Michael Tyler

I’ve made it inside this guy’s hut and the first thing that confronts me is his wife, completely out of it, lying on the floor with a mouthful of coca, bits of coca and sap collecting and dribbling round her mouth.

Ignoring his wife, dude ushers me in and plonks me on a stool next to his wife who has alerted herself to the presence of a visitor and has begun babbling, fussing and pointing round and about.

Hut
The house itself is an Adobe mud hut:
In one corner there is a pile of alpaca hides, firewood, bags and junk.

To anyone western, this would seem like a shed you might have a the bottom of your garden, with people living in it.

There are no lights and I keep the door open to let some light in.

Lost
20 minutes and no sign of his pipe.
The old woman has tried and failed to get up onto her stool, I help her up, she tells me thankyou.

It’s one of those situations where you want to leave, leaving before he’s had chance to play his pipe would be the wrong thing to do.

His daughter turns up, tries to sell me stuff which I’m not interested in then leaves.

Found
Eventually dude produces what looks to be a length of PTF piping holes drilled in and a little nick at the top.
Within 5 seconds it’s obvious that this guy has no idea how to play the pipe and blows it as a child might.

Tea
Sensing his eagerness please, I suggest that he make me a Coca tea instead pointing to his wife’s dribbling maw.
Instead he grabs some potatoes gesticulating he wants to boil them up.

Eventually he goes off and comes back with this moldy tea back which his wife has boiled some water for.
They offer me this moldy tea bag tea and a large bag of sugar to help sweeten it up a bit.

First potatoes now moldy tea bag, I decide this is obviously taking the piss.
I was going to give him 1 sole, but for the pleasure of poisoning me with a rotten tea bag, I cannot pay.

I up and leave.

Here is a recording of the woman and her giving the village name Peullo.
Take a visit some time.
Old Woman

After much man like pointing and shuffling of stones, it seems the wall has reached a state of finishedness and I am consulted as to the state of play.
Spotting one of the stones a unstable I make an adjustment bringing the whole thing down again.

Laughter erupts from the female contingent by the shop, who, for them, this is probably one of the biggest events Puello has seen.
Apart from the chicks by the shop, it seems the villagers have been generally unimpressed by my performance and dissipate in disgust.

I finish my beer gently leaning by the wall (new section) taking the fresh mountain air.

Reference
Indian 1 and a new skinny spritely looking dude approach and begin to talk to me again slower this time.
Using the reference section of my guide-book, I apologise to Indian 1 about the wall , this appeases him a little and we join together in pointing out familiar words from the reference section.

Lasting for about 5 minutes, this bonding session concludes Indian 1 & 2 and I shake hands.

Rain
It seems the party it over.

It is starting to rain.

A guy with one eye appears.
It seems he wants me to come to his hut to hear him play the flute.

This is an offer I can’t refuse.

Seeking only to chill, I mount up what looks to be a dry stone wall, in a similar to Welsh fashion.

Innocently, I consume my beer and view village affairs as they unfold in front of me from the relatively secure outpost atop the stone wall.

Not appreciating the precariousness of its construction, I turn to view a passing truck unbalancing one of the corner stones and sending the wall crashing into the road along with my humble self much to the amusement of some female onlookers who have been hanging out by the shop.

Once more I have the whole village’s attention.

Menfolk approach, I recede into a beard stroking stance shrugging and gesticulating at the fallen wall in what I think will be a conciliatory tone.

“Ahh yeh, I was just drinking my beer”.
You know the one.

On my motorcycle, I’ve discovered a little visited village of indigenous Indian peoples.

As I approach, I’m surrounded by the whole village.

They all begin to ask questions in Spanish which I find uncomfortable as I don’t really speak conversational Spanish.

Seeking security, I head for the village shop.
I can grab a beer, gather my thoughts and wait for the people to calm down and disperse.