It’s been 1 month since I first entered the country and I feel like this weekend for the first time I have seen the “the real Peru.” 3 hours up in the mountains, at 3,300m lies the little village of Mache, where an Irish nun agreed to host us for a couple of days. The ride up was an experience in itself with lots of views over the edge of the cliff that I could have done without. But then, 3 hours later, we stopped and my heart rate slowed. We had emerged in a tiny village constructed from mud and tiles with donkeys, pigs, chickens and small children running wildly around. Defying our weak lungs, which were feeling the 3km climb, we began walking up one of the highest peaks around. The path curled its way around the mountains, dipping down and rising up and licking its way to the top. The views were spectacular. Between green patchwork mountains the mist rolled in and out. Had a dinosaur emerged from around the next bend, I don’t think it would have shocked me. This really was Jurassic Park country. But the kindly Irish nun (whatever you are imagining here, you probably aren’t far off) had prepared lunch for us so pretty soon we were having to make our way back. Instead of following the path we decided to make our own way down. We are young, we can do anything, we laugh in the face of danger… Not happening! The mountain turned into cliff face all over the place and soon we were forced to go to the nearest house (which curiously had a taxi outside) to ask for direction.

A little boy was playing on the balcony with a toy train. “Chuga chuga chuga, woooo.” We asked him how we should get down and the chugging stopped. He turned on his tail and ran inside yelling “mamá, mamá.” Mamá came out rubbing her hands on her pinny. She stared at us and immediately gasped with shock. “It’s a miracle” she said, not believing that a group of white girls should be calling at her home. She invited us in and we tried to explain that we had lunch waiting but she was having none of it. Before we knew it, the large, extended family had shuffled up and we were eating potatoes with a real Peruvian family. They were some of the best darn potatoes I had ever tasted. I was desperate to take a photo but I wasn’t keen to offend. My doubts were eased when “Paulo” one of the children, decked from head to toe in poncho, took out his far flasher digital camera and started photographing us.

Amazing though the experience was, it was so sad to see how much they admired us, even revered us, simply because of the colour of our skin. When TV plays hour after hour of American soaps, when white people dominate advertising, text books and even politics, these local people have a serious inferiority complex. Its seeing this humbleness that really forced home what an amazing icon Evo Morales, the bolivian president, is for this part of the world. For the first time an indigenous person is in charge and people have a real role model. I only hope that something similar can happen in Peru so that these incredible people can finally come out into the light. Incidentally, we never found out how the taxi made it up there!