CHAPTER FIVE

Huancayo is a city built in a bowl or valley in the mountains. There is a crystal view of those mountains from the first floor balcony at the rear of our posada.Unfortunately, there is also a glimpse of the real poverty which many of its citizens endure. In an undeveloped site, just 30 meters behind our garden wall, live an entire family in a tent covered with plastic and with a loosely-thrown together corrugated roof, protection for the three months rain season and the cold evenings. No running water there but, surprisingly, we caught a glimpse of a television inside. Outside chickens, rabbits and a dog scratched the dusty ground.

Next day we both woke up early, partially recovered from the altitude of the previous day. We showered, dressed and went for breakfast which consisted of a bowel of fresh fruit covered with yogurt, a glass of papaya juice, some bread and jam and a cup of matae coco, which is a cocoa tea consisting of half a dozen or so cocoa leaves in a cup of boiling water. Cocoa tea is said to be one of the the best antidotes for altitude sickness and is the staple alternative of locals, used instead of tea or coffee.

Deciding to stay for another day, we quickly struck up conversation with another couple our vintage, Paul and Denise Gordon from New Zealand.During our breakfast discussion we chatted about our families and told them we were not grandparents yet. Neither were they. Tony was telling them that he would like to be a Grand Dad and I said I would like to be a Granny sometime, but just not yet.

Two hours later, I rang Rachael on the Skype phone which uses satellite rather than terrestrial connection and which costs just cents to make inter-continental calls. Surprisingly, she asked me to sit down and make sure Tony was sitting down too. Were we holding hands, she inquired, for she had important news to tell us. What she said came as a shock, but a very nice shock. It took us a while to recover from it. We were to become GRANDPARENTS some time at the end of Jan or beginning of Feb, 2009. We were completely dumbfounded and thrilled. We could not believe it. We cried with the emotion of it all. I could not believe I was going to have a precious grandchild, and Tony's dream of becoming a grandparent was being fulfilled. We went around for the rest of the day like headless chickens, our thoughts and emotions running high with excitement and anticipation. We talked about virtually nothing else all day long.

After our very emotional conversation with Rachael and Gareth, we composed ourselves enough to ring our best friends, Des and Olive, in Northern Ireland and tell them our good news. Despite the bad line, we managed, just about, to get the message through. Still reeling from the joyfull information, we decided to go out for a walk to clear our heads and get some air. On the way out we met Paul and Denise again and told them our news. They were delighted for us and understood our emotion and excitement. Off we went for our walk but we only made it to the local supermarket where we purchased a bottle of wine to celebrate our good luck and fortune.

Back to our accommodation where the vino tinto was opened and the conception of a new life, our grandchild-to-be, celebrated. Our emotions were running very high, and we decided to stay another night. We were so excited we saw little of the town and its people. That evening we had dinner in a nearby restaurant. I ordered what I thought looked local and when dinner arrived I was startled to see what looked like a cooked dead rat on my plate looking up at me. It was a cuy or guinea pig, an animal smaller than a rabbit when alive but very much like a spreadeagled rodent when dead and cooked.

Its head was still attached to the body. Its teeth were in its mouth and its black eyes looked at me. Hunger, they say, is a great sauce and within seconds I was tucked in.Though not containing much meat, it was surprisingly tasty, looking like dark chicken meat. The legs seemed to be tastiest bits, but there was not much meat elsewhere on the body. Although willing to try most new experiences once, this is a culinary experience I definitely will try to avoid in the future.

Because we are only 20 degrees or so south of the Equator, day light ends quickly around 6 p.m. and begins again twelve hours later. Day time temperatures reach around 25 degrees Celsius in the sun, but warm jackets are required from around 5 p.m. onwards as evenings and nights tend to be chilly. We are, after all, living two miles above sea-level.

Next day Paul and Denise invited us to accompany them and fellow NZ friend, Andrea, to a large open air rural market in the town/village of Chupuka, about 20 kms (12/13 miles) away. All five of us boarded a collectivo (tiny bus) which, on careful examination turns out to be a Toyota Hi-Ace, but High Ace with a difference. Hereabouts, these vehicles are used multi-purposefully. There are 17 seats in the collectivo, not counting the driver and conductor, and room for five extra standing passengers, some of whom may or may not sit on other passengers knees. There is no room for any personal hang-ups about close body proximity on these buses. The journey cost just one Sol each, less than a quarter Euro. Most people were locals and, like us, going to the market. The woman next to Tony had a duck in a cardboard box which quacked loudly throughout the journey.

For us city-living Western Europeans, the market came as a mixture of surprise and assault to our senses. Head-tied llamas, fettered donkeys, sheep and goats, individually-tied pigs often held by young children, lambs, and up to 20 to 30 bonhams were gathered in nets to stop them straying. Next to the animals were stalls selling candy sweets, take-away skewers of cooked meat, soft drinks, and other edibles. No problem.

