Picaflor’s pompons and pets

One of the things I’ve enjoyed most about working at Picaflor House has been the garden and the little critters who find nourishment in it on a daily basis. Our kids love it too: when we interviewed some of them a while back to get their comments for our 2011 annual report, it was hugely satisfying to hear them all mention how much they like the flowers and the colour.

In serious need of some hand cream here!

I’ve been a gardener since I was a tiny tot trying to help my dad maintain his always impressive vege garden. I imagine I was more hindrance than help but my dad was a patient soul and encouraged my love of growing things. My mum also had green fingers; our house was always full of shiny green pot plants and her flower garden was a joy to behold. I am ever grateful to them for passing on their love of gardening, growing things, and being green to me.

At Picaflor I am constantly getting my hands dirty, my nails broken, working the garden. I know I could use gloves but I hate them – I much prefer the feel of the soil. It’s so rewarding to see the plants flourish and blossom, and to see the numbers of butterflies, bees and other tiny beasties increasing.

Spot the wee beastie in this one?

I hope you've enjoyed this little meander through our garden.

What’s behind the blue door?

Actually, you will be surprised to find out what’s behind such a plain-looking door in a side lane in Oropesa, Peru.

We’ve been thinking about getting some guinea pigs to raise at school, partly to breed them to make some money and partly to teach the children how to care for other living creatures. Each day at Eufemia’s, the little cafe where we have lunch, we always exchange pleasantries with an old gentleman who lunches at the same time as us.

Today, when we were asking Eufemia questions about raising guinea pigs – she has recently acquired about 40 herself, the old gentleman was also providing us with answers and extra information, and we found out he also raises guinea pigs. He invited us to visit his house so, after we’d finished eating, we went to see him.

Lovely, heavily pregnant lady

Pens of little piglets

His is the blue door. And behind that door, as well as his house, he has a room full of around 200 guinea pigs of all shapes and sizes – a couple of bigger male studs in with the females they are busy servicing, separate small cages for heavily pregnant females who are about to give birth, pens for litters of around the same age, and a whole of heap of babies (they call them cria) scurrying around on the floor.

I love the rich chestnut brown colour of domesticated guinea pigs, and their fur is very soft, but it’s actually quite difficult to get near any of them. Unlike the guinea pigs kept as pets in the West, these little critters are extremely skittish and run around excitedly at the slightest movement near their pens. One thing that struck me was the noise – they squeak constantly, or wheek as some people call it. If you’ve never heard a guinea pig wheek, I found this short YouTube clip that will give you a good idea.

After visiting the guinea pigs, we were all set to leave when our elderly friend asked if we’d like to see his flowers. A few plants behind the house, I thought – how wrong I was! There were huge hot houses full of plants of all descriptions – and, interestingly, many of the plant names are exactly the same in Spanish, just pronounced differently.

We were amazed and a little stunned and totally delighted as the man proudly showed us around. And he looks 

after all these plants himself, propagating from seed and stem and leaf cutting, and eventually selling them to retailers as far away as Puno and Lima. He is a retired teacher, but now spends his days happily pottering in his wonderful garden. Who would have thought this little bit of paradise was lurking behind that bland looking front door!

Meet Euphemia

Euphemia is the lovely woman who cooks my lunch most weekdays. She and her husband and two children live in Oropesa, the little village outside Cusco where I work. Attached to one side of their house is an extra room – more of a shack, really – where Euphemia runs a little restaurant. It’s painted bright yellow – as is the outside of her house – and is very small, seating no more than 13 people on rickety chairs and benches.

The restaurant is decorated with bright advertising posters for various local gaseosas – that’s soft drinks to non-Spanish speakers. It also has a DVD player and a television, on which we are treated each day to really badly dubbed, old movies. The TV and DVD stand is adorned with embroideries done, as Euphemia proudly explained to us one lunch time, by her elder son during his art classes at high school.

She also has a young son, two-and-a-half-year-old John, who plays around the restaurant while she works. He is shy of us gringos and, though she tells him we’re her friends, he usually hides behind her skirts when we’re there.

Euphemia’s husband is a policeman, and looks very handsome in his uniform. I made the mistake of telling her this one day – of course, I don’t yet have the Spanish to say this to her directly, so my workmate Nelida translates for me – and Euphemia immediately told me to keep my eyes off her man! She was smiling and laughing at the time, but I’m fairly sure she was serious! After that incident, Euphemia decided I needed a man, so now she’s keeping an eye out for any eligible locals – not only a cook, but a matchmaker as well!

Euphemia is a good cook. For just 3 soles, you can have a big bowl of soup and a main course – there’s no choice – you just have whatever she’s cooking on the day. But for 3 soles – about US$1 – you really can’t complain. For 2 soles, I usually just have el segundo, the main course. The food is plain but wholesome and delicious.

Euphemia, me and Lynn

One day last week, Euphemia told us she’d had a dream the previous night about me and Lynn, a volunteer from Scotland. In her dream, we had been baking bread, fishing in a local river and then selling the fish in the Plaza de Armas, Cusco’s main square. The religious connotations of the loaves and the fishes were obvious, even to me – and Euphemia thought it was a sign from God that she would have good luck. I’m not so sure about that, but I was very pleased that she was happy with her dream, strange though it was.

As with so many people who have little material wealth, Euphemia is a kind and generous woman. One lunch time, she was cooking some extra food for her family’s dinner and insisted we try a sample of the dish. I sometimes buy water from her – you get two types of water here, sin gas (without bubbles) and con gas (with bubbles). The other day when she had none sin gas, she insisted I take a free bottle con gas, because she couldn’t supply what I wanted. I tried to refuse, but was told in no uncertain terms, to TAKE THE WATER! Her husband was there at the time and told me it wasn’t wise to argue with her – I guess he knows from experience!

Euphemia calls me ‘mami’, which is sort of like calling me ‘honey’. I am proud to call her my friend!