Unsure Footing

Welcome to the first installment of Q&A with JK. I realize my blog will not cover most of the information there is to learn about the places I visit. If you have any specific questions you’d like to know the answers to, fire away. I will do my best to answer in a timely manner.

My friend Jack from www.jackstories.wordpress.com started us off with the following three inquiries:

1. I’ve heard they play bingo on Peruvian buses. Is this true?
2. Do people in Cusco wear hats? If they happen to be those little felt, porkpie hats, do you find them oddly attractive on young women?
3. Have you had any of what I’ll call–for lack of a better way of putting it–the Indiana Jones-respect-the-locals eating experiences? What I mean by that is, when you encounter some food item you’re not sure you can stomach, but you do so anyway out of respect?

Good questions.

Answers:

1) I have only been in the country for a few days, but from my one experience on a local Peruvian bus (not a luxury tourist bus which has air conditioning and toilet facilities) I can say with certainty that there was no Bingo playing. My friend and I were traveling from Pisac to Calca for the local Carnival festival and we were crammed onto a tiny bus with almost 100 other people. We were so packed that it took the bus operator a few tries to successfully close the door. I was pinned tightly against the other passengers and I couldn‘t lift my arms to scratch my itching ear. I asked my friend (who was crammed as well and somehow elevated 4 feet above me) to please scratch it for me. She refused, claiming she couldn‘t move her arms either. I considered using the guy next to me as a scratching post - he was a good foot shorter than I was and the bristles of his prickly hair were in perfect position. It looked enticing. I could easily wait for the bus to take another sharp bend and sneak a scratch as we all shifted. Not to worry, I remembered my manners and reconsidered.

2) Hats, like pan-flutes, are everywhere in Cusco. Yet unlike a I go from zero to horny in 3.5 beers t-shirt, hats are much more than simply a clever fashion statement. Hats are a necessity here in Cusco to shield you against the rays of the sun, which strike the skin 3326 meters sooner than they would at sea level. It is a dangerous reality that although the sun may not feel particularly ardent, short exposure can lead to extremely uncomfortable sunburns and sunblisters on the top of the head, the forehead, tip of the nose, ears and cheeks. So yes, most women cover their heads with cute hats and all for the better for there is something so attractive about unconventional headgear on young women: from pointed felt fedoras to spiked Scandinavian war-helms, it’s all good. Ladies, please, ditch the eyeshadow and slap on a sombrero instead.

3) Guinea pig, or cuy, is considered a local delicacy here in Peru. I did have the pleasure of eating one of these little fellas during my last visit and it was a fantastic meal. This time, however, I was afforded another view of the dish that has changed my opinion on the matter. I was walking around a market in Pisac a few days ago when I stumbled through a stall and ended up in the front yard of someone’s home. Outside in the open air there was a grim-looking wood-fire oven and strips of stringy meat lined up to cook. On the opposite side of the yard stood a multi-tiered clay hive, fenced-in, with small semi-circular openings. Inside of these holes I could see little guinea pigs scampering around or curled up asleep. A young boy confirmed for me that these were in fact young cuy, being raised and fattened for a future dinner plate. The boy reached inside one of the holes to grab one and demonstrate the critter to me up close, but the young cuy was too quick and dodged his grasp, retreating deep into his burrow.

And then it happened.

The elusive entree looked out directly at me. A moment of inter-species understanding forked between us as we looked into each others’ eyes (into each others’ souls?). Our dialog extended well beyond the limitations of linguistic communication, but a rough approximation of what transpired may have gone a little something like this:

CUY: “Hola gringo. Say, instead of cooking me, wouldn‘t you rather pet my soft fur and let me run around inside of a clear plastic ball in your apartment?”

ME: “Si Senor Cuy. I would, I would. But you are born in a country where you have been an object of worship and ritual for thousands of years. You are a part of the menu and I’m afraid you don’t have much choice in the matter.”

CUY: “No gringo, I don’t. But YOU have a choice. There are many other fine Peruvian dishes for you to enjoy.” Then he whispered, “I hear the llamas are especially tender.”

ME: “Senor Cuy, you are a noble and cuddly pet. You have given me hours of affection as a child and you even helped me to pass my 8th grade Rodent Intelligence presentation despite my bumbling lab partner. I vow I will no longer eat you.”

And so my Indiana Jones moment is not a struggle to choke down some raw inedible organ, but rather the struggle to abstain from eating a fine local delicacy instead.

I have become a moral carnivore where it concerns the guinea pig, but that’s probably the extent of it. Steak is too darn delicious to give up and chickens are so annoying I’d eat them on principle alone.

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