WE TRACK DOWN DEYSI’s PEOPLE DEEP IN THE ANDES OF PERU – 2012 PART III

As promised, we have finally arrived at the village of Deysi’s ancestors, deep in the Andes mountains of Peru. This is the culmination of a trip that I had yearned for, for 33 years. It finally ties the whole family history together, and makes it all understandable to me. Many are the times that I dreamt of making a journey such as this, to the land of the Andean Princess that I so loved. Standing here at the edge of her town, was a very heady experience for me. I only hope, I come a part way towards describing the mood, feel and atmosphere surrounding this enchanting place. If I do, then I have succeeded.

For Ol’ JimboRed, just entering into this town was a mystical and very surreal experience. I don’t mean to sound corny. However, I do remember a feeling coming over me, that I had been in this particular place before. Or maybe it was the altitude, that had me thinking and feeling weird things. We entered the town right down the road that we had arrived on. It took us right to Main Street. This wandering, winding road dumped us out at the center of town, and then disappeared out the other side. Once again, I might say that this town was very much like many others we had worked near or visited in the Andes. The houses were made of mud bricks, plastered over with mud plaster and painted both inside and out, with bright colours of the Andes.

Permit me to backtrack a bit. Laramate was situated at about 11,500 feet high in the Andes. It was almost 100 kilometres from the point on the Pan American highway where we turned off, to Laramate. Although it does not seem like much of a distance, the gravel road twisted and turned its way from desert level to 13,000 feet. Then it crossed over a high range and twisted its way back down to the Valley that Laramate lay in. The road was often treacherous. It was very narrow and in many places not wide enough for two vehicles to cross. For many of the people scratching out a living up here, the mode of transport was still by foot. In the not too distant past, no roads were present into this area and either walking or horseback was the only means to arrive here.

It was 100% a farming community. The population in the town was approximately 1600 persons and probably another 1600 lived on small farms in the surrounding area. Even those that lived in town were mostly farmers with small plots of land close to the edges of the town. There was no industry, unless you were to count the big machine of the Catholic Church, incessantly grinding out pennies from the local population. There were a number of small stores, a couple of restaurants, the school, a medical clinic and one lone policeman protecting the locals. I believe that years ago, during Deysi’s mom’s time, her family were also farmers with land close to the edge of town.

Clearly, I remember our first steps in this town. It seemed that one of Deysi’s first-cousins was a teacher in the local school. We immediately tracked the school down. To our disappointment, we learned that because it was summer, the school was on break and that most of the teachers were down in Ica enjoying the sun and sand. Deysi’s cousin included. It was kind of like a punch in the liver. However, we were also told that another of her cousins worked downtown at the medical centre. Further, it was explained, that although Deysi’s cousin was not home, his wife was still in town and running a small store on Main Street. With renewed enthusiasm, we set off in search of them.

We found a “second” cousin on the main street in an office. It appeared to be part visitor centre, part health office, and maybe something like the Town Public relations office. Deysi’s new-found cousin, was very happy to meet us. He was very interested in what brought us all the way to Laramate, Peru. We visited him for a while and explained that we were going in search of some of Deysi’s and Lene’s family. That is if any remained in the town. He was a friendly sort of guy, and after a short talk, he directed us to the wife of the cousin who was on school break in Ica. We then continued our journey of discovery.

When we found her store and first stopped, it was padlocked with nobody there. However when we circled back later, she was indeed, open. So, I will write this piece here, although it was probably nearer to the end of our stay. She had heard from a few of the locals that we were looking for her. We were so happy to meet her. This woman of the Andes was very gracious. We found her in a small store on main street. She was so happy to see Deysi, Lene and Mari. I guess she was ok meeting me, also. It’s not like they saw many gringos in this area, therefore I was probably viewed as some kind of curiosity.

