It's Peru, Baby.

The pavement is still in the same state. It’s a good job we don’t rely on the car for our livelihood (ie. we are both unemployed). Went to the massive food market by taxi, with Tito and his mum, early this morning. Although the market is seething with people and stock I can’t help but feel somewhat conspicuous. Glavis says the market traders whisper “Look at the Barbie doll!” to each other as I approach (hello? I’m 164cm), and on spying my white legs little boys shout “Leche!” (milk) at me. Nevertheless, the market is superb for deals on fresh fruit and veg. I’m addicted to granadillas - hard shelled and containing a sack of sweet grapey fruit with delicious crunchy seeds, and chirimoyas - known as the ‘custard apple’ in English for the creamy pale fruit. We wondered through the meat market, where dozens of bleating goats, sheep, and pigs lay on their sides with their legs tied. They make quite a racket - not to mention the guinea pigs, rabbits, and assorted fowl. In Peru you can never forget that your dinner was, shortly before, a grunting, smelly beast. I think that is a good thing really, instead of seeing meat packaged as neat pink squares on sterile white styrofoam trays wrapped in clingfilm, Peruvians see meat complete in it’s natural package of skin, hair, whiskers, snot and hooves, etc. They have the objectionable task of removing the meat from that package in their own homes. Perhaps they appreciate the meat more because of that?