The rickety bus rolls into Huarmey, a flat, arid coastal village in Peru. I have arrived for a voluntary mission. I awake to the creaking noise of the straw roof above me, a cat lurks across, as a neighbouring cockerel sounds the hour. The day begins as I fill the small cooler first and then the larger one, working layer by layer. I check that I have some sol coins as a float, to start with, as I flag down a local taxi, which resemble the tuk-tuk's of Thailand; secondhand imports that are no longer fit for the environment anywhere.
I make my way to the local gas station and find myself a shaded area. I am here to sell jelly, yes jelly, the Peruvians love it! They sell like hot cakes but cold. “Gelatina, Gelatina un sol,” I shout.
I get the nod of approval or a wave of urgency as I scuttle between cars. I greet them with a smile, a good morning and explain that I’m selling jelly to support the poor children in the local area.
They are impressed and ask me more. I begin to chat and practise my Spanish before they interrupt me eagerly asking for a “Cucharita, cucharita?”, “Si tengo!” I respond, as I whip out a few small plastic spoons from my back pocket to accompany their little cup of precisely set strawberry gelatina. I chase every car, truck, bike, bus and tuk-tuk that stops to refill. Most of the time I make a sale and often a friend.
The hot humid morning is swift and successful and I return for a siesta, after scrubbing my face of the gas station smut. It is evening now and I head to the plaza where all the locals convene. I teach a group of local kids some basic English for an hour and a half and then I sell them some jelly, and their mothers too. Some locals make a living selling jelly and there is mutual respect between them. I am very impressed with their secret recipes, some come with custard and others with flan, Yum!
I do my best to sell what I have left by wandering, the plaza or the bus terminal nearby, with my cooler offering the refreshing jelly made with love and care. My charming smile and gentle approach wins them over. I am amazed to find that when they ask, and I tell them, that I am from Ireland, they instantly respond with “North or South?” and the chatter continues.
After weeks of making and selling a lot of jelly every day, I leave proud and fulfilled. My comrades surround me. They kiss me, hug me, bless me and wish me luck on my travels.
They wave me off on a bus that I would once have jumped on, to sell jelly during pick-ups; being careful not to be carried off to the next town. It has happened and it’s not the worst thing, I’d have jelly and a chat, and who is not happy with both, when in Peru or anywhere in the world.
Entries to The Irish Times Travel Writer competition, in association with Travel Department, are now closed. The winning writer will be announced on October 29th in The Irish Times Magazine. See irishtimes.com/travelwriter