The cousin in law, owned a small store and Internet cafe. She sold soft drinks, Pisco (firewater), beer, bread, local cheese and some miscellaneous grocery items. In addition you could come in here and be connected to the internet and all its evils. Man, a job after my heart. If only, I could have had a job like this, where I could drink Pisco all day, all the while playing games on the internet. We talked for a while, both Desyi and her cousin-in-law curious about the other’s life. Ol’ JimboRed was so thankful to be a part of this! She was very sorry that her husband was not there to meet her but gave us his contact info in Ica, for when we went back. She made the girls promise to call him.

After some discreet enquiries of the locals, Desyi was pointed in the direction of her relatives. We strolled thru the town, walking slightly uphill towards the centre. Again, the feeling of belonging, or having been here before, was overpowering. I can truly say, that I enjoyed every minute. Once again, I must remind everyone, that we were at about 11,500 feet of altitude. A “stroll” was a generous description of how we were moving. Along the way we had a couple of good laughs at Lene’s memory of Laramate. As I said earlier it has been years since she had visited here. She was probably not much more than a teenager then. And in a young eye, memories were sometimes more grand than reality. I will let the pictures explain.

We proceeded up Main Street and finally arrived at the main square. This was an area where much of Desyi’s family lore originated. Stories of her family history from Laramate were somehow tied into this main square. Her family on both sides were long time pillars of the community. On her grandmother’s side they were the Palomino’s and her grandfathers side were the family Chavez (or perhaps vice versa, i don’t remember exactly). What remained of Desyi’s 2 year old memory, of leaving Laramate, or what her brother or dad may have told her, was that the family lived in huge houses on the main square. After a few minutes we encountered the Main Plaza complete with a fountain in the centre.

It was a very traditional Main Square or Plaza. Bordered on one side by the magnificent Catholic Church, on one by the Police Station and Government Building, on another by the bank, and sure enough right next to the church, stood two large houses. Somehow she remembered living there (or thinks she remembers). In some way, this was a tiny spark in Desyi’s childhood memory. Of course to a 2 year old mind, these houses must have seemed regal. Now a half century past, they were still impressive, if not slightly aged. In any event, you could easily see what they might have been in the past. The Main Plaza was full of flowers in full bloom, there was a monument to someone at the centre and the wide stairway of the church spilled down into the plaza.

Here, I must say that Desyi’s family lived in the most important part of the town. They were exactly next door to the Church. I will also add a tiny piece of family lore at this point. I am not sure of its truth, or whether it was just rumour. However, legend has it that one of Desyi’s uncles, at one point had possession of the homes beside the Church. Apparently he was a powerful individual in the community, and reputably was given the name, THE PINK MANGO. Although impressive, the nickname did not seem to inspire awe in Ol’ JimboRed. The “visual” was not exactly that of THE GODFATHER. Or perhaps, I am just jealous, that my own nickname, I had to make up by myself.

It was said, that, The Pink Mango, in order to ensure his place in heaven, gave one of the houses, bordering the Church, to the Church. Apparently the Church accepted his gift, possibly to the annoyance of some parts of the family. Nobody knows if it worked and if he did, indeed, pass right on through those “pearly gates”. However you cannot fault him, for covering all of his options. Deysi, would not be dragged into this sort of rumour. She just said, “JimboRed, leave it alone, unless you want a good ass kicking!” But you all know JimboRed, he just couldn’t resist a juicy bit of gossip, as well as an ass kicking! Any attention is better than no attention!

Everything was brightly painted and to us, it all seemed very beautiful. I could not have pictured anything more enchanting, for the place of Desyi’s ancestors. We stopped, we took a myriad of photos. Ol’ Jimbored, tried to steal part of the feeling of belonging, by dreaming he was also Peruvian and returning home. The feeling of ancient bonds, was inescapable. All these years later, it becomes very hard to describe. However, that feeling still surrounds me as I write this, and flip thru the many photos of our journey there. In some ways, this main plaza was even prettier than others we had seen. I suppose just because it was so special to us.

