One of the organizations Murray is working with here is a producer and marketer of high quality medicinal plant products, using traditional medicinal knowledge and plants grown in the San Martin region. They source their plant material through people in local villages who harvest them from the jungle in a sustainable, ecologically-sensitive way, the way in which it has been done for generations. We were invited to go along on a visit to an area where plants are harvested and to meet one of the families involved in this small but important industry.
Our day began with a 5:45 wakeup and a quick cup of tea before we hopped into a mototaxi and headed to a taxi depot to meet our travelling companion. By 7 a.m. we were seated on plastic chairs in the depot, waiting for more people to show up, because the cars going to outlying areas don't go half full. Our traveling companion was going to take his motorcycle to the town, so that left us to take up half a taxi. Within a half hour, the quota was met, with the other half made up of a gregarious young man still sporting the effects of a night of partying and a woman who (happily) was seated in the back seat with us. We flew out of town heading in a westerly direction, not really knowing where we were going, but our traveling companion had given the taxi driver instructions, so we trusted we were in good hands.
The roads are shall we say, interesting, around here. I theorize that there are few or no curve signs on the roads because there is never a long enough straight-away to put one up, and no one cares anyway. Both sides of the road are put to good use, regardless of who else is on it or which direction you are headed. The young man in the front seat belted himself in, (an unusual occurrence) which gave me cause for momentary anxiety about the road ahead. Then I realized it was because he intended to pass out and without the seatbelt he would have been flat out on the driver's lap within moments of our departure. He slumped in the seat, swaying from side to side, head bobbing, while music blasted on the cd player. Our cab was very clean and quite new, and the woman in the back seemed not to take offense when the sharp curves threw both Murray and I on top of her. From time to time the cab driver would elbow the young man off his shoulder and back into place or Murray would reach between the seats and heave him back into place. He snored softly the entire way. The drive lasted about 1 1/2 hours, and took us through several small pueblos on the way. The views are absolutely breathtaking, so I was madly clicking the camera at every opportunity.
We arrived finally in a small town called San Juan de Sisa, where we unfolded ourselves from the cab and met our travelling companion. He had arranged for a mototaxi to take us the rest of the way to our destination which was Chirik Sacha. This community is the home of a woman who is the president of the local medicinal plant cooperative in the area, comprised of residents of several surrounding communities. The cooperative and the work associated with it are solely run by women, whose husbands and families are occupied in other agricultural endeavors.
Arriving at Chirik Sacha we pulled up in front of a thatch-roofed pole home, and were cheerfully welcomed by a woman, her elderly parents, her husband, and their young daughter.
We shook hands, embraced and then entered their home. The first introductions were made, then we sat on a wooden bench and were given cups of chicha to refresh us. Chicha is a traditional Quechua drink made from fermented corn. It is not at all sweet, and has a slightly musty, though not unpleasant flavor. As well as the chicha, we were given fresh papaya and oranges from the trees in the back yard which were so juicy and delicious that eating them ended up being a full-body experience. After a few more minutes of conversation and getting to know a little more about this family, and they us, we were invited to go down into the little valley behind their home where fruit and medicinal plants are grown. All the plants are native to the area and grow in a natural micro-ecosystem, here in their "backyard". Mango and orange trees, avocadoes and papayas grow throughout, side by side with plantain trees. 
Beneath the trees are the medicinal plants, some of them vines, some shrubs and upright flowers, some small ground dwellers and some in the process of becoming trees, a process that may take up to 40 or 50 years. We wandered through this wild garden, getting a lesson in the plants and their uses. Plants for psychological healing, for arthritis, cuts and bruises, and kidney stones. Plants for improved digestion, for bathing colicky babies to soothe them, and plants with strong antiseptic properties. Every need is covered in this place, and the knowledge that goes with the use of these plants is handed from generation to generation.
Following our walk in the garden, we were invited back to the house, and offered lunch. The people here often do not have much in terms of monetary wealth or property, but what they have is generously shared with guests. We were served a delicious meal of chicken, rice and plantain, all cooked with herbs and vegetables that they grow in this garden of theirs.
We sat in the simple kitchen, laughing and sharing the meal, as people do the world over. Language and cultural differences mean very little when people meet with the goal of understanding and respecting each other, and to share their stories. We played ball with their little girl, put temporary tattoos of the Canadian flag on her arms, and had an impromptu lesson in how to spin cotton.
Our broken Spanish was cause for mutual humor, but never ridicule, and we were made to know that we were most welcome in this home. After a few hours of visiting, we were invited to join the association of plant producers at a meeting and in their gathering of plants, but on further questioning found that the last of the two taxis out of Sisa would be leaving shortly and if we weren't in it we would be out of luck for a ride back to Tarapoto. In addition, the skies had turned black and a stiff breeze had come up. A flurry of consultation between our friend and our host ended with him running into the village to find a mototaxi to take us back to Sisa. About 5 minutes later he was back, along with a mototaxi willing to drive us up the bumpy road to Sisa. We said goodbye, with many hugs all around, and were presented with a big bag of starfruit and vegetables, a handmade clay teapot, and a handwoven belt for Murray. As the skies opened up, thunder crashing around us, we scrambled aboard the mototaxi and were admonished that we must come again, and next time for a longer visit. This is an invitation we are both eager to accept.
The ride back to Tarapoto was a quiet one, as we reflected on the day. The poor woman squeezed in next to us had no choice but to put up with my squashing her on the tight turns of the corkscrew ride back to the city. After many apologies from me, she finally threw a sweater over her head and went to sleep on my shoulder.
And so, my amigos, goes the story of the Secret Garden. We had a wonderful day exploring the world of traditional medicine and medicinal plants in their natural state. We had an opportunity to see the importance of traditional medicine in the cultural sense as well as the economic sense. We got a glimpse into the lives of a generous and warm family, and in the process made new friends. To my way of thinking, that is really the most important part of what we do here- to create relationships and promote understanding between vastly different cultures. La amistad. It just doesn't get any better than that.
What a fabulous day you all must have had. It's so awesome when we can see the true meaning of wealth & friendship.
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