We wandered about in a serpentine fashion with the goal of lunch. Annie made a new Peruvian friend on the flight who highly recommended (fingers to his lips then tossing them in the air with Italian flair) a local favorite, La Chomba. We asked for directions three times along the way but eventually found it. Set up with long tables and benches reminiscent of a German beer hall, our party of nine plopped down and were promptly and happily greeted by the staff. Since even the more proficient Spanish speakers in our group were unable to discern anything on the menu board, we asked our server to just bring out a few dishes for us to share. We had rice, fish, pork, beef and goat along with "potatoes with the density of a collapsed planet" (per Annie). Chris helped us establish that the easiest and most successful way to communicate one's food related needs is simply to make the corresponding animal sound.
Jackie was slapped with a bunch of weeds by an odd older man (yes, you are reading this correctly) and then serenaded to at lunch by a young man playing some pipes who then followed us out requesting a photo and her email address.
On the walk back we made contributions to the local economy every time the kids pet or marveled at every alpaca in our touristy path.
Chris and the older kids- namely, the remaining strength in our troop of nueve, set off for an adventure to the market, returning promptly to put together some comfort food- arroz con pollo- for those of us to whom the Andes have not been as kind. To exemplify this, let's just say that a few of us saw the fruit of Chris's cooking labor not just once, but twice.
On another, happier note, also following our dinner brought in the lovely caretaker, Karina, and her two young children, who quickly became the objects of the Arnold's and Derzak's affections.
After quite the full day, we're tucking in for the night, our bedsides equipped with mate (te de coca), some agua and, for some, a trash can.
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| Colonial House |
