Santa Eulalia, an earthly paradise

I still remember our long walks along the flower fields of Santa Eulalia, a tiny town in the hills of Lima. I must have been seven years old when we went there for the first time.

It was during that time that I discovered history, and the passion that I later developed towards the facts surrounding world events was born. This is how I learned about this man named Winston Churchill and about how he was a fundamental part in the negotiations that took place during WWII. My father was to be blamed for it. We would walk for hours and hours and he would tell us all about the world and about times gone by, like no other teacher could. No wonder I came to love history so much.

The paths were filled with indescribable aromas ranging from the ones coming from the most humble origins to the truly exquisite aromas of Lavender and Gardenias. The classic roses would not only smell good but were also beautiful to see. And towards the end of Fall, the wholesome scent of dried Eucalyptus leaves breaking under our feet would fill our lungs with a breath of fresh clean air.

My little sister and I would each grab a stick and pretend we were fairies running away from elves and gnomes through the enchanted forest.

Every so often, we would discover a new path only to end up in a new location, far from our starting point, but for some reason, my father always seemed to know the way back.. Of course, he was the Kingdom’s Knight, leading the ‘ladies’ way. Guarding our lives with his own…
Santa Eulalia is a small village in the mountains of Lima, Peru. Its population is not very large, mostly composed of farmers.

In the middle of the village existed a very old school (I think the only one), and a small church. The old school was the perfect backdrop for our impromptu plays: my mother would be the teacher, my father, my sister and I were the students.

To get to the Santa Eulalia valley, my family and I would take a bus in Chosica, a small city about 25 miles from Lima. An hour later we would be arriving in the rural community’s main square.

Once in our final destination we would sit in one of the benches near the bus stop or walk around to stretch our legs from the long trip. My sister and I would run around, trying to catch up on any missed playtime. We were eager to start our adventure.

Normally, the long walks were preceded by a copious meal, prepared by a local family and served in their own house. This was an important part of the trip. These families fed visitors on the weekends, as a way of earning extra income. The meals were deliciously prepared. My mother would be especially careful inspecting the utensils and choosing the food. She was very health conscious and always wanted to make sure that the house in which we were eating was clean, had running water and the people preparing the food looked clean before letting us enter the property. We had to wash our hands and faces before feasting on the regional specialties. We had a complete course consisting of soup, a main entrée, and a beverage. After this, we were ready to go!

During the months of Spring and Summer, the water level of the Santa Eulalia river that fed the hydroelectric plant nearby was high and the river run a loud course. My parents didn’t let us near it fearing one of us may fall, but during the rest of the year we would sit under the trees, in the rocks nearby and ‘bake mud cakes’ or collect colorful stones. Once, my father found a fossilized mollusk. We proudly brought it home to keep as a precious trophy.

Often times, we brought books in our back packs and my father read stories out loud while we laid in blankets, along the banks of the river. We would fall asleep, soothed by the calming sound of the running waters, dreaming about beautiful princesses and dragons … Only to wake up later ready to inspect the territory conquered by our troops, always protected by our main Knight.

Many years have passed since we last visited Santa Eulalia. My family has changed: my father is no longer with us; I had moved to a new country to start a new life with my husband and two beautiful children.

The place is no longer what it was when we used to visit. I don’t even think the people of the town would open up their houses to welcome strangers so happily as they did many years ago. The plague of violence that afflicted the region as terrorist groups moved into the area in later years has caused very deep wounds in Peruvian society in general. A certain level of mistrust that never existed before is now perceived between residents and visitors.

There would be no more walks in Santa Eulalia’s hidden flower trails for fear of encountering any remaining guerrilla members of the terrorist group known ironically as “Shining Path”. No more badminton matches between my parents and us in the main plaza, I know, but the precious memories remain strong in our hearts, as if it just happened yesterday.

The wisdom, that I acquired in the rooms of that rustic school, the prayers said in that countryside church, even the people we met in our magic path, have a special meaning to me.

As an adult, I will try to re-create such memories for my children. These may not take place in Santa Eulalia, but I am hoping to pass on the essence of these life experiences.

My days are now hectic and I realize that responsibilities have doubled if not tripled for the traditional families, including mine.

It is when I am in the middle of a crisis that I sit down, reminiscing on the days in which I literally took a trip to an earthly paradise and felt life, as God meant life to be felt by a child. And it’s because of these memories that I come out of my trance re-energized, filled with a special kind of force, with love, thinking how lucky I was, for being given this chance in life.