Surprise #2: Vegetarian Delight

Not too much to report from the workshop at the moment as the ladies have been busy working on an order of scarves and chullos to be finished by tomorrow, and I've mostly been trying to stay out of their way. The order they're working on is for a school in Milwaukee and will be taken back to the States by Richard Muirhead, the recently retired director of international studies at Mt. Mary College who accompanied the ISU program back in 2006. Here's a photo taken by Richard while he was in the workshop (please note the hand-knit Christmas tree in the foreground -- it's a Ñaña original):

The ladies finally took a break from their knitting yesterday for the cuy lunch I'd been promised (or threatened with, depending on your view) from the time the ladies found out I'd be returning to Alto Cayma. For those of you who are new to the game, cuy refers to that most beloved preschool class pet, the guinea pig, which in Andean cultures is served as a delicious dish at special occasions.

I met Andrea, Maria, Sebastiana and Frida at the workshop, then we headed down the hill to the home of Paula, my comadre (the mother of my goddaughter, or literally “co-mother”), where all of the other Ñañas were awaiting us. The usual greetings were exchanged with a kiss on the cheek, but when Paula walked into the room, Andrea pulled out the raw egg she must have been carrying in her purse and smashed it over Paula's head. “What is going on?” I asked as everyone cheered, and I was told it was also Paula's birthday. No one had the slightest idea of the origins of the egg custom, but they all agreed that it was good luck for the birthday girl. Here's Paula in the aftermath, trying to wipe the egg out of her hair:

We seated ourselves and began snacking on corn and habas (fava beans) and drinking the super-sweet wine that is popular in Peru, which would be followed later in the afternoon by chicha -- a fermented corn drink -- and Coca-Cola.

Soon plates were brought out with our main course: whole roasted cuy, complete with tiny head and claws, served with a boiled potato, ají -- the hot pepper condiment used in almost every dish here -- and chuño, freeze-dried potatoes which are a very traditional dish in the Andes, but of which I'm still not a huge fan. [Apologies for not including the chuño in the photo and for not giving the cuy a better backdrop -- I think he looks a little extra ghastly in this one!]

I had eaten cuy with the ladies before, but this was my first time with the whole thing and they laughed and laughed as they watched me try to tackle it. The best way to eat it, they informed me, is with your hands, pulling off pieces then nibbling each part down to the bone. After watching me struggle at it for a while, they decided we would have to start eating cuy once a month so I could be trained to do the job properly. Here's Sebastiana showing me how it's done:

I had every intention of eating the whole thing, but once I got to the face it reminded me too much of Nicodemus from “The Rats of Nimh” (one of my favorite literary characters as a child), and I just couldn't do it. Frida graciously took over for me and as she ate, she told me about cuy-related traditions from Colca, a nearby valley in Arequipa and her homeland. When she came to the ear, she cracked the bone and took out what they call "the little dog," a tiny bone that does, indeed, look like a miniscule carving of a dog complete with head, tail, and legs.

She gave it to me and told me to keep it in my pocket for strength. So far, I'm thinking there must be a bit of a delay before one starts to feel its effects, but we'll see what happens in the next few days....

Now, if you'll bear with me, a final word on cuy: While many vegetarians might consider this meal akin to a personal hell and others unfamiliar with the custom might see it as a little barbaric, I think you can also take the view that it is one of the better, more sustainable meat options out there if you can get past its rather gruesome presentation. Many people in Alto Cayma raise cuy in the yards next to their homes, feeding them alfalfa grown on site and table scraps, along with peels from fruits and vegetables. The cuy take around six months before they're ready to eat and are an excellent source of protein and other nutrients. It's about as local as you can get, the animals are generally treated well, and the overall carbon footprint is probably not much larger than the tiny paws that go with it. So I say, "¡Provecho!"

4th Time Around

Well over two years have passed since the last entry and my last visit to Peru, but another return has finally happened. After two-and-a-half days in transit with a bulging laptop case, unwieldy backpack, and two giant, 50+ pound suitcases containing, among other things, gifts, sample sweaters, and eighty pairs of self-proclaimed “wedgie free” underwear for the Ñañas (thanks, Mom), I was relieved to finally reach Arequipa late Thursday night. Not expecting anyone to be waiting for me except Max—my host dad from previous visits—I was surprised to hear my name called out as I crossed the tarmac and glanced up at the lookout railing to see balloons bobbing and Ñañas waving below.

We had agreed, I thought, that they wouldn't try to meet me at the airport since it would be late when my plane arrived, and would wait instead until the next morning to have our reunion at the workshop. They, however, had other ideas, and told me the next morning that they had nodded when Maria, the social worker who works with the church in Alto Cayma, had told them it would be too late to go to the airport, but apparently their feet just started walking and took them there. “You would need some pretty strong brakes to stop us once we get going,” explained Inés, and I nodded in agreement.

The smells, the street sounds, the assortment of people in traditional Andean clothing – wool skirts with leg warmers and straw hats over dark braids – mixed in with Arequipeñans in jeans and t-shirts, even the mustached fare collector hanging out of the Primero de Junio combi on my ride up to Alto Cayma are the same as when I left. But the babies of the Ñañas are no longer babies; new commercial centers have popped up around the center of town; and the workshop has moved to the larger space next door previously occupied by the wood shop – reminders that time has passed and things have changed. This was to be expected, but I was shocked Friday morning as the combi neared the workshop and I realized that the road hadn't switched from asphalt to the bumpy dirt and gravel road as it used to. After all of the years of campaign promises of “Pavement in Alto Cayma” painted on the stone walls along the way, paved roads had finally reached this impoverished neighborhood on the outskirts of town. Proof that progress, however slow in coming, is possible.

I was a little nervous after my last Skype session with the knitters when they promised that they had lots of surprises waiting for me, but I am happy to report that so far the surprises have been more along the lines of balloons and a proposed trip to the beach rather than mid-life crises, loss of interest in knitting or fractures within the group. There were some new faces when I arrived at the workshop Friday morning, but most of them were the familiar faces from previous years and those that weren't there I have been promised will return when there is work. The ladies kept up their knitting and crocheting as they shared news about the workshop and their families, discussed plans for the months ahead, and gave me a brief Quechua lesson. Once Frida and Teresa had finished distributing Field soda crackers and Coca-Cola to everyone, we raised our plastic cups and toasted our next project. ¡Adelante!

[I promised lots of photos for this round of blogging but haven't had my camera handy for photos of the Ñañas yet, so here's one of Lexi multi-tasking and trying to use her powers of spatial reasoning on my suitcases pre-departure. Now picture this spread over the entire first floor of her house. It was a valiant effort.]