REPOST OF AN EARLIER STORY – DANCING THE PERUVIAN TWO STEP

EDITOR’S NOTE: I am reposting this article because it had unusually high traffic, many of whom appeared to be robots which my program identified and dealt with. However for those that missed this post, here it is again. AUTHOR

I was reminded one day of a piece of my early times in Peru that I had overlooked. Although it is late in my journey of memories. I feel I must add this significant piece of my early days as a traveller. This incident took place after meeting ol’ Bubbaloo and while we were in the process of her wooing me. I am not exactly sure where this story starts but I would guess, about 5 – 6 months after my arrival in Peru. Let’s say, May of 1978. As you can see from my earlier posts of my time in Peru. I had developed a keen interest (bordering obsession) in all foods Peruvian.

The more weird, radical or shocking, the better. Now the Peruvians looking in, are going to protest! Like “our food is not weird, your Snow White skin is weird”! They may also have a point. Anyway, to me, coming from the prairies of Alberta and never having experienced life outside of my tiny bubble, Peruvian food was definitely interesting. In the course of a few short months, I was provided the opportunity to learn about, new tastes. Also to experience more flavours than I had previously held, in my prairie food library, up to that time of my life.

I can’t possibly go into all of them but foods such as cuy (guinea pig), Papa la Huancyina (potatoes in peanut and cheese sauce), rocotos (hot hot peppers), cilantro which became my favourite spice and still is today, camarones (fresh water shrimp), sheep, lamb, goat (and an occasional Alpaca), Machas (a type of clam), anticuchos (beef heart on a stick), fruit from the cactus as well as many different and exotic tropical fruits, 2000+ varieties of potato, fresh cheese (no colouring or additives), Chicha (the local corn drink, chewed and spit into a bowl for fermentation), and the many types of aromatic fresh buns daily, all of these blended together to open the world of food and food culture to a young, naive hillbilly. I guess it is fair to say that I did not turn down many opportunities to sample the local foods. Whenever I was able.

So as I stated earlier, I was now dating my future travel partner. And she was busy trying to put me on the straight and narrow. It says a lot for her determination. As she is still trying to get me on the same path, even as we speak today. We spent all of our time together, her showing me the sights and tastes of her home, and me soaking up each and every new adventure with innocent enthusiasm.

Each day held something new and different. For those of you that know me, you are already aware of the fact that I was a little difficult to rein in. My eagerness for each and every new experience was unbridled, bordering on out of control. I listened, but did not “hear” much of the advice offered me. And so starts an eventful period in my life. One, that I am lucky to say, I survived, barely. It goes something like this.

One Saturday afternoon we were down from the camp and wandering around downtown Arequipa, and as always absorbing all of the sights and sounds of a busy Andean city. Inevitably, we had passed by many, many Peruvian street vendors offering all sorts of exotic dishes, with a myriad of accompanying exotic smells. The food carts were not like those of today, that are big, modern and have electricity, refrigeration and clean water. They were rather, hand pulled carts consisting of a counter and underneath storage for goods and equipment. There were no governmental regulations establishing standards for food prep or cleanliness.

Let’s just say, it was kinda freestyle. It is fair to say that Ol Bubbaloo was not tempted by any of these offerings and had so far managed to keep me from eating street food. That, in itself was no mean task. I basically stopped at each food wagon to see what was on offer. She was a woman of great patience and restrained me from eating myself from one side of town to the other. I guess by now everyone knows where this story is headed, so let’s get on with it you say.

On this particular day we passed by a street vendor, (she was) cooking shrimp on reed skewers over an open fire and liberally dousing them in oil and garlic, producing a very heady aroma under the cloud of smoke that surrounded her cart. Oh my god, I gasped, “I have gotta get me some of these”! Ol Bubbaloo says, “I wouldn’t recommend eating here, lets go into a nice restaurant and order there”. “No” says I, “these are cooked and I’m going to eat a few”. So I did just that. I bought three skewers full and after offering them around (and getting no takers), I smeared them with a hot sauce that the vendor had on offer.

The flies were buzzing the dish of sauce sitting out in the sun, but no flies were landing on it. I guess it was even too spicy for a fly! So taking her towel the cook made a sweeping motion around the sauce and the flies all lifted in a cloud and circled, high enough, to allow me to dig in and coat my skewered shrimp with sauce. Off we went, me eating my first taste of Peruvian Street Food and expounding on the delightful bounty that I now devoured. Along the way, my partner looked at me out of the corner of her eye, while I chomped and smacked my way thru this treasure. End of story, you might inquire. Nope that was just the start!

