Flooding and disaster in the Sacred Valley and Ollanta

While the world’s focus has turned to disaster relief in Haiti, the Sacred Valley in Peru was hit hard last week with flooding and heavy rains that destroyed much of the infrastructure and community that Kelsey, Jarrard, and I came to love last summer.

Pictures and information on the flooding can be found here.

Awamaki is raising money to help re-build the road, bridges, homes, and fields that were destroyed in the storms. Please consider making a donation to support the Ollantaytambo community at the Awamaki website, or contacting the organization to see how you can help.

Pictures from the flood here and below:

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Adventures with peppers

As part of our quest to sample available artisan workshops in Ollataytambo and create a tourist guide, we spent yesterday afternoon learning to cook traditional Peruvain stuffed peppers from a local chef.

As compared to basket-weaving and ceramics, our final product was definitely superior. It also took way less time to cook the peppers than it did to weave a basket or throw a pot. So, points for cooking.

We arrived and introduced ourselves to the cook, whose name we have embarassingly forgotten, but who works in Pachamamas, a pizzeria and grill literally next door to our hostel. They have a happy hour menu for Awamaki volunteers and friends and we´re big fans. If you´re ever in Ollantaytambo, I highly suggest that you eat there.

But I digress. We arrived and the cook immediately handed us 3 soles and told us to to the market and buy peppers, peas, and baking soda. This was kind of stressful, as we were only about fifty percent sure that these were the things she told us to buy. We spent a lot of time bickering over pepper size in the market and debating how many peas to purchase. We also asked ourselves if the cook would require all participants to go to the market at the beginning of class. Slightly unconventional.

But we apparently bought the right thing, and she put us to work chopping carrots and frying meat immediately upon our return. We wanted to document the process with photos (Jarrard), and a written recipe (me), in hopes of ending up in the Morehead-Cain scholar cookbook, so we probably spent more time trying to determine English equavilents of ingredients and taking pictures of food than actually cooking.

But we did a good job with the tasks we were given, and by the time the peppers came out of the frying pan, we´d already decided to re-create the experience in a UNC dorm kitchen for Jarrard´s birthday in September. The hot oil could be a little dangerous, but we´re going to risk it.

The peppers were stuffed with a mixture of beef, peas, carrots, peanuts, raisins, and onions. The entire thing was then dipped in pancake batter and fried in oil. We´ve learned here in Peru that you can deep-fry almost anything to make it taste good, but these peppers exceeded expectations. They were pretty hot, but you could substitute red bell peppers for a less adventuresome experience. Try it at home, if you dare!

 

Recipe for Stuffed Peppers

Ingredients: 

• 3 medium-sized hot red peppers
• 1 1/2 cups of peeled, finely diced carrots
• 2/3 cup of finely diced onion
• 1 cup of ground beef
• 1/2 cup of raisins
• 1/2 cup of peanuts
• 1/2 cup of fresh peas
• 1/2 tsp oregano
• 1/2 tsp cumin
• 1/2 tsp bouillon powder
• 1 lime, quartered
• 3 eggs
• 3/4 cup of flour
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 1/4 cup of warm water
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 3 cups of cooking oil

Instructions:

1.  Cut a slice down one side of each of the peppers and remove the seeds. Place the peppers and lime in a pot of water, and boil for 10 minutes.
2. Drain peppers, place in pot with new water and 1 tbs of baking powder, and boil for another 10 minutes. Remove from heat.
3. Sautee onion in 3 tbs of oil, and once transluscent, add the beef, oregano, cumin, and bullion. Cook until the meat is brown.
4. Boil carrots until soft, and add the peas for another 5 minutes. Remove from heat and strain.
5. Place peanuts on a hard surface, and use a rock or other cooking instrument to crush them until fine.
6. Add peanuts, raisens, peas, and carrots to meat and mix.
7. In a seperate bowl, beat egg whites until fluffy.
8. Slowly add the yolks, flour, baking powder, salt, and water to the whites. Beat until smooth, or the consistency of runny cake batter.
9. Open the peppers and stuff them almost beyond capacity with the meat mixture, or until they gape open.
10. Heat the oil in a deep frying pan.
11. Spoon the batter liberally over the open pepper faces, and then place face-down in the hot oil.
12. Cook until the batter turns golden brown and is cooked entirely through.
13. Drain on a paper towel, and serve. Enjoy!

The stove before we got started.

Jarrard and me in the kitchen.

Peppers with batter face-down in the oil.

The peppers are almost done!

The finished peppers on a plate. Pretty.

Enjoying the finished product.

Digging in.

Kelsey and Jarrard claimed the peppers were really spicy.

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Learning from Lucho

Yesterday we spent the morning with a master potter named Lucho, learning to craft hand-built clay pots. As with our basket-weaving escapades, we realized that you can´t learn a craft in one morning when people devote their lives to perfecting the art. But we had a good time getting our hands dirty, and learned a lot more from Lucho than we´d expected.

