"I" is still for Incas.

So, to continue, after lunch we walked to the market where we got an eye opening lesson on Peruvian markets, and some food history as well. The market itself is just outside the colonial or Spanish city gate.

Outside the market itself are many vendors, it's cheaper than renting a stall inside, but it's also harder to get a prime spot, also the weather can be a problem...too much rain or too much sun. Too much rain on bread must be problematic, and too much sun on dead meat and fresh cheese I'm sure must be pretty problematic too!  Ick. All that meat in the hot sun...my tummy churns at the thought. Which is funny, because it didn't churn at the magnificent displays of snouts and skulls and windpipes on the inside. I quickly became known, in our little group, as the one who would wander off to photograph the bizarre and disgusting.


Unknown street meat.




Fresh coconut water and sugar cane




Cheese in the hot sun.

 I didn't try any of the foods from these stalls, but I did eat a lot of cheese in other places. it's not the best cheese Ive tasted, its rather salty and not very creamy, but on a piece of toasted panini type bread in the morning, its a great way to start the day.

Inside the market, which, by the way is called San Pedro market, was a vibrant, bustling little community that sold anything and everything you could possibly want. The first area you see is the meat. They sell it all...from snouts and windpipes to chickens and freshly roasted guinea pig. Guinea pig was on my list of things I wanted to try...but not from this market. There were stray dogs snuffling around everywhere, happy little gangs of dogs, every now and then one would furtively jump up and grab some meat and run off...you ain't seen nuthin' until you've seen a Peruvian pup running away with a windpipe dangling from his jaws. I think my own jaw dropped a bit.  This isn't my mothers Safeway.


Snouts? Maybe they give soup some extra flavour?




I don't even want to hazard a guess.




Up for grabs, its a dogs life.

The next area was veggies...mostly potatoes. Did you know that there are over 3800 types of potato in Peru? Me neither! Purple, yellow, black, finger-sized, huge ones and everything in between.They differ in taste and texture as well, and are well used in Peruvian cuisine. Even naturally freeze dried.  "Chuno" is the name of the freeze dried, and the production of it dates back to pre-Inca times. They lay the potatoes out at night, they freeze, then during the day they dry out from the sun, and are trampled to extract the liquid. Sometimes they are layered with salt and mint...the mint keeps the mold and bugs away.

Quinoa is also a major staple, as is corn, and again, there are so many varieties. Some of the corn was so huge that each cob seemed to have only 30 kernels, it looked all Dr. Suess-ish. The blue corn is boiled and made into a sweet drink called Chicha Morada, which I had a few times, it's like a fruit juice. And if it's boiled longer, it gets sweeter and thicker and is used almost like a syrup. I had that too....oh Peru, your sweet-tooth warms my heart. I poured it over rice pudding, more than just a drizzle....it was sooo good.


Various types of quinoa.




Scads of corn, including my favourite blue corn.

 We didn't spend too much time here, we knew we were coming back with the chef who was going to teach us a 7 hour culinary class in a few days, but I found the market fascinating, I could have stayed longer and just watched. There were so many fruits that I didn't even recognize, as well as dried goods stalls, liquor stalls, massage places, hair salons, shoe-shine stalls, toys, flowers, seriously, a world within a world.

There was even a "restaurant" and I do use the word lightly, it was for locals only, you'd have to be a far braver person...or maybe just plain stupid, to eat there with a North American immune system. Milk, unpasteurized, sitting since daybreak, ceviche also sitting since day break, rife with flies, but the locals can get a hot meal and a drink for the equivalent of less than fifty cents.

The restaurant...so to speak.



Dried goods, of which eggs are apparently considered.

 As we left the market we passed by an area full of herbs and spices and other magical remedies. I doubt that snakes in alcohol in a coke bottle would heal too much, and I have no idea what the green sludge is. I saw this same set up outside a lot of little markets and food areas, so it's obviously something well used.

The bread! How could I forget the bread....freshly baked each morning...and oh, so good. It's sweetened with honey, no sugar...and no yeast. We tore off hunks and chewed ravenously. You don't need butter or jam...just scarf it down as is. Even being near dangling bull testicles didn't put me off my food. This loaf was about the diameter of a medium pizza, so quite large actually.


The weird snakey-voo-doo set up.

 By now it was supper, so we went to a traditional Peruvian chicken place. At every single restaurant we went to, the waiter always tried to get us to eat their traditional chicken and potato dish. Every single place! I had to chuckle to myself, because all it is, is the same rotisserie chicken that you buy at any supermarket here, and fries. Now granted, the fries are a type of incredible Peru potato, some are yucca, or a type of yam...you never really know what's in store, but this place was plain old fries. And a quarter of a chicken. Really very ordinary. we decided to order some local white wine, the waiter tried to talk us into a Chilean wine, but you know, when in Rome....He managed to find a bottle of local white (when the waitstaff can't find the wine, perhaps one should heed the warning, and not order the local wine) He eventually produced a bottle of this:

I have a feeling that this is what the snakes in alcohol in the coke bottle may have tasted like.
But, it was still a fun experience, and at least I can say I drank the local wine.



The home of the bad wine, but good chicken.

 After dinner, some of us weren't quite ready to go back to the hotel, so we asked Sweet Eddy to take us somewhere local where we could have a real pisco sour, the national drink. Pisco is the base liquor, almost like a brandy, to me it smelled and tasted like tequila. Lemon juice is added, also a simple syrup, a few drops of bitters and some foamy, frothy egg white. It's potent stuff, at least to a lightweight like myself. I could only drink half. Hic. The bar was downstairs in a basement sort of place, very modern looking in some ways, but with walls that appeared to made of old Inca stones.


A tiny and fun little bar.




I think the pisco is almost 100 proof.

 After that, we wobbled home. Not really. Although, in this picture, Margy (in the blue) is walking one way and Kara (in the white hat) is going the other way. I think we got lost. Or maybe that was just me. All I know is, I slept like the dead, between coca leaves, wine, altitude and pisco, it was enough for this poor body. And this is only day two!

Which way is home?

Seriously? Is my room really on the fourth floor in a place with no elevator? Can I just sleep in the lobby tonight?