At one point we met a young, lates twenties, policeman in all of his splendour. He was standing at one end of the Plaza at attention and gazing out over his domain. Because Deysi’s father, Papi, had stood in exactly this same place, in that same posture almost 60 years before, we could not resist but sidle close to him. We took his photo, Deysi posed with him, and we talked. First we asked where he was from and how long he had to work in Laramate. He told us he was from Lima and was on this assignment for 3 months. Then he would be rotated out, hopefully back to Lima. Deysi went on too explain to him that her father was also, Police and also assigned to this very Plaza.

Then she really got deep into this guys psyche. She explained to him that her dad was assigned here, where he met her mom. Her mom, at that point, was a young beautiful princess of the Andes. His heart was lost. Desyi went on to explain that her father then spent the next 5 years on this post in Laramate. The young policeman looked at her in amazement. His mouth opened and out came these prophetic words, “I WOULD KILL MYSELF”. He said it very matter of factly. It came out in a very laconic manner. However, there was no doubt, the seriousness and depth of his conviction. Deysi then explained, “Yeah, once Papi seen my Mom, they couldn’t get him out of here!”

From the main plaza, we continued higher up the town, past the main square and church and into a street, lined with houses, where we were told that parts of Desyi’s family also lived. I remember, about a block into this street, and maybe two streets behind the church, we smelled the most heady of aromas. Sure enough we arrived at a bakery, that was in full bread baking mode. My god it smelled good! The girls, of course, were curious to go look at what was being baked and who was doing it. By this time it was about two in the afternoon and the ovens were being tended by the apprentice baker. It seems the head baker was finished his part of the work and was now lying down for a nap.

From the baker’s home we continued on down the street in search of more family. By now we had gained a tour guide. She was an elderly local lady, and accompanied us on our quest. Our new-found guide also doubled as a cheese seller. She told the girls that she knew where the best cheese in town was sold. So with her in tow, off we went again. Soon she stopped and pointed at a wall on the corner of two streets. There, she said, used to live some of Desyi’s cousins. They no longer lived there, having moved out of the mountains into Ica. It was very interesting to just let the imagination run and think of how life could have been in the Andes.

Once we left this area and started to head back towards the centre of the town and our car, Lene and Mari, did find a big wheel of the local cheese. It is made at home, with local milk, wrapped in straw and sold as fresh as the day, that it was churned. I have eaten cheese many, many times over the years in the Andes, and I must say it is absolutely delicious. Each village or locality has its own special cheese. Each has a slightly different texture and flavour. Once again, with my big white body following the girls around, I am sure that they also paid the Gringo Price for their wheel of cheese. They said “not” but…………?

By now we had walked for a couple of hours around Desyi’s mom’s hometown. We had seen homes where her relatives lived and we had got a good feel of the town. Once again, I must say that it was all very surreal to me. I just felt like I was at home, or had arrived at a place that I belonged. It is hard to explain, and I don’t even know if the girls felt this way at all. We headed back towards the centre of town carrying our wheel of cheese and accompanied by our local guide. It was now approaching mid afternoon and we were all feeling a bit hungry. “What the hell, let’s sample some local cuisine.” We found the local eatery, on the second floor of a building on mainstreet and entered.

I could go on and on, however, I am sure I have already put everyone to sleep with this tale of the Andes. For me it had been one of my best travel days ever. At long last, JimboRed was able to satisfy his curiosity about where Deysi and her family came from. I loved it. My God did I take pictures. And you know what? I am so happy that I did. It provides me countless hours of enjoyment flipping thru them and reliving that magnificent adventure. Before I close, I must provide one more piece of history about Desyi and her last days in Laramate, around 1954. Please indulge an old man.

So, it came to pass, that, while Desyi was still a toddler (perhaps 2-3 years old) it was time for her to leave her roots and see the world. Deysi’s father (Papi) was a policeman and had long overstayed his assignment in Laramate. He was transferred to a new location, out of the Andes. Coincidentally, it happened to be to the very town where we had turned off the highway, when our journey started that very morning. Well that didn’t seem so far did it? Hell, pack up, call for a truck and adios Laramate, I’ll see you in Palpa this afternoon. Right?

