In pursuit of new ramblings, I recently visited Peru for my mid-tour R&R from Afghanistan. After a jet lagged day in Peru’s capitol, Lima, my road trip began with a bus journey south to Lunahuana. As I travelled out of Lima, I was struck by the dry and barren landscape of southern Peru's coastal desert. It is strange to see such a vast and lifeless desert hugging the vast ocean coast, especially after traveling through so many tropical coastal regions. My first bus took me to Canete a coastal garden city built on the delta of the Lunahuana River as it breaks out of the Andes onto the coastal plain. At the bus stop, I transferred to my first ‘combi,’ a shared taxi van, which are packed with as many passengers as they can carry before racing along their route up the canyon, swapping out passengers along the way.
As I departed the lush delta lands of Canete the valley closed in, and we climbed the winding valley road into what looked to be a barren desert canyon. The view, from the combi window made me wonder if I was going the wrong way, until we broke out on the outskirts of Lunahuana, where an extensive canal system turned the desert into a tiered garden of Eden tucked in among the barren desert walls of the valley. Lunahuana is a lush agricultural valley, which was carved out of the desert landscape over the centuries by pre-Incan societies, and further refined by the Inca as they expanded north. Now it is one of Peru’s wine and pisco regions, and according to my guidebook one of the top spots to chill-lax in the country.
Before I left Lima, the hotel staff had coordinated my arrival at Refugio de Santiago, and they told me to ask for Fernando or Pedro, when I arrived. I met Pedro first, but he spoke limited English, so he quickly introduced me to Fernando. Fernando was very welcoming and showed me to my room, so I could drop off my bags, and then quickly led me out for a tour of the property and gardens. He warned me that I should wear pants, and I was quickly convinced it was sound advice as I developed a twitch swatting gnats away from my legs, arms, and really any exposed skin surface. We stopped among some fruit trees where workers were busy harvesting what looked like a giant snow pea or flattened green bean that was about a foot long. Fernando picked one up, introduced it to me quickly, and then cracked and peeled it open along the pod seem to reveal black seeds covered in what looked like cotton. He handed it to me and said, ‘you eat the cotton,’ so I plucked a chunk of cotton out and tried Guaba for the first time. It had the consistency of a wet cotton ball, but almost melted in your mouth like cotton candy and had a light sweet taste. I don't know how much more Fernando may have been planning to show me, but as I continued to slap at my legs and arms, he turned us around so I could change.
Having learned my lesson, I changed into both pants and a long sleeve shirt. I met back up with Fernando in the courtyard/dining area, and he asked if I'd like to have lunch. Since I had been on the road all morning, I was ready to eat and he brought me a menu. Now this may make some readers cringe, but a famous Peruvian dish is Cuy (pronounced coy), which is more commonly known as Guinea Pig, although the animal is actually native to Peru, not Guinea. When I told my receptionist in Lima that I was going to Refugio de Santiago, she quickly told me their Cuy was the best she had ever eaten in Peru. Armed with this knowledge, the Cuy was on the top of my list; however, as I looked over the menu, I found almost every option sounded very tempting. My stay included three meals, but I found myself planning for at least four before I had even eaten my first. Now in most restaurants around Peru, Cuy is prepared in the 'classic' style, splayed out head and all, with sockets, once filled with doey-eyes, looking up at you from the fried skull. It can be a bit off putting to say the least. However, Fernando explained to me that his kitchen prepares Cuy boneless, so presentation is more appealing and you don't have to pick the meat off the tiny bones, which would make it a bit like eating lobster, which is more work than sustenance.
I ordered the Cuy and started with a glass of Tuna juice. Now before I lose everyone, the Tuna juice is not fish oil, or a blended sushi. It is a cactus juice, commonly known as prickly pear in the English speaking world. Its only similarity to the fish was the pink color of the juice, which was sweet and refreshing. As for the Cuy, it was quite tasty, and to avoid the age old cliché of everything tasting like chicken, I thought it tasted a bit more like very tender, juicy pork. I guess that is why it is called Guinea 'Pig.'
After lunch, I told my host that I was also interested in doing some wine tourism while I was in the area. In planning this trip, I had visions of renting a bike for a leisurely ride through the village and vineyards, stopping at tasting rooms and maybe dining at an onsite restaurant. Unfortunately, it seems Peru's wine country has not caught on to the idea of wine tourism, and the winery my host recommended ‘just down the road’ turned into a two mile hike. I had hoped I might stumble on a few other wineries along the way, but instead, I had a hard time finding the one my host recommended.
