World of Wonders - The Tragedy of San Pedro

They say you never know what you had until it’s gone.
The cobbled back streets of colonial Cusco, with its whitewashed houses and overhanging balconies make it famous the world over.

A World Heritage City, visitors flock to Cusco in the dry winter months when the skies are stunningly blue. Even though for the rest of the year drab days make Cusco grey like the walls of its’ colonial churches, it still has plenty to make it the travellers’ mecca of South America.

The San Pedro market is located near the train station to Machu Picchu and just outside the central city. In mid 2004 the bulk of the market was “cleaned up” in a so-called improvement program introduced by Cusco’s mayor. It used to be an interesting place – and whether it was flowers, fruit or soaps being sold on the curbside, there was a kaleidoscope of colour and action.

More often than not, the vendor was a gnarled woman in traditional dress, vending her goods from faded blanket laid on the ground. You could buy anything you wanted – obscure as it may be. All you had to do was ask and you’d be off an adventure through winding alleys, where you would encounter a person selling the very thing that you were looking for!

San Pedro was characterised by the traditional: long plaits, white hats with rosettes, pleated skirts, straight skirts, bright-cheeked babies in mantas (blankets) and the chat of the native language, Quechua.

Though touted in the guide books as dangerous, San Pedro was also the culinary centre of street food. Anticuchos, marinaded meat cooked over hot coals by indigenous women taste superb on a cool Cusco night. And the chat you have with the lady, in her voluminous petticoats, as she cooks your meat, is the essence of Cusco.

The miraculous emoliente carts, full of mysterious bottles, red, green and brown are the perfect local fix for your latest ailment! The hot green, brown mix is warming and medicinal as you enjoy the parade of people wandering by.

It seemed impossible that this organic market, sprouting wherever there was space on the sidewalk, could physically be “cleaned up” one terrible weekend. However, it happened quick as wink, leaving only empty space on the sidewalks and piles of garbage in the gutter.

Only then was San Pedro’s attraction evident. It was an authentic market because it was where the people did their shopping. It was no Pisac, in the Sacred Valley or Otavalo, in Ecuador, which due to market forces have converted into tourist circuses while being touted as “local markets.” San Pedro was real, and it was in the centre of Cusco. There are few such cultural icons remaining and easily accessible.

Middle class Cusqueños espouse the benefits of the cleaned up area, and add that stallholders can buy spaces the sterile, custom-built, and relatively expensive Confraternidad (Brotherhood).

These Cusqueños say that the move was welcomed; yet it’s ironic that municipal police in full riot clothing, complete with plastic shields, oversaw the whole “pack up”! And when the garbage was gone, we could see the beautiful church of Santa Clara, but where there had once been so much life, there was emptiness. The heart of Cusco had gone.

As part of the new, improved central Cusco the municipality cracked down on ambulantes – roaming vendors, including those who offered street food at night. Suddenly the streets were devoid of delicious aromas that had risen in steam from their stalls on crisp Cusco nights. When San Pedro got cleaned up, so did the tourists’ access to these typical Cusqueño foods. The people, and the life were systematically pushed out of the central area.

Our friends who sold on the street told us there was to be a protest march of 500 ambulantes whose livelihoods have been taken away. These are people, mostly of ethic origin, who sell fruit to make maybe $1 a day. This money is the difference between life and death for them and they couldn’t afford licences. Their rally came to nothing. They dirtied the streets, according to the mayor, and they had to go.

In reality, previously the stall holders had pride in their piece of concrete and would keep their part of the street clean. Now, the rubbish accumulated – and the municipality hadn’t the foresight to clean it up.

In the weeks following the “clean up” a few brave vendors hid in corners, and dodged the police. If policemen were seen, someone would call out and we watch as they’d gather their meagre things and make off in haste. If they were caught, their goods would be confiscated and they would be hauled into a cattle truck.

One day I happened past the arched municipal building in a leafy plaza when I saw a banner, “the tourists thank the mayor for cleaning up the streets of ambulantes.” Knowing the unpopularity of the decision amongst the locals, I guessed it was propaganda.

Once I had established my point of view, a young guard of indigenous appearance sympathetically gave me access to the mayor’s office.

Spanish is a language of tragedy and drama, eloquent and passionate. I told the mayor’s secretary that I was from a country that is sometimes very sterile. I told her that we made the most of what we have in terms of tourism, because we have little heritage. I told her that people go to countries like Peru to see colour and ethnicity. I told her that it was a disgrace that the poorest people in society were being marginalized and carried off in a cattle truck.

She looked at me in horror – and said, “Really I am surprised.” I forgot that in Peru you might say things passionately but you don’t say them directly.

The ambulantes only moved further up the hill and became better at evading the police. Cusco is a little bit poorer, and our world loses another piece of its colourful diversity.

Photos still to come

{text2}

Home

Top of Page

Privacy