, breathing minefield. Unsure or exhausted. We start another Mexican wave. The Peruvians have tired of that western nonsense. We start to disband together. The ceremony continues.