Shami, 4, with a tiny potato in the village of Llachon, Peru. Photo / Ricky French
Forget the Incas, Machu Picchu or the Andean condor - Peru prides itself on being home of the potato, writes Thomas Bywater
The South American country of Peru boasts somewhere between 3000 and 4000 varieties of tuber. All I know is that I lost count of the assorted spuds, somewhere on the shores of Lake Titicaca.
Visiting Llachon as part of a homestay, on one of the country’s many subsistence farms, was a look at the part of the country few tourists see.
About 99.8 per cent of Peru’s agricultural land is classed as “family farms” - the majority of which only grow food for their own consumption. So, the only thing more plentiful than potatoes are the abundance of smallholdings. Some of which had been planting potatoes for the past seven millennia.
It’s the country that gave the world the tomato, quinoa, and cocaine. You’ll still see locals chewing coca leaves - or “chatting” as it is appropriately named. The leaves act as a mild stimulant for luck and to help get people through the daily chores.
However, it’s the humble spud that has shaped the landscape like no other.
Potatoes may not sound like the most fertile ground for a travelogue, and I appreciate your patience, but it was more than altitude that suggested this field in Llachon was no average allotment.
Heading to the fields with a handful of cocoa leaves, llama fat and a plastic bottle of red wine - we looked more like the cast of Midsommar than potato farmers on their way to work.
The shores of Lago Tititcaca and the islands of Amantani and Taquille had a Mediterranean quality, looking out towards Bolivia. Until you tried to walk a flight of stairs. Guests were almost floored by mild exercise and the fact that, at 3800m, we were roughly at the height of Aoraki Mt Cook.
In the far distance were floating reed houses of the indigenous Uros people. Beyond that, Bolivia.
The wine and coca leaves were not for us, but for the Apu mountain spirits and Macha Papa.
Using a small piece of fat to make a parcel of three leaves, to represent the “three realms, past present and future”, I joined my offering to the pile facing the mountains.
Burning the leaves produced thick, white smoke after being doused with the red wine.
“If the smoke goes straight up, it will be a good harvest,” explained our Intrepid guide Jose Antonio, as he encouraged us to make a wish on the leaves.
Clearly someone wished for lots of potatoes.
As guests of a rural homestay, it was quite a contrast to the rest of the nine-day tour of Peru. We had been acclimatising in hotels throughout, Cusco and Puno region, not much could prepare us for a dose of la vida real in Llachon.
The eight-hour drive was a long way removed from touristic Cusco.
At the end of the drive the shrinking roads narrowed to a point, where our hired minibus was met by a colourful wall of shawls. Here were our hosts for the night.
Pouring out of the meeting centre and Casa De Magno the locals carried kantuta wreaths, the national flower of Peru, to greet their guests. It turns out the shawls were for far more than decoration. One provided ample space for a flight case, slung onto the back of our hosts without a second thought.
The accommodation had been pre-arranged by organisers Intrepid. However, you couldn’t help feel our host Magdelena had pulled the short straw: Two Kiwis, with not a word of Spanish between us.
She graciously accepted our gift of Chuta, a sweet chocolaty bread and traditional present from Cusco. Though she seemed a little reserved, given our stilted Spanish. Fortunately Shami, her 4-year-old daughter, was more quickly won over by the promise of cake.
There was an age gap between Shami and the other children of the house, who worked with Magdelena’s husband, Hernan. We only met one of her other daughters Karin, who had just finished school and was starting to help on the family farm. Conversation was light. It was broken by large intervals of looking for a feeble roaming signal around the farm and the help of Google translate app.
Finally I struck on a topic that struck up some interest.
“Por la trabajo?” - I asked, thinking I was asking about what work there was to do in Llachon. It was answered with what I took for a mischievous smile.
Moments later we were holding a makeshift spade and a homemade hoe, being led up the hill behind the house.
We were put to work in a small potato patch, under the watchful eyes of two grey donkeys.
Still it seemed like a rural idyll having driven through the town of Juliaca - a busy frontier town near the coast of Lake Titicaca.
With its thick wetlands and waterways connecting to a lake 50 times the size of Liechtenstein it has a reputation for being a porous border for smuggling.
