Madrigal: Crossing the Canyon

The trip the picarones were going to pay for was to the village of Madrigal, located on the other side of Colca Canyon between Huambo and Chivay.  Paula, my comadre, is from Madrigal and wanted to return home to celebrate the festival of the Virgin of Candelaria on the 26th and 27th.  (The festival is usually celebrated on February 2nd, but Madrigal, a town known for its musical talent, celebrates the week before so the musicians can play at bigger cities' celebrations the following week.)

Paula and the rest of the knitters who were coming along decided we'd meet at the bus terminal at 6:00 Thursday morning, but -- no surprise -- they hadn't actually checked the bus schedule to find out that the bus leaves at 5:30, and then didn't arrive until 6:30.  Once they confirmed that there were no more buses to Madrigal that day, they managed to find a private van driven by our new best friend Leo, who was accompanied by his two teenagers.  Everyone piled into the van, the ladies donned their Colca hats, and we were off.

 

First stop: breakfast.  While Leo took his time sitting down to dine at the Arequipeñan equivalent of a truck stop diner, we wandered off in search of the kiwi-like fruit of the sancallo cactus plant.  Kati, Victoria's daughter, poses above next to the spiky giant.  Below, Sebastiana uses a stick to carefully scrape the spines off the peel of the fruit.

 

The cactus also boasts these gorgeous white flowers:

Once everyone was back on the bus we headed on towards Chivay to stop at the thermal baths.  After last year's episode I decided to sit this one out, but I did get close enough to take the photo below of the stand where Lexi and I had bought our one-size-fits-all swimsuits.

After the baths, we wandered into town to eat lunch and take some photos next to the famous wititi statues.  

At this point we'd already managed to convince our driver to stick around several hours longer than he'd initially planned, and by the time we finished lunch the ladies had cajoled him into taking us the rest of the way to Madrigal as well.  

Feeling quite lucky, we made our way over the river from Chivay to the other side of the canyon.  The bridge above was Incan or pre-Incan, depending on who you asked, and I was happy to admire it from a distance as we crossed on a more modern version.

¿Picarones? Yes, please.

Wednesday afternoon was supposed to be our last weekly meeting in the workshop before Lexi arrives on the 31st, but the Ñañas had other ideas of how to spend the day and we ended up instead at Paula's house making picarones, Peru's special version of fried dough goodness served with chancaca (sugar cane syrup).  The plan, I'd been told, was to sell them on the street to raise money for our trip to Madrigal in Colca Canyon.  

As it turned out, though, there weren't any left over by the time we finished eating our fill, and all of the money that was raised came from the Ñañas themselves.  Successful fundraiser?  Maybe not, but everyone seemed pleased with the results as they licked the sugary syrup off their fingers.

Below: The dough had already been mixed and kneaded ahead of time, so as soon as we got the fire built and the oil bubbling Andrea got to work pulling the dough into doughnut-shaped rings.

After watching a few times, I gave it a try myself.  Results were mixed.

Below: Victoria and Maria keep an eye on the frying pan, while Uldárica and Andrea work the dough...

... and Margarita lines up fresh picarones on a stick.

The panel of judges -- Domitila, Juana and Damiana.

Finally, for your viewing pleasure a clip from the brilliant ad campaign done last year by Peru's tourism board which featured teams of Peruvian celebrities descending on towns around the world with Peruvian names to tell the locals their rights as Peruvians.  Here, a Peruvian comedian offers to trade a police officer in Peru, Nebraska, his run-of-the-mill cake doughnuts for picarones.

Techamiento

I've been struggling quite a bit to find my footing these first weeks back in Arequipa, letting myself become easily frustrated by obstacles and cultural differences and often asking myself what I'm doing here in a country that will never fully make sense to me and where I will always be something of an outsider.  Today, though, was a good reminder of the elements that keep pulling me back.

When I arrived at the beginning of this month, I found out from Andrea that she had managed to save enough money through her own hard work and with help from her sons, Elvis and Wilbur (pictured above with their mom), to construct a new addition to their house.  One never knows how long such projects will take, but this Friday she informed me that construction was miraculously almost finished and Saturday would be the big day when the roof would go on and the roofing party, or techamiento, would take place.  She asked if I could come, and I told her I wouldn't miss it.

I, however, failed to understand that this invitation was Andrea asking me to be the madrina, or sponsor, of the roof and that I should therefore come equipped with a large floral cross, champagne, candies and a speech.  Luckily, Andrea realized this in time to cover all the bases and get everything together at the last minute, but it was a little discouraging to find myself still so inept at picking up on cultural clues and unable to fulfill the responsibilities that go with this kind of honor.


Once everything was ready, Andrea, Frida and I stood on wooden planks in the middle of the wet cement and, with some guidance from Frida on proper techamiento etiquette, I gave the short madrina speech thanking everyone for coming, congratulating Andrea, giving thanks that the heavy fog hadn't turned to rain and asking for blessings on the house and its occupants.

Then, according to custom, we took a hammer to the bottle of champagne and christened the house in the name of the Virgen de Candelaria, a popular manifestation of the Virgin Mary that Andrea had chosen in honor of the upcoming festival (still a hard choice, as there are an absolutely astounding number of Virgin Mary's to choose from).

We divvied up a second bottle into plastic cups, the three of us pouring a brindis, or offering, on the roof of the house so that blessings and prosperity would come to its inhabitants then toasting everyone who had come.  

Finally, firecrackers went off and candy rained down on the friends and family of Andrea who were cheering below.

Beer (Arequipeña, of course) and pisco were brought out, music was turned on, and the party began.

Later, while we passed the communal glass and bottles of Arequipeña from person to person, Andrea recounted her slow but steady progress from sleeping, cooking, working and eating with her two sons in the tiny room that is now her kitchen, to secretly setting a few coins aside each month  until she was able to buy up enough metal rods and bricks to construct two more rooms, and finally to this day, her two sons now grown, when the three of them were able to construct a space that might one day house her dream: her own knitting workshop.

"When people say they can't do it, that they just can't make it through, I tell them that anything can be done.  I look at my two hands and my two feet and I give thanks, because with hard work anything is possible."

Ready for another week.