Wanting soap, I held my hands under the pink thing. Waved them about. Squeezed it. Nada. Then I realised it was the soap. You wet your hands and caress it…
Go out the door of our little house and look left due west up the sandy road. La pampa begins.
Drive for an hour and a half to Ayacucha. Have a cup of coffee and wonder where everybody is.
Talking about the colour, okay? Fooksia.
I was alarmed when Elena whooped and began to scrabble up these hongos from under the pine trees. You know, the sort that turn to slime, the ones you’d tell your children not to touch. Perfecto, she says. Tomorrow’s risotto. Watch this space.
4 responses to “Scrapbook”
Such energy in these anecdotes and pics, P!
How did the risotto turn out? (Eating those pongas would require some bravery, I reckon?!)
Watching this space and sending you much love XX
Pongas? Oops – I mean hongos. You can tell I’ve been enjoying our native forests! (Mind you, eating pongas would require a certain determination, too. x)
Such energy in these anecdotes and pics, P!
How did the risotto turn out? (Eating those pongas would require some bravery, I reckon?!)
Watching this space and sending you much love XX
That’s all so very amazing! You are in foreign elements and wallowing in each one, taking it all in – I am so happy for you! Thanks for the little snippets that reveal much.