Well just hold it a darn minute there. Things were never quite that easy. There was a small problem with leaving Laramate and heading out of the Andes, at that time. Seems there were no roads out in that direction. So when Papi packed up the family to move to his next assignment, he did it the same way he moved in a few years earlier. By horseback. “The hell”, you say. “You can’t ride thru the Andes on horseback with a wife and two tiny children.” In addition to Deysi and her Mom, was her 5 year old, brother. As difficult as it sounds, that is, in fact, just what they did. They packed everything they could on a couple of horses and a mule, and with Deysi on one side and Arnie on the other, in large wicker baskets, away they went.

Desyi does not remember much of this journey. However, a few things stuck in her memory. First she remembered singing songs as they rode along. She thinks, she remembers staying in a farm(s) on the way down, and that the ride took days. These are bits of info that may also have been told to her by her dad or brother, during her early years. Incidentally, the next time she visited her family’s home was that very day in 2012, that I am writing about now. What a long and winding path, my Andean beauty had journeyed, to make a full circle back to her roots, 50 some years later. Incredible that she had crossed paths with a Canadian hillbilly in the midst of that journey. And amazing, that her and JimboRed stood there together at the place of her origin, so many years later.

By now it had been a long day, resulting in this long article detailing our great adventure. We briefly discussed staying overnight in the Hostel, to see more the following day. Ol’ JimboRed was game. I could have easily stayed right there, pretending I was Peruvian. Deysi, on the other hand, remembered the luxury that awaited us in Ica, at our hotel. She quickly vetoed any idea of staying longer. So late in the afternoon, we bid our farewell to Laramate, Peru and climbed back into our transport, for the journey back down. A quietness and perhaps sadness enveloped us, as we said goodbye to this mystical place. This time I can guarantee, that there were a few tears shed at our departure. I’m not saying, by who.

The ride down was about 2 hours shorter than the ride up to Laramate. First of all because we now knew the way. Secondly because we did not need to stop a hundred times for JimboRed to snap photos. On the way down we decided that we were all hungry, again. Lene told us that the most famous “Chicharron” place in all of Peru, was located close to where we would descend out of the mountains. There was no need for a vote. The driver pointed us in that direction and we wound our way out of the mountains. I believe that all of us, except the driver, had a nap during our descent. By this time, very late in the afternoon, we were beat.

Sure enough, soon we were at a place named Ingenio, and bellied up to a table full of world famous Pisco and plates of the even more famous Chicharron. For those of you new to this style of food, it basically consisted of big chunks of pork, with some rind attached, slow cooked for hours to a crispy, tender brown. My God was it good. Accompanying this mighty feast were glasses of Pisco, mandatory to “cut the grease” with. Once again, at this small roadside restaurant in the Atacama Desert in Peru, on a summer day, approaching evening, Ol’ JimboRed had another of his most famous meals in all of his travels. This place was so famous, that I doubt if anyone ever passed here, on the Pan American highway, without stopping.

And finally our day was over. Hold it you might say, could you not find a relative in this part of Peru. Well indeed we could. Desyi remembered this town from the days of her youth. She had visited it a few times in her past. Desyi had fond memories of coming here with her step-mom for holidays during the summer months. She had vivid memories of the fun and laughter she shared with her brothers and sisters, in this very part of the world. Also, she remembered where her Aunt lived, so of course we drove by to see if we could find her. Sure enough, like she was anticipating our arrival, we found Deysi’s Step-Mother’s sister there waiting for us. However, that is a story for another post.

By this time it was almost dark, the lure of our Hotel in Ica was pulling me away. We had basically, driven and explored for about 14 hours. In Deysi’s Mom’s time that same journey, up and down thru the Andes and back, would have taken at least a week on horseback. I will rest my weary memory and then continue further into our adventures, in Peru, during summer of 2012, when I return. Please forgive any inaccuracies that might have been caused by my aged mind and failing pen. Always remember, MEMORY IS A POET NOT A HISTORIAN!