Mountain Life and Markets

I find it easy to write here. We are outside most of the day, breathing fresh mountain air, captivated by the peaks surrounding us. I feel myself relaxing into this place we’ve retreated to. The burden of a complex, modern, globalized world is muted here. Tourist season will start soon, and hikers will trek in from all over the world. There is snow covering the peak of the Huascaran Mountains year-round. That’s where we get our water from, Leifer tells me.

There’s a shoe cobbler in Mancos. We got Leif’s boots fixed for 13 soles, after the sole nearly fell completely off the left one. That’s about $5 USD. Leif will get more life out of them—the boots cover his ankles and go a few inches up his calf. They’re good shoes for walking through mud or wandering around. Leif is glad to have them back on his feet.

Leifer’s sisters arrived Friday night—Julia and Trini. They came into the mountains bringing provisions, clothes, and shoes. Among the goodies was a jar of peanut butter. In our excitement, we ate through half the jar. Leifer’s sisters are warm and kind. They care for my children as if they were their own. They care for me in the same way.

The next morning, Trini gave each of us a haircut, one by one. Leifer was first. I was glad to have some maintenance done on my hair, especially after three days without water. The water came back around lunchtime. All the faucets were completely open; every available container and sink was filled. Even containers that previously held other things were emptied and filled with water. If the water doesn’t stay, we’ll still have what we need for cooking and drinking.

After lunch, I took a hot shower—at times, it was scalding. I adjusted the temperature by either opening or closing the valve. The water pressure isn’t strong, but that doesn’t bother me. I learned my lesson Thursday night: take a shower when there’s water—don’t wait for your usual time. We still have water now; maybe it’s back for a while.

Julia wanted to clean and mop our bathroom. She found the itch cream in a bucket that Lucca had hidden. Thankfully we got it back—Leif has some gnarly bites and needs the cream to settle into sleep at night. Trini is washing our clothes by hand. I watched her soak the clothes, saturate them with soap, beat the fabric with a paddle, brush the surface, and wring them out. There’s a washing machine right next to her. I see Abuelita washing her clothes by hand too—she says the machine doesn’t do as good of a job. Shortcuts aren’t taken here; they may not even be desired. Cooking is done over a fire that needs constant supervision, even though a gas stove is available. The old world and new world blend together—old-world traditions and processes are not forgotten. Spaces in the casita are fluid and multi-purpose. Cooking isn’t confined to the kitchen.

Julia wakes at 5 a.m. every day. I asked her about it. She gets up to prepare breakfast and lunch for her husband and son. At night, she washes her clothes by hand for the next day. She always has a smile on her face. I wonder if the Spanish word for “chore” is even in her vocabulary.

Leifer’s sisters took the boys and me to Yungay yesterday, the next biggest town over. We needed to stock up on supplies for Leifer’s birthday BBQ—potatoes, chicken, corn, and lettuce. We first went to a wide-open space in the center of town. Women had laid out what they were selling, often just one item—corn, potatoes, etc. We walked down a row and picked up corn, potatoes, and red roses. I felt like a fish out of water—my pasty skin, my height, my American clothes, and my red hair. But I didn’t dwell on it; you have to constantly watch what’s happening around you. Large carts roll through the area. I pulled Enzo out of the path several times. It was like a chaotic farmer’s market—no tables, no tents, everything sold from the ground.

We moved on, walking toward the shops in the center of town. Down an alley and under a large tent, we found all kinds of fruit. I needed plátanos for the boys. They had different sizes—not like the small ones we get in Mancos. We tried grapes and mandarins too, both of which went into our bag. Further along, we passed a room where skinned, bled pigs hung from hooks. We needed chicken for the BBQ and stopped at a stall where four featherless chickens lay on the counter. You tell them what parts you want and how you’d like them cut, and then wait while they prepare it right there.

We kept walking and found bread stalls with so much variety. We got a croissant-like bread made with pork fat and also donuts. Taking the boys to such a large market was a workout. We chased them as they darted after anything that caught their eyes. The market had endless distractions—including entire stalls of toys. It’s much easier to avoid toy stores in a car than on foot. Still, it’s better to have toys around the casita—other kids want to come play. The best way to make and keep friends is with toys and treats. I can often persuade Roy to stay a bit longer with cookies and lollipops.

Enzo’s teacher told me today that he now tells her when he needs to go to the baño—one step closer to feeling comfortable at school. She said sometimes he disappears and she finds him in the bathroom. She makes small efforts to connect with him. He also helps her learn English, just as Leif is doing in his class. He brought his Paw Patrol toy to school—I worry he’ll lose it. It’s one of the few comforts of home he has. The classrooms are filled with toys brought by the students, their names meticulously written in permanent marker on every piece—even the puzzle pieces. But the toys are for sharing and are left on the shelves at the end of the day.

I see more evidence of the boys settling into our little Peruvian life. Leif’s sense of humor is back. He says goodnight to Abuelita each night. Enzo counts to ten in Spanish for his tia’s. They leave the breakfast table each morning and go into they courtyard of the casita to play. They seem more adjusted than I feel.

Photo: Leif eating flan.

I took the longer way back home after dropping the boys off at school. I walked into Mancos to grab a few things. “Quiero dulce,” I said to the shop owner. “Ah, para hijos?” she asked. “No, ¡para mí!” We both laughed. I picked out sour gummy rings, juice and bananas for Lucca, and animal crackers for Leif and Enzo. On a Monday, we’re all trying to pep ourselves up a bit more. I enjoyed walking along the cobbled stones. I said “hola” to an older woman. She responded, “Gringa.” I snacked on my gummy rings until I noticed a wild dog following me. I put them away—best not to draw attention to the food I had.

Every morning, I wake up and check my email. I’m thrilled when there’s a letter from home. Email is fun again—like twenty years ago when I had my first address just for friends and family, before it became a marketing tool. I’m encouraged by the sentiments shared and the stories from loved ones.