We arrived at 9 a.m., wearing dirty clothes and ready to make some pots. Lucho met us in his workshop, which is an open-air structure with a roof under which he completes every step of the production process, from washing dirty mountain clay to selling finished works of art.

Before we even looked at raw clay, we admired Lucho´s finished pots, gleaming in rows on shelves in the shop, where they retail for a couple hundred dollars. They came in all different colors and shapes, although most were smaller than a basketball, as he caters to tourists passing through on their way to Macchu Picchu. They were all beautiful.

It was an intimidating way to start, but Lucho quickly put us at ease, handing us hunks of gooey, wet clay to play with. He explained that he dislikes throwing pottery on a wheel: he thinks hand-building is simpler to teach and more authentic in the Peruvian pottery tradition.

It wasn´t exactly simple. Kelsey´s pot almost fell over a few times, and Lucho had to do some major ¨surgery,¨as he called it. But with his help, we created fairly decent-looking vases that we plan to return to later in the week to finish. 

When we made baskets with Pancho, he spoke very little English, so we spent a lot of time laughing at ourselves and our pathetic baskets. But learning ceramics from Lucho was very different. He speaks English almost as well as we do, and he spent several hours talking to us about every aspect of his craft, as well as his own relationship with ceramics over the years.

Probably in his fifties or sixties, he was born in Peru and taught himself the basics of ceramics at age ten. He moved to the United States in the 1980´s, where he lived briefly in San Francisco and for many years in Santa Fe. There he learned from Native American traditions still in use on reservations. He produced pottery for museums and private ownership, before returning to Peru shortly after 9/11.

He was determined that we learn more than just how to coil a pot, and learn we did.

He got out a pen and paper to diagram the chemistry of clay, which he learned while studying at Berkeley for a short while. He talked about the impact of tourism on his trade and the degree to which Ollantaytambo has changed in recent years. He talked about the difficulty of making a living in the United States as an artist. He explained that by using local, cheap products, he can create his works of art for almost no cost and make a decent profit. He showed us an original Inca pot and explained that the Incas were more focused on stone than clay, as evidenced by their relatively rudimentary pottery. He explained the difference between earthenware and porcelain. He described the evolution of pottery throughout world history, and regional differences in technique.

In short, it was an education in the art, history, and science of ceramics as much as a lesson in the technical process of creating a pot. Which is just as a lesson from a good teacher should be. 

Kelsey and me chatting with Lucho´s apprentice.

Lucho´s pot is looking good, even in the early stages.

Jarrard made a mushroom before abandoning clay for his camera.

Jarrard chilling next to my pot.

I made a face out of clay. It was fun, but turned out creepy.

Kelsey working on her pot, as Lucho spins away in the background.

The finished pots in Lucho´s shop that are for sale.

Toiling away in Lucho´s workshop.

Lucho kindly fixes Kelsey´s pot.

My pot from above.

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A view of Ollantaytambo

This is a video clip I took while sitting on the ruins at the edge of town. It starts looking down the valley towards Urubumba and Cusco, and pans through town. You can see the Plaza in the center and the ruins for which Ollanta is famous on the mountain jutting out, opposite from where I´m sitting. You can also see my hand shading the camera from the sun. It´s not quite professional quality, but you get the idea. Click on the link to watch the video on Vimeo.

Overlooking Ollanta from Eliza Kern on Vimeo.

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Saluting our country in a cornfield: Happy Third of July!

Okay, so the Inti Raymi drama and dancers were cool, festival of Chokakillka out of this world, and random days off from school much appreciated. But my new favorite holiday is the Third of July.

Because the people of Ollantaytambo aren´t too concerned with some stupid American holiday, there were unavoidable conflicts tomorrow and we decided the Declaration of Independence could have just as easily been signed on the third and threw a party tonight.

It´s weird, having been in Peru for about five weeks now, what reminds you of America. We made a wish list of things that would make our fiesta legitimate, and people tried their best to make it happen here.

Some ideas turned out better than others. The marshmallows for s´mores from Urubumba were tough in a way marshmallows just should not be, the cheese was not cheddar, and instead of apple pie there was apple crumble. There were no pickles to be found.

But overall it was a success, and the Peruvian influence wasn´t all for the worse. There was an obscene amount of guacamole, and no shortage of potatoes or corn. There were more woven scarves than patriotic attire, and while there wasn´t a single American flag in sight, there was red and blue jello. People had to improvise.

There were real hamburgers with buns, watermelon, potato salad, coleslaw, and s´mores roasted over an oil drum. There were even hushpuppies, courtesy of Jacob, who did the South proud with his cooking.

