Saying Goodbye to the Family Home

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January 3 2008.
Of the foodie vagabonds, Jose is doing this trip solo and much missing his partner in crime. After 40 years, I am in my dad’s hometown of Cajamarca. Yes, for those who know me I was three years old when I was here last and as hard as it might be to believe I still have memories of my time here. I have also heard so many stories from my dad, aunts, uncles, and cousins that although my memories are admittedly foggy, I cannot help but have an affection and feeling of knowing for this Andean city. The reason for my trip is that my cousins have sold the ancestral family home in Cajamarca and in a few days they hand over the house to the new ownership. Thus, this is the last time to see this house that was built by my great grandfather in which my dad was raised and in which five generations of the family have lived.

My cousin Rafael (Rafo) and I flew in from Lima on a small local carrier arriving at 4:30 PM. A short taxi ride from the airport brought us to the Plaza de Armas (the main plaza) in which the family home is located. It is a colonial-style building with a central patio. The house is made of adobe and wood and is very near the Cathedral. Rafo warned me that the house was not in great shape and it really isn’t, but it is clear that it is a charming house with wonderfully worn uneven floors that squeak underfoot. A tour of the house brought back long lost memories triggered by seeing each room. I remembered the large living room facing the Plaza and the balconies in which as children, my sister and I would stand looking out for hours. On seeing the kitchen, I remembered asking the cook if the fish on the counter was really dead and her poking it to show me that it was. The dinning room didn’t elicit any specific memories, but I certainly felt remarkably familiar. The space out back where my grandfather and great grandfather kept their horses looked (not surprisingly) smaller than I remembered. From the map (yes, the house is large enough to require a map) my dad had made me I also found what had been his childhood room,

After that Rafo took me to see a plaque on the fountain in the Plaza de Armas that stated that fountain was renovated in 1912 by our great grandfather Domingo Querzola who was at that time mayor (he’s the one who built the house). It was by now 5:00 in the afternoon and the streets were brimming with cars and pedestrian traffic. It was very clear that Cajamarca had grown from a sleepy town and the streets had a definite bustle. Interestingly, the still-present campesinos with their traditional large hats were a reminder that this is still an Andean city. The other thing I noted everywhere in the Plaza was the wonderful smell of sesina shilpida, a traditional local dish (hopefully more on that later).

We headed to Salas, a traditional local restaurant across the Plaza de Armas where we ate some butifarras (pork sandwiches with a red onion relish). On the way back to the house we stopped by a couple of shops to get some water and assorted supplies. I guess that Cajamarca is still small enough that Rafo knows the people in shops and when he introduced me as his cousin I was surprised to hear “eres nieto del doctor?” or “you are the doctor’s grandson?”. Indeed, my grandfather had been one of the town docs and I was delighted that people would still remember him more than 50 years after he had passed away. By the time we got back to the house, the abdominal cramping I had been feeling all day was getting noticeably worse, I was getting chills and I was getting the other symptom (use your imagination). I have been in Lima for a few days before coming here and I guess that after enjoying all the wonderful Peruvian food with impunity it caught up with me. I took some Cipro and headed to bed early (Ciprofloxacin is the big gun of antibiotics, never leave home without it).
Woke up feeling much better and eager to get going. We headed to the little Village of Llacanora. On the drive there we traversed the verdant campiña (countryside) Cajamarquina. My dad had recommended Llacanora as picturesque village and indeed it was with white washed adobe buildings, unpaved streets and weathered tile roofs. Dad told me that Domingo Querzola’s mother was buried inside the village church, but when we tried to open the church door to check inside we found it locked. In talking to a friendly local, we learned that the Priest only came around on Sundays and the Nuns that normally would be around were in Lima so it didn’t look like we were getting in. He also said that although he did remember some gravestones behind the altar, they had poured a slab of cement over the entire area around the altar and the graves were no longer visible (I guess the priest got tired of tripping on the gravestones). Our new friend went looking around town and within a few minutes he was back with the little church’s very large key. Once inside we found that indeed no gravestones were visible. We returned to Cajamarca and picked up Santiago (Santi), a wonderful man who had worked for my uncle, Rafo’s dad. Santi said he remembered me when I had been in Cajamarca as an infant 40 years ago. We then went to the cemetery as I had never seen the family mausoleum with three generations of Querzolas including my grandmother and the immigrant great-great grandfather Luis (Luigi) who supposedly came from Bologna.