There were no signs or ornate gates to mark the estate, but I took the grape vines near the road as my cue that I had arrived. My visit began with a wander around the compound’s buildings, the most prominent of which was a two story complex that looked like a work in progress with rooms in various stages of completion. With no signs of life in the large central building, I continued my search in a smaller building near the road that looked insignificant at first but on closer inspection appeared to the owner’s home.
After several inquiring ‘holas?,’ which I found challenging to say in the form of a question. ‘Hello?’ sounds like a I’m asking if anyone is home, while ‘Hola?’ sounded more like I was questioning whether ‘hola’ was a word at all. Eventually, an older gentleman came out, either to let me know ‘hola’ was indeed a word and I could stop asking, or to see why or how someone could pronounce it so badly.
Before leaving the Refugio, I had asked Fernando how to ask about tastings, and had repeated the phrase, like my mission mantra, as I wandered down the road; but now that I had someone to ask, the word escaped me. I was left playing charades, tipping my hand to mouth like a drunk looking for his next fix. He nodded, and slowly led me to a small room the size of a closet with shelves of Pisco and wine and a few shot glasses.
We began with his Piscos, which went down about as smooth as Tequila. Each one would induce an involuntary wince, and then I’d comment approvingly on the drinks kick, in English of course, so the comments were probably lost on the proprietor. After Piscos, we moved into some of his slightly weaker and pleasantly sweeter dessert style wines. They were quite nice, and I ended up buying a bottle because I felt bad for invading his home, and drinking his wines uninvited. I finished my self guided tour by taking a few pictures of his distillery and vineyard and then began the long walk back to the Refuge.
I met back up with Fernando, and learned he wasn’t just an employee, but was actually the owner of the Refuge. He was an older gentleman but still approached life with a youthful curiosity that helped disguise the years. He had started out as an Industrial Engineer, making industrial pumps for the mining industry of Peru. He made several innovations in slurry pumps, and established his own business, before growing tired of the industry.
Like John Laroche - the orchid enthusiast/activist that inspired a book and then the film Adaptation - Fernando seemed to be a man driven by strong passions, which he only pursued until his interest waned. In 2000, he walked away from engineering and his pump business to dive into a completely new industry: Eco/Gastronomic Tourism. He bought an old republican style country house, and began two years of renovations to create Refugio de Santiago. However, he didn’t open the restaurant until 2005, and spent an additional three years studying his new passions: the hospitality industry, horticulture and the biodiversity of his native land of Peru. He said he wants to become an expert in these fields, and he had established a small library of reference material that he stores behind the bar.
As Fernando notes on his website, he has created an Andean orchard, reflective of a lost paradise. However, one could also argue it is reflective of Peru, which is a microcosm of climates and biodiversity, with 35 different types of corn and thousands of potato varieties native to the region. Fernando has researched both local and introduced plant varieties, and has collected over 450, which he grows in his gardens. As we discussed the various ingredients of the meals I would be eating, he would pull down references from his shelves, and at one point even made corrections to some of the photographs noting the non-native fruits and vegetables pictured in a book about Peru.
His pursuit of gastronomic tourism has been just as intense, and has piqued the attention of food writers in a country known for its innovative fusion cuisine. On my visit, I dined with four ladies visiting from Lima. Several worked in the medical field, but one was a food writer and had heard about Fernando’s refuge. They had come to Lunahuana to escape Lima’s famous fog - which hangs heavy and gray over the city throughout the winter - but stayed at the Refuge for the food.
I found it interesting to dine with a food writer, because everyone seems to lose their own sense of taste and opinion of food, in the presents of a ‘professional.’ Rather than commenting on their own meals they all turned to the expert, awaiting her assessment of the meal, as if her judgment could sway their own taste buds and over rule their assessment of the food, even though each of us brought over thirty years of dining experience to the table. Although her opinion was not going to sway my assessment of dinner, I did find it interesting that the Spanish language has no equivalent to describe a food or flavor as ‘rich,’ which leaves her and other critics with the challenge of finding another description for rich foods.
In my humble opinion, dinner was delicious and the food writer agreed. We capped it off with the dessert wine I had bought earlier in the day before retiring to the courtyard outside our rooms for a bonfire and scary stories about chagas before bed. I had learned about chagas just before my trip, but only knew that it was being called ‘the AIDS of the Americas’ and that it was a blood-born disease carried by an insect in South America. As I itched my bug bites from earlier in the day, I wondered how much longer I had, and counted on my new-found medical friends to give it to me straight. As the darkness encroached and our shadows danced on the walls like monsters, the doctors told me… to stop being a baby, and that I was more likely to contract tuberculosis on the bus journeys during my visit. Turns out TB is a common and often untreated disease in Peru, and it spreads among families and on long bus journeys in Peru. Chagas, on the other hand, is actually a disease of poverty and the bugs that carry the disease-causing parasite, typically live in the thatch roof tops of slums, biting and infecting people as they sleep…. Whew, thank goodness I could sleep soundly knowing I only had 20 more days of bus travel ahead of me.