 There was non-Peruvian music coming through the speakers, and we sat in the concrete courtyard as though on a picnic. Someone drew a Twister board on pieces of paper and I called out ¨red food on blue¨to my heart´s content. We set off ¨fireworks,¨otherwise known as gunpowder tied to a broomstick,  in a cornfield outside Ollanta, and someone put the Star-Spangled Banner on repeat on iPod speakers.

Toasting the United States against the backdrop of the Andes in the moonlight, it was  a salute to our beloved home country and what it represents, as well as an appreciation for everything Peru and its people have given us.

God knows our country isn´t perfect, but I´ve come to realize that for the most part, we have it pretty good in America. The average American child has far more opportunities avaiting him than the average Peruvian does, although these advantages do come with responsibilities. To global awareness, cultural understanding, and some degree of humility, for starters. 

I´m starting to think that you have to leave the United States to begin to understand what it means to be American.

I was 10,000 miles from the nation´s capital, but toniight´s celebration in a cornfield in Peru was the most fitting tribute to our independence that I could imagine. Even if it was a day early. So happy Third of July, everyone. Tomorrow you better appreciate your civil liberties and cheddar cheese.

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Why Peru makes no sense

The electricity just came back on in the Sacred Valley. It´s been out since we woke up this morning, which meant no internet, no electric showers, no lights. All of which is okay. In fact, we didn´t notice until after lunch today.

When we realized that there was no power, Kelsey asked why the electricity would be shut off. Jarrard and I just looked at her in a kind of disbelief. The question is, why does anything that happens here happen at all? Things making sense is more the exception to the rule in Peru.

The water in Jarrard´s house is frequently shut off in the mornings, meaning no showerfor Mr. Model of Cleanliness. No one seems to think to fill buckets at night to prepare for this daily occurrence which has no explanation.

On Tuesday the transportation workers in the area went on strike, or ¨parro,¨ protesting high gasoline prices. No one could leave town to go to work or school. One elementary school in town was closed for the day. Ours stayed open.

There are holidays and festivals and teacher´s professional days when school is closed. But there´s no central calendar. The only way to find out if there´s school is to show up and knock on the door.

The municipality of Ollantaytambo has decided to rip up the cobblestones of the main Plaza and replace them with new ones. They dug large holes in the center of town, and then carted in dirt for festivals and as needed.

 People eat quinoa and papaya juice. Enough said.

Jarrard´s family butchered a pig, or chancho, and it hung from the ceiling in their living room for a few days.  

So we´ve learned to be flexible and adapt to whatever Peru throws at us. Any time things get frustrating, I look up and see the Andes soaring up around town and the 500 year-old Inca ruins peering down at me. All of these oddities are what make Peru quirky and interesting, and Jarrard said the chancho produced some of the best pork he´s ever had. And we have a gas shower. Party!

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Running into the sun

Yesterday I did something really brave: I went for a run.

I haven´t gone for a run in the month I´ve been here, for several reasons. It´s not acceptable for girls to wear shorts here. I feel nervous carrying my iPod around. Peruvians do not seem to exercise. We´re reasonably active in our daily lives.

But our diet of rice, potatoes, pasta, creamy soup, french fries, and bread is really starting to gross me out. Plus the Peruvians serve mayonnaise as a condiment with almost everything. Yesterday I ate what I´m fairly sure was liver just so I didn´t have to face another plate of pasta. I never finish all the food they give me here, but it´s hard not to worry about my health a little bit.

So the combination of the lack of nutritional meals and feeling of going stir-crazy led me to head out to the roads of Ollanta. And boy, did it feel good.

I didn´t wear shorts, nor did I attempt to run through the construction zone going on in the Plaza. But I did wear my iPod, if only to drown out the occasional whistle from men with nothing better to do than stand on street corners and loiter. And I ignored all the looks from Peruvians who were clearly wondering where the fire was.

The hardest part was running on cobblestones. All the streets in town are crafted from flat rocks with cement between the cracks, but it´s pretty bumpy going and I had to focus hard not to trip or twist an ankle. I thought of the rocks as my hurdles.

I headed through town and down the long road toward Jarrard´s house and the bridge crossing the river. Once I crossed the bridge and hit the dirt road outside town, it was absolutely peaceful and easier to run on than the cobblestones.

I only made it about twenty minutes outside of town before I felt completely exhuasted. The sun was beating down and breathing hard at 10,000 feet is no picnic. But it felt good to sweat and make some tracks.

It was probably the most idyllic run I´ve ever been on. Starting with my jaunt through picturesque Ollanta, I found myself rocking out to Beyonce as I ran on cobblestones, stretching on a 500 year-old Inca bridge, and waving to the train heading to Macchu Picchu as I passed entire families harvesting corn. Kind of beats a regular old track.

I´d forgotten how restorative a run can be, and I hope to make this part of my routine from now on. Maybe I´ll even stop and work on the Single Ladies dance on the Inca bridge next time. Who knows.

Jarrard´s picture of the road outside his house where I ran.

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