But by far the biggest challenge was the site of an open-air abattoir where animals were slaughtered for a price before being carried off to restaurants, and other places of consumption. Tony, being so squeamish, could not bring himself to enter the slaughter coral but I did with Paul by my side. First the sheep were shackled with all four feet tied together. Then the animal was raised on a small table about two feet high and its belly exposed to the sky. Next its head was helled back and its throat quickly slit and its head decapitated by a man with a sharp knife. The sheep's body briefly trembled and blood poured from its neck into a container held next to the neck but placed on the ground as the blood ebbed. Presumably the blood was recycled into black pudding.

A short time after the blood had left the animal's body, the same man plunged a sharp longer knife into the creature's inert body and completely de-pelted it within a matter of two minutes or so. It's entrails were scooped out and its carcase now taken away by its purchaser. I personally saw one woman wrap a sheep carcase in a colourful shawl, called a bulto, which Andean women use mainly for carrying their children and others loads.

Next all five us visited the non-animal market near the town plaza. Three of us, Tony, the New Zealander Paul, and myself were carried in an open-sided, canvas-topped rick-shaw type of vehicle powered by a 125 c.c. motor cycle engine. How the engine was able to pull the vehicle, an estimated 45 stone in the back seat, and the driver in the front, up a steep hill on a par with the legendary Patrick's Hill in Cork, must be a feat of mechanical ingenuity seldom witnessed in engineering history!

At the market where everything was sold, we were the only five gringos. Children and adults stared inquisitively but not rudely. We stood out because of our height, the colour of our skin, even though it was deeply sun-tanned, as well as the colour of our eyes and hair. Everybody around us was shiny black-haired with brown or black eyes. Virtually all women wore multi-layered skirts, with a coloured apron front, socks up the knees, a bulto on their back, tied off the shoulder in a double knot around the front of their chests. Perched on their heads, they wore various-coloured wide brimmed hats with a bow ribbon tied round, but not hanging.


Most Andean men and women are small and wiry in stature. Many of the children wear bonnets with long ear flaps, with the under chin string left hanging loose.

Goods and animals of every description were sold on the streets under the mid-day sun. Tony pointed out one stall to me where sugar cane was pulped, and the juice extract bottled, labeled and sold as a cure for all conditions, The stall holder had a notice in Spanish which said his product was superior to viagra !

New and second hand clothes, tools,shoes, toys, and house hold items were sold in one area; in another, small live animals were being offered; elsewhere craftwork. We saw one man selling various types of television aerials bolted to a long pole which he carried round with him. A lady dressed in the traditional dress carried a puppy with pierced ear-rings in both its ears and wearing a colourful doggy coat. A sight not to be missed.

During the day we ate shredded meat from a roasted pig stuffed into a bread bun and washed down by Inca Cola, Peru's national soft drink in which the US Coca Cola Co. now has a 60% stake. You might think because it is a cola, it ought to be dark in colour. Not so. It is lime green in colour and tastes sweetly with a hint of lemon.

Although looking very different, all those at the fair were all very friendly and courteous to us. One lady approached and started talking to me. I tried to explain to her I did not understand her Spanish but she was not worried or interested in what I was haltingly saying. She just wanted to talk to us. Our stature made us exceptional, it transpired.

With the help of our friend Denise, we found she was saying that I was beautiful and Tony was a "grande hombre" (big man). She kept touching our arms and was fascinated by us. I asked if she would allow us to take a photo of her and she was happy to oblige. Denise took the pic of this lady in her full Andean traditional dress with Tony and myself. She asked to see the photo on the camera and was very happy when we showed it to her. Tony gave her 5 sol (About 1.25 euro) and she went off as if she had won the lotto. These people love to be photographed; they will pose for any picture, and are proud to do so, but could become upset if the photo is surrepticiously or secretly taken without their acquiescence. Naturally. But not so in this case.

Went to the main market in Huancayo on Sunday but first, we set off to attend a military parade to mark Peruvian Independence Day, July 28th. We witnessed much pomp and circumstance, but as one of our friends observed, 'it was rather more pompous and circumstantial'. To cheers from the ranks of the military and local city VIPs, the flag of Peru was raised as was that of the region. We were surprised to see Picasso's Dove of Peace emblem raised on the third flagpole, a copy of which we have over the bed in our guest bedroom at home.

Up early next day to travel the 22-hour 800 mile bus journey deep into the Peruvian jungle to a city called Pucallpa. But all was not well. Tony had not been feeling well throughout the night. By 7a.m., he was well and truly incapacitated with both ends misbehaving. Although the bus tickets had been purchased, there was no option but to cancel the trip. Twenty fours later, the situation had rectified itself, no pun intended.

As I remarked to Tony: "The Gods were shining on you. Imagine, if this had happened while you were on the 22-hour journey on the bus ! "

The patient did without food until next day, although he was dosed with 7-Up to avoid dehydration. That evening Paul and Denise invited me to join them for dinner. I had grilled trout with potatoes and salad. It cost the princely sum of 15 Sols, or around 3.5 Euros.

Next morning, we went to the station to find the the bus to Pucallpa was fully booked up. When I produced the un-used tickets, the clerk agreed to honour them for tomorrow's exist, without any extra cost.

Although you may not be the most distinguished city in Peru, we will never forget you, Huancayo. For many reasons.