The pandemic threw our organizers a curve ball and instead of staying with their acquaintances, we found ourselves in a small, quiet village afar from all the noises of the city, in sharp contrast with the bustling of Cusco where we were beforehand. We stayed in a gorgeous house for a few days and stepped into the mysteries of the Peruvian Sacred Valley. While it's fun to discover all sorts of new sights, it's equally enjoyable to stay in one location: a different kind of rhythm settles in, one where little habits develop (easy mornings drinking coffee among the bougainvillea and hummingbirds; yoga in the garden; jaunts to the market; animated discussions on the terrace) and one where the laziness of off-days sinks into grateful, tired bones.
When we arrived our hostess showed us around the property, surrounded by several species of cacti and bountiful bushes of flowers. She gaily walked us through the village, talking about her family and personal ambitions. Then she stopped, glanced toward the mountains and casually mentioned that the mountains were full of gold. Not only that, the mountains actually shimmered from the gold! Aghast we looked up, and sure enough, we saw glimmers of gold flashing like fireflies in the darkening sky. Our first thought was to mining. Peru is the world's sixth largest producer of gold; surely prospectors would be climbing all over those mountains! Paloma, our guide, smiled and told us of a cousin who tried: mining involves mercury or cyanide either which is disastrous for both human health and nature. She mentioned that although he is in his thirties, he looks like an old man of 80. Because of the dire effects on an already stressed ecosystem, much of gold mining has become illegal in Peru, especially in the Amazon.
We walked on glumly thinking about the treacherous trap of gold, and came to the village square. Off to the side remained the stump of an old tree, and all around it rested figurines of duende, the impish elves that live in the mountains. Although no doubt duendes have lived for millennia in the mountains of Peru, their name comes from the Spanish designating goblins, trolls and gremlins: any scamp creature willing to play a mischievous trick or two. Could they be the true guardians of the mountains, keeping humans away to preserve them, pristine and glittering in the night sky? Personally, I like this explanation. All the more so that duende is also the urge or inspiration that tickles a dancer's feet, then surges through her into a frenzy, charging up the body so that it jumps, twists and dances to the passionate tones of the flamenco. Who can resist such energy? And it could it have been that same duende that came to visit me at the Ayahuasca Ceremony where I gleefully shouted: Bailar! in my halting Spanish, wanting to say; Bailo! I dance! Je danse! I do believe it was the duende...
