Tarma, upon arrival, smells like a stressless Christmas. The streets are full of people, calmly, though excitedly, (like the beginning of December, before the crazy rush of the holidays), meandering along, window shopping, watching street performers, pausing in the tranquil plaza outside the main church.
On certain days, the streets of Tarma are shut down to traffic and big, colorful marketplaces are constructed. All sorts of fruits, roots, vegetables and meats are presented, in every shape, form and color. It´s bustling, but not stressful. Colorful, but not overwhelming. It`s beautiful.
Un Dia en mi Vida Tarmeña
Wake up when I feel like it, take a mate de coca downstairs. Find quinoa con manzana, stroll around the sweet plaza that smells piney and a little like Christmas. Pay 1 sol to look at library books on the legends and myths of the region. Take a walk up a steep street I don`t know where it goes, take shelter from the rain in a nearby shop. Smile at the owner, nod, continue on my way as the rain lightens. Go eat a menù at George`s spot. George, aka Jorge, aka Koko and his wife Lupita, own a really sweet hole in the wall restaurant that serves consistently delicious, clean, tasty food, and there is always good company and conversation to be had.
Return to my ¨home¨away from home to practice violin in the big, empty, old haciendo that is now a hospedaje. Meander on over to the market place where I observe big, fried pancakes being served up with what looks like hot chocolate. Ask for one of those. Drink my hot chocolate, which has a very distinct, delicious flavor, and eat my fried pancake. Walk back to hostel feeling quite relaxed, happy...wait a second...tipsy?¿? Yes...the hot chocolate was spiked with something special. Take a nap. Wake up and do some lesson planning, write in my journal. Go back to the main street to eat Caldo de Gallina, a soup of noodles, rooster, hard boiled egg, and oil. Lots of oil. Too much oil. Return to the hostal with a stomach ache. Spend the next 3 hours throwing up and walking back and forth from the bathroom which is located downstairs from my room. Finally get to sleep, and wake up in the morning happy as a clam. Well, a clam that got tossed around on the beach a bit the night before, but still in tact and its pearl a little motion sick, but still nessled safe inside.
Another example of my day:
Wake up and head over to the library, then ask directions on the street for how to get to a pueblo nearby called Muruhuay. The woman I ask directions from turns out to be a teacher at the nearby high school and has a great interest in storytelling and oral narrative. We exchange numbers and make plans to meet up again soon to talk about possible projects.
Catch a colectivo to a nearby haciendo, where I stroll the gardens and wander alongside a little stream. The fields are empty, except for me and my new dog friend. We lay in the sun next to the stream, daydreaming then doing some lesson planning. Use a mud hut toilet, which then I realize drops directly into the nice little, dirty stream I was just sunbathing next too. Well, can`t win them all! I collect acorn tops, then read Mary Oliver out loud to the dog. Thank the gods for Mary Oliver!
Pop a few fruits, aguaymantos, that come in a leafy lacey flower pocket. Smile at the field of artichokes, meander back to the road. On my way up to the road I see the first person in a few hours, the owner of the hacienda, who offers hostal rooms in the haciendo on the property for much too much money. He asks me if I want to visit the hacienda and if I do that I need to pay 3 soles. I say, ahh, maybe I`ll be back later. All I wanted was to lay in your fields and use your mud hut toilet.
I begin to walk the road towards the other pueblo of Muruhuay where there are fiestas all the month of May. I flag down a combi and make it to the pueblo in time to watch a big gathering of people dancing, performing and playing music. I eat chicken and rice at a nearby spot where I chat up the señora and she tells me the story of the Señor de Muruhuay, apparently they celebrate every year how a crucified man appeared on the rock on the hillside.
I make my way back to the music where there are a few kids hanging around, little ones, and I can tell their a little surprised to see me. We play a little, talk, then I see one girl thinking, then she says, I want to call my dad, but I dont have 20 cents...then she looks at me curiously, wondering if I`ll take the bait. Where is your dad? I ask. Uhhh....She says. Then, he`s in Lima. I want to call him, but I dont have 20 cents for the phone. What`s he doing in Lima? Uhhh...Is he working? I say. Si! yes, he is working. The kids giggle a little. Mmmm. We watch the dancing more. Where are your parents? She asks me. I tell her my mom is at home in California. Where is your dad? My dad died. Silence. Big eyes. Then a little bit after, is he in a cemetary? Can you visit him? We watch the musicians begin to play and march. I get ready to continue walking. She tries one more time. I want to call my dad but don`t have the money...I smile, she smiles sheepishly back at me, understanding that I understood it`s a game for them. I appreciated the attempt. Might have worked on someone else. I give them all a goodbye wave, take care, see you later. They all grin and say goodbye.
I stroll up to the church where the supposed rock is. Enter, give my respects, then walk up around the back of the church and climb the mountain, precariously I might add, to the big cross in the middle of it, up above the whole town. It`s a beautiful view, a gorgeous valley, reminds me of home. I sit in silence for a while, contemplating what it would be like to have been walking here years ago and come upon a crucified man that appeared out of the rock.
Then I start walking back down the mountain and heading back towards the road for Tarma. On the outskirts of Muruhuay I see there is a fiesta happening, and I poke my head in to the courtyard, just to see. A circle of friends becon me in and wave me to come dance with them. I enter, and we begin to dance. Then I am handed a big cross, and a bottle of beer, and we are walking out to the street, and we are all piling into cars and we are heading to their pueblo, Muyloh, on the other side of Tarma. We arrive as it is getting dark, and enter into a home with a big courtyard, where the band and the orchestra set up their instruments, and the family begins to pass around food to all the guests. The entire pueblo is invited. I am introduced to the owner of the home, the grandfather, a wonderful old señor with blue eyes that tell entire worlds of histories. They invite me in like family. We eat, we drink, we dance in the rain until late. Then the band marches with us up to the main plaza in front of the church, and we dance more, and drink more. We drink beer, and we drink a hot liquor of many herbs that warms you up really nicely. They are constructing a big tower structure, that looks to me in its completion like a Peruvian version of Burning Man. Then the light show begins. They strike it up, this big tower structure and it comes to live, shooting, streaming, beaming with fireworks! One after another, and its very precarious seeming, and very exciting. Wow! Ah! Eek! We have to run for shelter at one moment, stray fireworks shooting off in crazy directions. It finishes, and we begin to dance again. then we head back to the house, and there is the last person leaving in their car for Tarma so I catch the ride quick and head back to my hostal. We bid farewell, and I head to bed, happy, full, satisfied.
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