Berries and Spice in Peru – Part 3 – The Grandfather

Foto: Ioana Negulescu

Taking my first few steps out of the bus at five-thousand metres above sea level is how I would imagine the opposite of stepping onto the moon. No amount of coca leaves (which locals chew to fight altitude sickness) helped me feel less heavy and drowsy. The afternoon nap I took before dinner at Colca Canyon did not relieve my headache. A cup of mint tea (muña) and a beer, next to my first lomo saltado (a beef stir fry served on top of fries) did. Seeing seven Andean condors, having my first bite of a rather dry alpaca, a pisco tasting and a meal at Gaston Acurio’s restaurant also helped.
I’ve already told you: nothing was going to stop me from enjoying this trip. Not even realising I had booked my flight from Cusco to Arequipa for February instead of January and having to panic-book a new last minute flight.
Here I am, in Cusco, going for a stroll at San Pedro market. The stalls are abundant, and every aisle is organised by type – one with bread, one with fish, another with meat, cheese, vegetables, fruits … I thanked myself for learning enough Spanish to get by without having to book a market tour. The curious rebel within me is in paradise. I visit every stall, inquire about every ingredient and: magic! Ten minutes in and my backpack is full of all sorts of ingredients: from dried fly fish roe to all sorts of types of corn, chuños (potatoes that are left to freeze in the fields and then dried), powdered Peruvian fruits (this is a commonly used preserving technique in Peru) and all sorts of snacks.
My shoulders hurt from the weight I keep adding as my market tour continues. Suddenly, a lady stops me: “Would you like some San Pedro, miss? You have to cook it for a few hours and then you can experience something magical“. I look at the size of the cactus and respond “my calendar informs me I’ve got that on the schedule tomorrow“. She gives me a hug and reassures me of how lucky I am to live that experience, then gifts me a few sticks of palo santo.
I am hungry, but my guide tells me it’s best to fast until the ceremony. No way a gastronomer can fast while travelling to a new country, no matter how magical an experience is promised. I stop to have lunch at a local restaurant with live music. The adobo Cuqueño is enormous, I barely manage to finish half of it. I drop off my backpack, continue walking through the city. Dinner time comes swiftly. On a menu of a restaurant I saved, I find alpaca skewers. I order a pisco sour next to it. The thirst of trying out everything that crosses my path is high and I follow no rules anyway.

Photo: Ioana Negulescu

The next morning, stomach still full, I make my way to the entity that organises the private San Pedro ceremonies.
Let me stop you for a moment. Do you know me? I may be a hedonist, but I am no risk taker. It took a lot of logical assessment to commit to this experience. The criterion? The owner of the agency is a doctor! He checks my heart, my blood sugar levels and gives me an extensive briefing on what is going to follow. Thank you, science, for existing. On top of that, he arranges for a woman to join my shaman and I so that I would feel safe. And safe I felt.
There I lie, an hour later, on the ground of an Inca moon temple, drinking an elixir that resembles what my body would have rejected any other day, to unharmonious yet calming sounds of various instruments.
The ceremony is fascinating. I learn about the significance of every seed and plant that Jorge (the shaman) adds to the “masa“ (the piece of cloth that gets burned or buried at the end of a ceremony ). The cherry on top? A llama with coca leaf wings made from… llama fat. To finish the ceremony (and assess my reaction to the potion, a step in the process which my rational mind felt grateful for), I am asked to sing a song. We then continue our hike, where the ceremony ends and my journey starts.
In the sun that fooled the weather report, I feel the colours of the sunset and the sunrise, in all their beautiful yellow, orange, pink and purple hues. Deep in my chest. The clouds dance in the sky – quite literally. I smile, cry, feel grateful.
Back in Cusco, I don’t like the crowds. I go back to my hostel, take a hot shower and listen to instrumental music. As time goes by, my fear of seeing other humans reduces, and I crave pizza.

Photo: Ioana Negulescu

I most certainly left a big piece of my heart in Peru. Reflecting on what I did each day before going to sleep led to one conclusion: every day was magical, in its own way. And it’s not stopping here. My journey continues, from the Andes all the way to Mexico. Follow my stories as I soak in all the knowledge that I can collect in a country whose cuisine is my ultimate fascination.