Definitely a sales pitch and I find it hard not to be sceptical about the set-up, but the people before us look happy so I venture over to a group of women sitting in a circle, weaving individual blankets that all hang from one metal rod set in between them all. They look up from their creations and smile, nodding as I hold up my camera in an attempt to ask if I may snap away. It’s therapeutic watching them work, the repetitive action, with the back-and-forth, up-and-down motion of the thread.

I keep walking and find another group of three women, this time sat in a huddle. Two look like they’re using a method similar to crochet, the other like she’s knitting a pair of gloves. In front of them sit a dozen baskets, each containing bundles of wool, the dust from the sandy ground which blows in the breeze covering everything it finds, yet unable to disguise their vivid colours.

I make my way to the stalls beyond the women crafting which are framed by the Inca stone we’ve already become accustomed to seeing with wooden beams finishing the structure for straw to sit on top. Inside them bundles of dyed alpaca wool hang from washing lines. Stringy piles of khaki, orange, purple, yellow, red and maroon sit drying before they can be used to create new garments for us tourists to buy.

While I’m browsing at a collection of hats I look up to see a little girl of about four years old playing around with multi-coloured wool that’s been woven around two rods. Unlike the women the children aren’t in traditional clothing, but that doesn’t mean their outfits are any less cheerful. On her feet are little black wellies which she’s teamed up with a wool-lined denim jacket and cerise pink jogging bottoms which have been rolled up to stop them trailing in the dirt. The pink highlights her rounded grubby cheeks and makes me think of Barnaby and Chloe. Their cheeks always rouge up in this way when they’re teething, poorly or have been outside in the fresh air for long periods of time.