The towns near Puno and Juliaca had a reportedly thriving black market. As our guides from Cusco informed us, it was a great place to buy tax-free electronics fresh from Bolivia. Even the local dress had been informed by the smuggling traditions.
In Llachon and the islands of Amantani and Taquile women wear heavy skirts with many hems. These range from two of three skirts for daily work, to almost 20 during high fiesta. Or, when stowing away money and other contraband to and from the far shore of Titicaca.
The bright dress of the fieldworkers seemed impractical. These skirts and embroidered waistcoats in various shades of fushia pink, mustard and tumeric. Despite having adopted hard-wearing coloured polyester fabrics, it looked little changed from when Simon Bolivar arrived to drive out the Spanish, 200 years ago. It was hard to believe it was not for the benefit of tourists.
To demonstrate the durability of their outfits, our hosts challenged our group to a game of volleyball. The visiting team of Canadians, Australians, and Kiwis were promptly whupped: Home 21 - Tourists 10.
It would be tempting to blame the altitude, but it was a convincing defeat.
Exhausted by travel and honest work harvesting potatoes, the sleeping arrangements in the village were basic but more than adequate. Magdalena’s house had a couple of guest rooms for visitors. Like many locals, they supplement their farm by providing simple accommodation. With bed frames built of bricks and thick rolls of woollen blankets, it was basic but more than adequate.
I drifted off to the sound of distant donkeys, counting spuds to sleep.
Throughout Peru there is a newfound sense of pride in their national cuisine.
“Haven’t you heard? The best restaurant in the world is in Peru?” Peruvians, especially tour guides, are eager to tell tourists. Even people in the highlands near Cusco, who are normally suspicious of anything coming from metropolitan Lima, have embraced Peru’s position as the world’s most exciting culinary scene.
Last year restaurant Central surprised global gastronomy by claiming the number one position in The 50 Best Restaurants in the World. Thanks to chef Virgilio Martinez there is a new vogue for ceviche, loche squash, and uchucuta pepper salsa.
Guinea pig ficasse is yet to catch on.
There is certainly a lot to praise in turning the world onto the flavours of Peru. Their 12 or 14-course tasting menu claims to span the breadth of the country, from “Pacific Ocean to the high peaks of the Andes”. It also cost around $697.51 per person, or more than double the average monthly income of a family in the central Andes.
With a sister restaurant Mil in Cusco, specialising in serving food grown in the high Andes, some ingredients come from the same region as our homestays. Though the restaurant appears to occupy a different space to the potato farms.
For some, the idea of Michelin-style fine dining using subsistence staples is bad taste. However, there are plenty of restaurants in Cusco and Lima that aim to provide a more equitable dining experience, inspired by the likes of Central. And easier on the purse strings of a more budget-conscious traveller.
Restaurants like Nuna Raymi, on Cusco’s calle Triunfo.
“The point of this restaurant is to support our local farmers,” says chef Eric as he serves appetisers of four kinds of heritage potatoes. Yes, more potatoes. Also a tomato that has a strong, sour medicinal flavour. Something Kiwis might recognise as akin to a feijoa.
Joining us at the table, to illustrate Eric’s point is farmer Julio Cruz from Lares, one of the 13 provinces of Cusco from which the restaurant sources its ingredients.
Particularly prized was his Azul or ‘blue’ potatoes that, despite actually being purple were paraded to prove that potatoes were anything other than bland, beige carbs.
To cut through the stodge were two spicy pepper sauces. Uchacuta, meaning ground chillies, is a favourite condiment along with a creamier orange Aji sauce.
“Ucha refers to any kind of chillies in Quechua, our local language,” says Eric. “Aji chilli sauce, which comes from the Spanish word.”
Finally, the offering was served with charred Palo Santo wood. The incense stick, burned with a thin white smoke adding to the aroma. It acts as an incense to “purify the meal”, said Eric.
As a staple found from the most humble table in the highlands to Michelin-recognised kitchens of central Lima, potatoes are afforded proper reverence in Peru.
GETTING THERE
Fly from Auckland to Lima with Latam with one stopover in Santiago, Chile. Transport to the village of Lllachon and Titicaca was part of Intrepid Travel’s Classic Peru itinerary.
DETAILS
The writer was a guest of Intrepid Travel as part of the Classic Peru itinerary.
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