Peru

Breathe in my air. It can be cool and misty, clinging to the tops of jagged mountains that touch the clouds. Listen closely. You might hear the roar of the Pacific Ocean crashing on my sandy shores, or the quiet whisper of wind through the world’s largest rainforest. Look at the brilliant colors woven into a warm blanket, patterns that tell stories without words. Taste the earthy flavor of a potato, but not just one kind. I have thousands of them. I am a land of many faces, from tall, snowy peaks to deep, green jungles and bone-dry deserts where mysterious lines are drawn in the sand. I am a country of ancient secrets and vibrant life. I am Peru.

My story begins long, long ago, even before the most famous of my children. One of my oldest families, the Norte Chico people, built peaceful cities like Caral over five thousand years ago. They built pyramids and plazas not for war, but for community and ceremony. But the children you have probably heard of are the Inca. They were incredible builders and thinkers. They saw the steep Andes mountains not as a barrier, but as a challenge. They built a massive network of roads that connected their entire empire, winding through valleys and over high passes. Their capital city, Cusco, was shaped like a puma, their sacred animal. And high in the clouds, around the year 1450, they built a masterpiece of stone called Machu Picchu, a city that remained a secret for centuries. For many years, only the mountains knew it was there, until an American explorer named Hiram Bingham III was led to it in 1911 and helped share its wonder with the world. The Inca people didn't write with letters. Instead, they kept records of everything using a clever system of knotted strings called quipus. They loved the earth, which they called Pachamama, and worshipped the sun, their god Inti, who gave life to their crops.

My life was peaceful for a very long time, but then came a time of great change. In the 1530s, ships arrived on my shores carrying Spanish explorers, led by a man named Francisco Pizarro. They were searching for gold and brought with them a new language, a new religion, and new ways of life. It was a difficult and confusing time. The mighty Inca empire fell, and new cities were built. But the strength of my first people could not be erased. If you visit Cusco today, you can see it with your own eyes. Beautiful Spanish-style buildings with balconies and archways sit right on top of the perfectly cut, incredibly strong stone walls the Inca built centuries before. It shows how two very different cultures blended together to create something new. For almost three hundred years, I was ruled by Spain. But my people never lost their desire to be free. Finally, after many struggles, a brave general from Argentina named José de San Martín stood in a plaza in my city of Lima and, on July 28th, 1821, he declared my independence for all to hear. It was a proud and hopeful day.

Today, my heart beats with the rhythm of all my histories mixed together. You can taste it in my food, which blends potatoes and corn from the mountains with flavors from Europe and Asia. You can hear it in my music, where the gentle flute of the Andes meets the Spanish guitar. You can see it in the beautiful textiles that people still weave using the same patterns their ancestors did thousands of years ago. People from all over the world come to visit me. They hike the same Inca Trail my ancient people walked. They fly over the desert to see the giant, mysterious Nazca Lines shaped like hummingbirds and spiders. They travel deep into my rainforest to meet colorful macaws and playful monkeys. I am a story written in stone, jungle, and the smiles of my people. I hold the wisdom of the past and the dreams of the future. Come listen to my stories, taste my flavors, and feel the rhythm of my heart. I am Peru, and my adventure is always beginning.