As I departed the lush delta lands of Canete the valley closed in, and we climbed the winding valley road into what looked to be a barren desert canyon. The view, from the combi window made me wonder if I was going the wrong way, until we broke out on the outskirts of Lunahuana, where an extensive canal system turned the desert into a tiered garden of Eden tucked in among the barren desert walls of the valley. Lunahuana is a lush agricultural valley, which was carved out of the desert landscape over the centuries by pre-Incan societies, and further refined by the Inca as they expanded north. Now it is one of Peru’s wine and pisco regions, and according to my guidebook one of the top spots to chill-lax in the country.
Before I left Lima, the hotel staff had coordinated my arrival at Refugio de Santiago, and they told me to ask for Fernando or Pedro, when I arrived. I met Pedro first, but he spoke limited English, so he quickly introduced me to Fernando. Fernando was very welcoming and showed me to my room, so I could drop off my bags, and then quickly led me out for a tour of the property and gardens. He warned me that I should wear pants, and I was quickly convinced it was sound advice as I developed a twitch swatting gnats away from my legs, arms, and really any exposed skin surface. We stopped among some fruit trees where workers were busy harvesting what looked like a giant snow pea or flattened green bean that was about a foot long. Fernando picked one up, introduced it to me quickly, and then cracked and peeled it open along the pod seem to reveal black seeds covered in what looked like cotton. He handed it to me and said, ‘you eat the cotton,’ so I plucked a chunk of cotton out and tried Guaba for the first time. It had the consistency of a wet cotton ball, but almost melted in your mouth like cotton candy and had a light sweet taste. I don't know how much more Fernando may have been planning to show me, but as I continued to slap at my legs and arms, he turned us around so I could change.
Having learned my lesson, I changed into both pants and a long sleeve shirt. I met back up with Fernando in the courtyard/dining area, and he asked if I'd like to have lunch. Since I had been on the road all morning, I was ready to eat and he brought me a menu. Now this may make some readers cringe, but a famous Peruvian dish is Cuy (pronounced coy), which is more commonly known as Guinea Pig, although the animal is actually native to Peru, not Guinea. When I told my receptionist in Lima that I was going to Refugio de Santiago, she quickly told me their Cuy was the best she had ever eaten in Peru. Armed with this knowledge, the Cuy was on the top of my list; however, as I looked over the menu, I found almost every option sounded very tempting. My stay included three meals, but I found myself planning for at least four before I had even eaten my first. Now in most restaurants around Peru, Cuy is prepared in the 'classic' style, splayed out head and all, with sockets, once filled with doey-eyes, looking up at you from the fried skull. It can be a bit off putting to say the least. However, Fernando explained to me that his kitchen prepares Cuy boneless, so presentation is more appealing and you don't have to pick the meat off the tiny bones, which would make it a bit like eating lobster, which is more work than sustenance.
I ordered the Cuy and started with a glass of Tuna juice. Now before I lose everyone, the Tuna juice is not fish oil, or a blended sushi. It is a cactus juice, commonly known as prickly pear in the English speaking world. Its only similarity to the fish was the pink color of the juice, which was sweet and refreshing. As for the Cuy, it was quite tasty, and to avoid the age old cliché of everything tasting like chicken, I thought it tasted a bit more like very tender, juicy pork. I guess that is why it is called Guinea 'Pig.'
After lunch, I told my host that I was also interested in doing some wine tourism while I was in the area. In planning this trip, I had visions of renting a bike for a leisurely ride through the village and vineyards, stopping at tasting rooms and maybe dining at an onsite restaurant. Unfortunately, it seems Peru's wine country has not caught on to the idea of wine tourism, and the winery my host recommended ‘just down the road’ turned into a two mile hike. I had hoped I might stumble on a few other wineries along the way, but instead, I had a hard time finding the one my host recommended.
There were no signs or ornate gates to mark the estate, but I took the grape vines near the road as my cue that I had arrived. My visit began with a wander around the compound’s buildings, the most prominent of which was a two story complex that looked like a work in progress with rooms in various stages of completion. With no signs of life in the large central building, I continued my search in a smaller building near the road that looked insignificant at first but on closer inspection appeared to the owner’s home.
