One of the more interesting aspects of my job when I travel is the food. It is customary in many cultures that as a sign of thanks, people feed you. When I arrive in teeny tiny communities high in the Andes Mountains, for example, and the village has gathered for a community meeting to thank “la gringa¬¥¬¥ for her funding and work, they bring food. This is when you must put your American culinary attitudes aside and welcome pretty much whatever they hand you with grace and humility — recognizing that your plate means someone else isn¬¥t eating.
And then you must sit, eat, smile and make a rather large production about how good it is, even if it is, say, llama. Not just any llama, but llama jerky. And this meat is so incredibly precious that you are the only one at the table with it included on your plate. The 25 pair of eyes on you, while you realize this, make you blush instantly.
And so, you smile, chew and chew and chew, and try hard not to think about the fact that your vegetarian ass is all of a sudden eating really sweet, furry, cute mountain animals that have been killed ages ago and dried in someone´s home with a ridiculous amount of salt. Instead, you simply pray that you are not going to die of foodborne illness and count your blessings. Namely Pepto, Immodium and an actual toilet to sit on when you return to your hotel, versus the pit latrine currently available behind the community meeting.
This was my day. When the meeting was over, we went for a drive (because nothing says calm stomach like a 4-hour SUV tour of the Andes on a rocky, bumpy, painful dirt road) so I could see some mountain lakes situated at a teetering 12,000 feet. To my surprise, they were full of bright pink flamingos. We were high enough in this arid area that nothing will grow. The land is scattered with flocks of sheep and the occasional group of llama that have apparently escaped the grasp of the local jerky man. These animals I expect. The flamingos were a surprising treat.
In its own way, the llama jerky was too.
-kelli