We spent the rest of the day doing as we normally did, looking at sights and learning the ins and outs of this amazing culture. That evening I had the first indication of something not setting well, deep inside of my guts. I heard a loud ominous churning and felt some turmoil deep down. Thinking little of it, I headed out to dinner. As the evening went on, the cauldron that was my stomach kept boiling. Although it is a little indelicate, I must say that I visited the restroom a couple of times thru the course of this meal.

I managed to keep my problem hidden, but on return to my apartment later that evening, I found the true meaning of the term, Inca Two Step and spent the remainder of my night within two steps of the toilet. The next day was no better and soon the time came to return up into the Andes and work. I was now processing everything I put in my mouth, out the other end within a few minutes of consumption. I was careful not to eat where I had no ready access to a washroom. At this time I was only mildly concerned and assumed that it would pass in a short time. It did not and as the days passed, I managed to control my intake to those periods where I was close to facilities. I never told anyone, and for sure not ol’ Bubbaloo.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned to months. Still no lessening of the effects of my stomach issues. A couple of times I was tempted to visit the elderly Swedish company doctor, but was always reminded of her trying to cure a compatriot, Per, of a similar problem. I watched ol’ Per, a 6’5″ swede, disappear in front of my eyes as her experiments ate him away, until finally they had to ship him out of country for a cure. So no doctor I decided. I was now used to scheduling my activities in tune with the sensitivity of my stomach.

Apparently Ol’ Bubbaloo was starting to notice a change in me. My usual adventurous attitude was somewhat subdued and my zest for food was starting to wane. She asked a couple of times what was wrong, to which I replied “nothing”. About 3 months in, my clothes were visibly sagging, my weight had gone from 190 pounds to 150 pounds and my bones were starting to show thru my, fast disappearing, layer of blubber. It was then that Bubbaloo started to get very concerned. She interrogated me and finally I spilled my guts and told her what was happening.

Even though we were not yet married at the time. She still managed to give me a significant ration of abuse over this. I told her I was about to go turn myself in to the company doctor and let her take over her experiments where she left off on the near dead Per. “You will not” Bubba says, planting her spear in the ground. “You don’t go to a Swedish doctor for illnesses developed in the Andes of South America!” “Hmmmmm, let me think”, she ponders. In a bit she says “ok I got it, I know a doctor to take you to”. Great I’m finally hopeful that this might all end soon.

Sure enough, she makes me an appointment and introduces me to her doctor friend. Hold it, I know that name “weren’t you dating this guy before I arrived?” “I was” says she, “but he’s a doctor and sworn to treat everyone no matter what”. Oh isn’t that lovely I’m now in the hands of a jilted lover, telling him my most intimate secrets. I’m sure I could see a flash of glee in his eye and a slight rubbing of his hands together. Anyway, despite my trepidation regarding this situation, he was very professional and gave me a thorough examination.

Ol’ Bubbaloo was present throughout, asking questions, and filling in blanks, where I didn’t want to go, with personal information. At the end he decides that I have dysentery and probably would die soon, if left unchecked. Was that a look of wistfulness that briefly flashed in his eyes. Naaahhh, couldn’t be right? In any event he produces a few tiny white pills. Each, about the size of, a seed, of uncooked barley, with which to treat the Inca Two Step, and a bottle of antibiotics for the dysentery. I thanked him and scurried out. I didn’t say much to ol’ Bubbaloo. However, in my mind, I couldn’t help but think “that I wish she would have shown me off, to her former beau, when I was at the top of my game, rather than at the bottom”.

Anxious to swallow one of the pills, we barely passed thru his office doors when I throw one down. Now I’m not going to say that you will believe this next part. But as sure as I am sitting here, it is the honest truth. The next morning I awoke with no signs of a rumble in my guts and no crushing need to leap for the can. My head had stopped hurting and my stomach muscles, that had been squeezed tight for 3 months, were now relaxed. I quickly gobble down another tiny pill and head for breakfast. Yahoo, I am a changed man, now give me some food. I wish that it had ended there, however it is never quite that simple for me.

I was very happy for the next couple of days, until I realized that I had now not been to the bathroom since I ate the little white pill. A few days later, same thing and now I have a stomach pain of a different type. I envisioned filling up with food, like an air bag, until I exploded food all over the place. So back we go to the doctor, where I am forced to explain what is now happening. Is that a look of triumph in his eyes, maybe. Anyway he produces another little magic pill. Down the hatch it goes. Like magic, a few days later my world is normal. I’m now back to unrestrained enthusiasm to eat, drink, and try anything and everything that Peru had to offer.

Indelicate you might say, however I needed to get this period of time into my written memory bank, before my clutch makes a final slip one day, and it is gone forever.