Gualfín, Calchaqui Valley, Argentina
April 12th, 2024
A misty morning at Gualfín.
A knock came at the door. I opened it, and discovered two women standing outside with hats and backpacks.
“Buen dia”, I said. I knew them both – they were Mariela and Veronica - the wives of our two best workers. I gave them each a kiss on the cheek.
“Would you like to come in?”, I asked.
Veronica shifted, and looked to Mariela.
“No, thank you, Patrona. We’d like your permission to pick apples”, she said.
Ah! I was only too delighted. There were so many apples, and I hated to think of them going to waste.
They thanked me, and continued to stand there. Mariela’s dog had come with her and Ramona was very interested in it.
We talked about the dogs and I asked after their children. All were well, gracias a Dios. I shared with them my stewed apples recipe, it was ever so simple, ready in a matter of minutes, and very good.
They nodded.
Once a polite amount of time had passed, they took their leave.
We returned to Gualfín, dear Reader, yesterday evening. Ramona came rushing over to me as I entered the house, jumping up into my arms and trying to get at my face with her tongue. She was happy to see us.
Marta was there, and prepared us a simple dinner of salad, cheese and bread. It was good to be home. I had made stewed apples when I got in. We had them for dessert. Cooking was a relaxing activity after the five hour drive along bumpy dirt roads.
In the morning I took my walk heading toward the vineyard. Mist covered the fields, and it was cold enough to wear my gloves and down jacket. The farm truck came rattling along, a hair later than usual. The fellows had been up late, playing a soccer game in Molinos. I had heard them rumble in, in the early morning hours.
On my way back toward the sala, I saw Adrien with our capataz and a couple of the men. They were unloading huge bales of hay from the truck. Samuel stood on top and secured a piece of rope to a bale, which he threw down to the men below. They caught hold of it and pulled while he pushed till it came toppling down.
The men work to unload the hay bales.
But while it’s still fresh in my mind, I want to go to back to Lima. First of all, we left the city with regret. It had been a most wonderful stay. Not just because of the beauty, culture and incredible food the place offered. But also, because it was so good to be away. From the Valleys, the farms, the issues of the people, and from the remote - often lonely - ness, of life there.
Our last sunset in Lima.
As the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. And press on we must.
All that aside, here’s a little more about the city itself…the traffic was atrocious at most times of the day, easily on par with Los Angeles traffic. The city is home to 12 million people, and the amount of hustle and bustle on the streets attests to that.
Also, it is expensive. More expensive than what we’re used to in Salta, and even Buenos Aires. (A side note here: when we got back to Salta, we were amazed at how much prices had gone up. Dinner at one of our usual spots, where we ordered a steak, a salad and a bottle of wine, was double what we would have paid before we left. And on a Wednesday night, the place was far from full.)
In my previous letter, I said that Lima was clean. And that is mostly true. But there’s also a lot of poverty. Driving in from the airport, we saw shanty towns rising up along the mountains. They were visible from the fancy rooftop bar we went to on our last night, the lights glittering along the skyline.
We also visited a fabric market, hoping to find some Andean textiles (we did not), and when we stepped out from inside the gated market area, the smell hit us like a brick. Sewage mixed with the earthy herbs, teas and powders being sold on the street, body odor and dirt.
Trash was everywhere, and people pushed and shoved to get through the crowded streets. We were the only whites. People stared at us. They weren’t hostile or unkind, just curious and probably amused.
Another side of town: shanties built up on the hillsides, trash in the streets and traffic.
We bought some seashells as souvenirs, hailed a cab and drove back to Miraflores.
Tomorrow, we are hosting an asado, a belated Easter celebration like the one we did at La Arcadia. We have no idea how many people to expect. Adrien is making a tabouleh again, we’ll have lamb, gaseosas and some wine.
More to follow.
Abrazos,
Mariah