As you can see, my Spanish is coming along nicely. If not 100% grammatically correct, we at least can make ourselves understood, and we can now even go into a bar to hang with the locals.
Perhaps my example of a bar is a bit of a stretch, but “when in Rome…..” or maybe it should be “when in Peru…..”
So here are the “back of the bar, liquor supplies”….
And here is the bartender…
The other patrons and their drink of choice. Just another pick-up joint….
And Ron with his first glass of chicha.
This was a chicha house. A few select women in the villages around Peru, are the designated chicha brewers. I’ll leave you to do your own research as to technique, but suffice it to say that this is corn beer, and takes 3 days from production to glass. When a batch is ready for quaffing, the brew meister will put a bright red plastic bag on a long pole, extending from the house into the street (in the past, it was a bunch of bright red flowers) to let passersby know that the chicha is ready and on tap. We sat there with the woman and man of the house for a few glasses, and they proceeded to laugh hysterically at us (or WITH us, as I’d prefer to think of it). Ron has declared that he’s not giving up his farourite pilsner in exchange for chicha – he thought it was reminiscent of drinking out of a silo. The photo above was taken BEFORE the first sip – see that smile still on his face? Me, well, I mustered up the good manners to finish off a glass without making too much of a face (or maybe that’s why they were laughing so much).