Sketching Peru: In praise of the eternal moment

“There are two questions that we have to ask ourselves. The first is ‘Where am I going?’ and the second is ‘Who will go with me?’”

— Howard Thurman

This week, I’m honored to have a new story published on G Adventures’ website, devoted to the sacred encounters I had in Peru two years ago next month. Although I’ve written about my time on the Salkantay Trek and at Machu Picchu before, I’d yet to write about the smaller moments of connection from that journey—moments that made the Sacred Valley truly sacred for me.

The encounter I was most excited to write about was meeting a pineapple vendor named Juan, in the bustling city of Tumbes near the country’s border with Ecuador—because my encounter with Juan has proven to be the most lasting from my time in Peru; the one I find myself continuing to return to, no matter how many years continue to pass. In its simplicity, it seemed also to hold something profound—that the sheer fact of sketching next to him on a bench in an unfamiliar city, on my very first afternoon in the country, was reason enough to keep journeying into the world; to keep finding wonder in the simplest of encounters.

But even still, there’s another moment inside this moment that didn’t make it into the story, which I want to share with you here today—for as I sat there with Juan and his fellow vendors in Tumbes, I also met a young boy named Adriano, who looked on silently as I sketched. I’ll let the notes I later wrote on the bus from Tumbes to Lima take over from here:

Let’s get back to the bracelet—to the confusion of this morning, coming within meters of the border and realizing I couldn’t cross yet, because I hadn’t received my exit stamp….

Met a woman named Pilar at the border, and a policeman arranged for us to share a taxi to Tumbes together. I checked in at the bus depot and then went out to get some lunch, when I passed a man selling pineapple. I can’t say what it was that made me stop, but the sight of him—sitting on a bench, with a single white tray of pineapple slices, spooning juice on top of the six neat stacks of slices in the tray—something about it just made me stop.

…I felt myself connecting with Juan, and I felt myself slowly belonging to that world, if only for a moment. They knew I was heading to Lima at 3:00 p.m., that I needed to be back at the depot by 2:30 p.m. And it was right at 2:30, as Rey checked the time on his watch and Juan briskly began to lead me back to the depot, that Adriano runs up next to us and extends the bracelet towards me.

How much? I ask, and he says no, it’s a gift, and I slip the woven red-and-black rubber bracelet onto my wrist with all the others, and know this is a moment that will be with me for the rest of my life. The flapping of Juan’s newspaper, as he keeps flies away from his fruit and helps my sketch dry faster; the whir of the wheels on Juan #2’s toy motorcycles; and the candy-sweet flavor of the pineapple.

I still have the bracelet from Adriano, tucked away inside a box of other sacred souvenirs, but more importantly, I’m grateful for the memory of our encounter that also still remains. I soon continued on from Tumbes to witness the world wonder of Machu Picchu, but for me, the greatest wonder I felt in Peru occurred on a much smaller scale—the scale of simple gifts, given simply; single slices of pineapple; and a group of new friends accompanying me back to the bus station.

I love how this happens, in travel and in life—how those fleeting, in-between moments often become the most eternal…

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