After several inquiring ‘holas?,’ which I found challenging to say in the form of a question. ‘Hello?’ sounds like a I’m asking if anyone is home, while ‘Hola?’ sounded more like I was questioning whether ‘hola’ was a word at all. Eventually, an older gentleman came out, either to let me know ‘hola’ was indeed a word and I could stop asking, or to see why or how someone could pronounce it so badly.
Before leaving the Refugio, I had asked Fernando how to ask about tastings, and had repeated the phrase, like my mission mantra, as I wandered down the road; but now that I had someone to ask, the word escaped me. I was left playing charades, tipping my hand to mouth like a drunk looking for his next fix. He nodded, and slowly led me to a small room the size of a closet with shelves of Pisco and wine and a few shot glasses.
We began with his Piscos, which went down about as smooth as Tequila. Each one would induce an involuntary wince, and then I’d comment approvingly on the drinks kick, in English of course, so the comments were probably lost on the proprietor. After Piscos, we moved into some of his slightly weaker and pleasantly sweeter dessert style wines. They were quite nice, and I ended up buying a bottle because I felt bad for invading his home, and drinking his wines uninvited. I finished my self guided tour by taking a few pictures of his distillery and vineyard and then began the long walk back to the Refuge.
I met back up with Fernando, and learned he wasn’t just an employee, but was actually the owner of the Refuge. He was an older gentleman but still approached life with a youthful curiosity that helped disguise the years. He had started out as an Industrial Engineer, making industrial pumps for the mining industry of Peru. He made several innovations in slurry pumps, and established his own business, before growing tired of the industry.
Like John Laroche - the orchid enthusiast/activist that inspired a book and then the film Adaptation - Fernando seemed to be a man driven by strong passions, which he only pursued until his interest waned. In 2000, he walked away from engineering and his pump business to dive into a completely new industry: Eco/Gastronomic Tourism. He bought an old republican style country house, and began two years of renovations to create Refugio de Santiago. However, he didn’t open the restaurant until 2005, and spent an additional three years studying his new passions: the hospitality industry, horticulture and the biodiversity of his native land of Peru. He said he wants to become an expert in these fields, and he had established a small library of reference material that he stores behind the bar.
As Fernando notes on his website, he has created an Andean orchard, reflective of a lost paradise. However, one could also argue it is reflective of Peru, which is a microcosm of climates and biodiversity, with 35 different types of corn and thousands of potato varieties native to the region. Fernando has researched both local and introduced plant varieties, and has collected over 450, which he grows in his gardens. As we discussed the various ingredients of the meals I would be eating, he would pull down references from his shelves, and at one point even made corrections to some of the photographs noting the non-native fruits and vegetables pictured in a book about Peru.
His pursuit of gastronomic tourism has been just as intense, and has piqued the attention of food writers in a country known for its innovative fusion cuisine. On my visit, I dined with four ladies visiting from Lima. Several worked in the medical field, but one was a food writer and had heard about Fernando’s refuge. They had come to Lunahuana to escape Lima’s famous fog - which hangs heavy and gray over the city throughout the winter - but stayed at the Refuge for the food.
I found it interesting to dine with a food writer, because everyone seems to lose their own sense of taste and opinion of food, in the presents of a ‘professional.’ Rather than commenting on their own meals they all turned to the expert, awaiting her assessment of the meal, as if her judgment could sway their own taste buds and over rule their assessment of the food, even though each of us brought over thirty years of dining experience to the table. Although her opinion was not going to sway my assessment of dinner, I did find it interesting that the Spanish language has no equivalent to describe a food or flavor as ‘rich,’ which leaves her and other critics with the challenge of finding another description for rich foods.
In my humble opinion, dinner was delicious and the food writer agreed. We capped it off with the dessert wine I had bought earlier in the day before retiring to the courtyard outside our rooms for a bonfire and scary stories about chagas before bed. I had learned about chagas just before my trip, but only knew that it was being called ‘the AIDS of the Americas’ and that it was a blood-born disease carried by an insect in South America. As I itched my bug bites from earlier in the day, I wondered how much longer I had, and counted on my new-found medical friends to give it to me straight. As the darkness encroached and our shadows danced on the walls like monsters, the doctors told me… to stop being a baby, and that I was more likely to contract tuberculosis on the bus journeys during my visit. Turns out TB is a common and often untreated disease in Peru, and it spreads among families and on long bus journeys in Peru. Chagas, on the other hand, is actually a disease of poverty and the bugs that carry the disease-causing parasite, typically live in the thatch roof tops of slums, biting and infecting people as they sleep…. Whew, thank goodness I could sleep soundly knowing I only had 20 more days of bus travel ahead of me.
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