Cake, Christ, and Cathedral

I quiz Enzo on the Spanish word for "bathroom" on our walk to school. “Baño,” Leif replies first. I want to prevent more accidents in his class. I pick up Enzo—his body feels lighter than when we left the U.S. He barely touches his food at meals. Last night, I was grateful when he ate his entire bowl of soup.

Abuelita left the casita at the same time we did. She carried a huge sack of apples, which Leifer wheeled up to the main road in a wheelbarrow. She was heading to Mancos by combi to sell them.

After dropping off the boys at school, I walked to the main street in Mancos and stopped at the pastelería. They bake something similar to my dad’s pound cake. We’ve had a slice before, but today, I wanted the whole cake. Quince soles. I only had doce. She took my money and gave me the whole cake anyway. I practically skipped away, I was so happy.

I walked further up the main promenade, looking for Abuelita. I spotted her sitting on a stoop not far ahead, across from the bread vendor. A few apples were still spread out in front of her. I showed her my cake, grinning from ear to ear, and sat down beside her. While I was there, she made a sale, then bought half a chicken, spinach, eggs, and bread. Since she planned to stay and sell the rest of her apples, I grabbed the eggs and bread and headed back to the casita.

Our internet has been out since Sunday—another petal of independence falling from the flower. I can hotspot off Leifer’s phone, but it doesn’t work well, and I feel cut off. Leifer called his sister, who contacted the internet provider. They claimed the service was out in the morning but working all afternoon. I had assumed the clouds were blocking our signal.

We have five chickens left. The strongest survived whatever virus plagued the others. Will Abuelita add another rooster to her flock?

We visited Campo Santo in Yungay, the next city over. This is Yungay Antiguo, or Old Yungay—the site where a devastating earthquake and subsequent landslide buried the city, killing nearly 50,000 people in 1970 and displacing another 800,000 across two regions. It remains the most catastrophic natural disaster in Peru’s history. Now, it’s a memorial with vast open spaces, flowers, palm trees, and walking paths. A tall replica of the old cathedral stands here, with Christ watching over the now-sacred ground.

Abuelita was in Tingua the day of the earthquake. She had been waiting for family and ran late—she wasn’t near Yungay when it happened. Leifer’s sister, Trini, was just a baby. In the days that followed, nations came together to help. Injured and stranded people lined the mountainsides, and provisions had to be flown in since many major roads had been destroyed.

We climbed 116 stone steps to reach the top, where the Christ monument overlooks the valley at the base of Huascarán Mountain. I pulled off my hat—the wind picked up at the summit. The views were breathtaking. There were no railings, so we quickly took photos before ushering our children back down.

On the way down, Enzo was stung by a bee on his pointer finger—a first. I wondered if he would be allergic. He clutched his finger as we continued toward the cathedral.

Dark clouds rolled in. A storm was coming—most late afternoons are stormy here. Our purpose remained clear: reach the cathedral, then head back. As we walked, the sole of Leif’s shoe continued to peel apart. It had already started separating before we left, but after years of wear, its deterioration had accelerated. By the time we got home, the sole was nearly detached. Leifer has a cousin who repairs shoes. It seems there’s nothing his family can’t do.