Driving along the sprawling expanse of the roads of Peru, our minds were swimming with revelations. The visual trance would have been enough to enjoy but the visuals were enhanced by the rituals of the villagers. The imagery of ladies pasturing sheep and donkeys in a huge field was intensified by the dust kicking up around them in a haze. The small tools and rocks in their hands piqued my curiosity. While I’m sure that’s not that dissimilar from farming practices back home, this was an opportunity for me to really ponder and observe the wonders of agricultural life.

Saw-toothed agave plants and succulents paved the borders of the fields and blended perfectly with the terra cotta burnish which gleamed in across the hills. Peru is quite possibly the earthiest landscape I’ve encountered. We popped in and out of the villages of the Sacred Valley outside of Cusco for a most unforgettable day. As historically significant as each landmark was in Moray, Maras, and Chinchero, it was a moment in a simple, patio courtyard which resonated with us.

Outside of many earthen dwellings, there were sticks with red sacks tied to them in a balloon- type shape. A plastic, red “balloon” sticking off of huts of red tile roofs and stucco houses was peculiar. There were other symbolic emblems to look at on the rooftops; crosses, bulls, fertility symbols, pom pom strands, etc. Our guide pointed out the red sack and how it identified that a certain ritual occurred inside those homes and patios. So the guide parked the car and took us into the patio. The dirt ground underneath our feet, a chicken or two fluttering nearby and vining florals welcomed us into this inner sanctum of any villager. Why do I call it an inner sanctum? Because I know this particular feeling of inner sanctum. I grew up around this feeling. My childhood backyard was the sacred ground of my father, the urban farmer extraordinaire. He could grow things that never seemed possible on Oklahoma soil. The more eclectic the yard decorations were, the better. To this day, my own yard echoes those props of my past… wind chimes, hummingbird feeders, bird baths, etc.

This Peruvian villager had one thing in his courtyard that we had never seen before, however. It was a cauldron with an acrid scent of corn and yeast fermenting into what they call chicha beer. The homeowner walked outside to greet us and our guide told him we were ready to purchase some cups of this maize extracted concoction. There were three of us: me, my husband, and our tour guide but he ordered four cups. We raised our cups in the air for a salutation and he let a stream of the golden beer trickle out onto the earth as he said, “And the first taste for Pachamama.” The liquid pooled and absorbed into the earth and we looked quizzically at our tour guide and new friend. He explained that Pachamama is mother earth; earth mother. She is South America’s fertility goddess and symbol of so much more. In many instances, South Americans give back to Pachamama before they indulge themselves in the infinite pleasures of our Earth.

On a later trip to Ecuador, we learned even more about Pachamama and burial rituals. What was meaningful about this “first taste for Pachamama” ritual is that we saw it authentically enacted in a village of the Sacred Valley. We did not read about it on a museum display or art gallery. We shared in it and tasted it all while feeling the breezes off the Andes Mountains and smelling the fragrant scents of vining jasmines and florals while hearing clucking chickens. In global awareness discoveries, learning a new ritual or mantra of a people is often the emotional souvenir we bring home in our hearts. We repeat it in our own surroundings to shrink our world and to join our geography. We travel to learn new lifestyles and also to appreciate our own lifestyles. As we looked at each rooftop in the Sacred Valley district, learning symbolisms and emblems, it was the physical presence and visceral connections that lingered with us. The taste of chicha beer was not the main ingredient of this ritual. It was the love for the earth and the respect of the mythology and heritage that the South Americans celebrate which was so endearing.

When we left that steep village road, the sun peeked over the mountains through the colorful pompon strands hanging off the roofs of houses. Bulls and crosses on rooftops symbolized prosperity for each home and family. From the rooftops to the dirt floors of the patios, each home pulsed with hope and dappled light shining good fortune upon everyone. I’ll remember that chicha beer taste not as a delicious taste, per se, but a way of drinking in the spirit of Peruvians… and their golden spirit.

© Gina Michalopulos Kingsley

photos by Gina Michalopulos Kingsley

Stories like this can be found in the book Vagabonderie by Gina Michalopulos Kingsley. Published by Design Vault Press.