Llamas and Chicha

On Saturday, we were invited for lunch by our friends the Del Carpios. They were instrumental in helping the kids get into the Pukllyasunchis school and they wanted to meet my Mom and Dad, who had arrived the day before. Mom, ever the polite Midwesterner, hadn’t yet gotten into the whole tempo of life in Peru so it was hup, hup let’s get going and we arrived at the Del Carpio’s right on time, which is to say a bit early. As lunch wasn’t yet ready, we walked down to the Colegio Pulkyasunchis to check out the school. A stream runs beside the school and the school grounds extend up along a small canyon formed by the stream. We walked upstream along the canyon a bit to see some gardens and came upon a couple of llamas someone had donated to the school in lieu of tuition. Llamas are among the most fascinating looking creatures I have ever seen and these were only about a year old, curious, and somewhat desensitized to the children at the school so we were able to get quite close. Milli Del Carpio said that there was a danger that the llamas could jump on you so I told Zak that they key to the process was to jump on them before they jumped on you. But the game was over once one of the Del Carpio’s dogs, Valentine, grew curious about the llamas and the llamas, in turn, grew curious about the dog and they proceeded to chase one another about the grounds.

While we were at the Del Carpio’s, two young boys, Frank and Elvis, came in. Milli had been telling us that often, on Saturdays, a couple of kids from this family of 12 would stop by and have lunch. The family didn’t have enough food for everyone and, when the Del Carpios used to live near this family, the Del Carpios would feed a couple of the children when they came over. Now the family lives about a two hour walk away and still some of the boys were coming over just to have a warm meal. I asked how I could help and I agreed to help buy school uniforms and supplies for a couple of the kids so that they could fit in better and be more successful in school.

That evening, I noticed that one house, a couple of doors down from Sra. Mendoza’s market near our house had a red plastic bag tied to the end of a pole indicating that they were selling chicha. Chicha is a fermented corn beer that plays an important role in Andean life, particularly those of the working poor and campesinos. It’s a thick, off-white substance that more closely resembles soup than beer and is served at room temperature. Dad was game to check it out so we headed over. We walked in the first dirt-floored room which was sparsely furnished with a few tables each attended to by a few old timers, some of whom looked as though they might have been there drinking for some hours. The effects of chicha seem to have a largely soporific effect. I’ve not seen anyone spoiling for a fight but I have seen more than a couple of people nodding off, although perhaps that is more of an effect of cultural differences. We were ushered through the bottom of a stairwell into another spartan room, which I suppose was essentially a kitchen as there was a small worktable in the corner next to a couple of old kerosene fired burners although the room obviously served as a chicha brewery and barroom during the weekends. The walls of each of the rooms were plastered and painted a bluish-purple, but the adobe mud brick walls and steps of the stairwell remained unadorned. Along the wall opposite the entrance of the room in which we found ourselves were a couple of benches and another table. We were encouraged to sit down and the matron of the house, Bertha, gave us two huge, almost quart size, glasses of dubious cleanliness and filled them halfway which Chicha, as that was the only beverage she served. She filled the glasses, mine was chipped, from a plastic pitcher she dipped out of the large clay chicha pot of about 20 gallons or so which sat in the corner. The pot had the build of a football player: a wide neck with even wider shoulders and a body that then tapered down toward the floor. Dad and I were alone with Bertha for only a short while before others came into the room: Martin and his wife and two daughters, the patron of the house, and soon thereafter another couple, she a gap toothed heavy-set quechuan lady, he a man of similar build who shared the same dentist. The people were not at all standoffish. Again, as the new guys in town, we were the focus of much interest and attention. We learned that Martin was a construction worker and when he learned that my father was also an electrician by trade, he proudly proclaimed that all workers were his friends and bought us another chicha. Apparently, the reason your glass is double the size of a single serving is to facilitate the ability of someone to buy you another. The chicha was very good and Martin bought some refills for us and then I bought a round for the room. Before long Martin and his wife were dancing right there in the middle of the room, much to the delight of their daughters. Martin was quite dashing with his dark hair and clean blue Nike track suit which was probably his nicest set of clothes. I thought the chicha was quite tasty but Dad felt it to be more of an acquired taste which could be improved with a little refrigeration but that didn´t stop him from joining in the festivities. Dad gave some money to Martin’s daughters so they could go buy some sweets at the store next door. We only spent a short time there as we told Grandma we wouldn’t be gone for long but the time we spent there was worth the whole trip itself and when we got up to leave, with much protest from the others who wanted to buy us more chicha, our bill was only 3 sols 20 centimos (about $1). We had a great time.