We next headed to see Rafo’s business partner “El Profe” a retired professor. By now it was around noon and Rafo asked El Profe if he had some agua ardiente, i.e. “fire water”. As it turns out El Profe makes his own and in a few minutes five glasses appeared with this homemade, high-octane Peruvian drink. El Profe lives near Las Torrecitas (The Little Towers), which is the general name for what had been my uncle’s hacienda. I had seen the torrecita (there is only one little tower left standing) as we took the taxi into Cajamarca from the airport. Of course, the cows are long gone and the area is now developed. We walked to what had been the original house and the remaining torrecita avoiding Santa’s vicious attack dogs (Santi still lives in the house). At this point I was hit with another 40-year-old flashback of seeing a tower standing and one on the ground although now there was no evidence of the fallen tower. There are two theories about the origin of the torrecitas. One theory goes that this was the original spot in which the Spanish were going to build the city and begun building the church (i.e. the torrecitas) but then decided to build in what had been the Inca city of Cajamarca. Now, I’m no architectural historian, but the remaining tower doesn’t look to me to date from ~1532. The other theory about the torrecitas is that they were built so that an outlook could keep an eye out on the vast pasturelands, but the torrecita seems too ornate for a look out tower. I guess no one really knows the origin of the torrecitas, but they are a well-known landmark in the area. At this point Rafo was in the mood for a few beers and he said “vas a aprender a chupar como los Cajamarquinos” which is slang for “you are going to learn to drink like the Cajamarcans”. We walked to one of the ubiquitous corner bodegas and although the railing across the front door was locked, the storeowner produced three 0.5 litter bottles of beer and a glass. Apparently the tradition in Cajamarca is that when drinking in the street at the corner bodega, you pour yourself a glass, pass the bottle to the person next to you and drink the beer in the glass. You are supposed to leave a little bit of beer on the bottom of the glass that you then empty it on the ground with a flick of the wrist before passing the glass to the next person who then pours himself a glass an then passes the bottle to the next person… (i.e. everyone shares the same glass, you can imagine how my wife, the doctor is going to love this story). Well, I lost count how many times Profe said “tres botellas mas por favor” (three more bottles please), but suffice it to say that withought lunch we weren’t feeling much pain. Around 2:00 in the afternoon, we finally had to go since lunch was waiting back at the house. We swung back by Profe’s house and Rafo asked him if he had a spare bottle of agua ardiente for me to take back to the U.S. Before I knew it, Rafo had scored me a huge 2.25 litter bottle!!!

Back at the house, we had chupe verde (green chowder) which is a tasty soup thickened with papa amarilla (a potato that falls apart when cooked and thus serves as a starchy thickener). The “green” comes from a mixture of herbs. We also had arroz de trigo (rice of wheat), which is a cooked cracked wheat. Both dishes are very typical of Cajamarcan cuisine and both were wonderful (compliments to Rosita the cook). After lunch we headed to do a tour of the Fransican Monastery. This is another location linked to family stories as my grandfather was a friend of the Franciscan monks. Among the stories that I remember is that the monks would from time to time ask my grandfather to read a particular book to make sure the content was appropriate for them. The tour of the monastery was great. You can definitely feel the centuries. In the crypt, we saw where another great-grandfather was buried. By the time we got back to the house another cousin, Carlos, had arrived from Trujillo. It has been several years since I last saw him so it was good to catch-up.

The following day, Carlos, Rafo and I went to the Complejo Belen. This is a 17th century complex built by another order of monks. This was the site of the old hospital where my grandfather had worked. From what I hear, at one point the former men’s hospital was a museum dedicated to Cajamarcan medicine and even had a display that included some of my grandfather’s instruments, but in the current format, the ancient building doesn’t show much of it’s former use as a hospital. On the way back to the house, we ran into one of dad’s childhood friends Paco Saenz. It was great to hear him tell stories about he and dad and their misadventures as young boys. Pa, tu amigo Paco dice que vengas a tu tierra. We next went to Los baños del Inca. These are the thermal baths where the last Inca Atahualpa was when the conquistador Pizarro marched on to the Cajamarca Valley. Apparently, recent excavations have found that area has been occupied since about 200 AD. In a little dive near hear, I finally got some sesina shilpida. Sesina is pork meat that is left to dry uncooked in the dry Cajamarcan air. Sesina shilpida is fixed by stir frying the sesina with onion, aji amarillo (a Peruvian hot yellow pepper), cumin and eggs and serving this mixture over boiled potatoes.

In part, I came here looking for the paternal grandparents I never new. My grandmother passed away in 1927, my grandfather in 1953. Both were born and raised in Cajamarca and lived in the house. In this visit, I learned that my grandfather was apparently a much beloved doctor in this town. I met many people who knew him including a woman who said he delivered her children. He was described as kind, generous, altruistic and even legendary. I learned much less about my grandmother. I don’t know why I thought it would be otherwise, but seeing where she was buried in the family mausoleum did not begin to fill the void.

I am really happy to have come to Cajamarca especially since you can tell that the city is changing very dramatically from the influx of money due to the nearby gold mines. It seems that in another five years it is going to be a very different city. So far though, I would say that the people here are real. The campesinos wear their traditional clothes because it’s what they wear, not because they want money to have their picture taken. The town has not been corrupted by tourism and you can peacefully walk along the streets and the Plaza de Armas (unlike Cuzco where you get hustled every ten feet). As in European cities, the best place to stay is in El Centro (downtown) where the old charm of the city is more than readily apparent. I am also glad that I was able to see the family home one last time. I admittedly feel some melancholy about being here in the last few days that the house is in the family as I saw preparations being made to move out. I’ll always remember leaving the house for the last time as I looked back towards the courtyard and imagined my grandmother as a young woman with a growing family not knowing that her life would be cut short. I am the airport now waiting for my flight back to Lima. In a few days I return to the U.S. and the start of a new semester. I will be back, though, and next time it won’t be in 40 years.

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Photos

Fountain and Cathedral
The plaque on the fountain names my great grandfather.

Plaza de Armas
The family home (yellow building).

Calle Cruz de Piedra
Entrance to family home.

Campiña Cajamarquina
Picturesque drive to the village of Llcanora.

Las Torrecitas
Back of the house where animals were kept

Como los Cajamarquinos
A few cold ones on a street corner

Comments

[Rafael Flores]

Buenas fotos y recuerdos.
Muy buenas fotos de Cajamarca y de la casa. Rafael