If pigs could fly

by Jonathan van Bilsen

As a child, I was remarkably selective about anything which ventured near my mouth. If food looked unusual, smelled unfamiliar, or possessed a texture which suggested it might still be alive, I wanted no part of it.

As the years passed, however, my culinary courage grew, or perhaps deteriorated, depending on one’s perspective. Travelling tends to do that. You become curious. You convince yourself, tasting local food somehow deepens cultural understanding. Occasionally it does. Occasionally it simply gives you indigestion, and is a story to tell later. One such story unfolded in Bolivia, on the shores of Lake Titicaca.

The sun was dropping behind the Andes, when I met two elderly gentlemen dressed in traditional Andean clothing. Their English was limited. My Spanish was worse. Nevertheless, through a complicated system of gestures, smiles, and badly pronounced nouns, we managed to communicate.

The men turned out to be brothers, from a family of reed boat builders. Decades earlier, they had worked with Norwegian explorer Thor Heyerdahl, constructing the famous reed vessels used in his transoceanic expeditions. Listening to their stories, while standing beside the lake, was mesmerizing.

Then came the dinner invitation. At first, I was honoured. Sharing a meal with local craftsmen, beside one of the world’s highest navigable lakes, sounded like the sort of authentic travel experience writers dream about. That enthusiasm lasted until one of the brothers proudly pointed toward a nearby cage, filled with guinea pigs. My stomach quietly surrendered.

In the Andes, guinea pig, or cuy, is considered a delicacy. To visitors from Canada, however, guinea pigs are generally viewed as nervous little pets, named things like Peanut or Mr. Whiskers. Trying not to appear horrified, I politely explained, I already had dinner reservations elsewhere. Relieved, I made my way to a local restaurant, where unfortunately, near the entrance sat another cage filled with guinea pigs. Apparently, destiny had plans for me.

Knowing refusal would be deeply impolite, I reluctantly proceeded. My appetite packed its bags and departed. Moments later, a fully intact roasted guinea pig arrived at the table, staring upward, as though equally surprised by the situation. Determined not to offend anyone, I cautiously took a bite. People often say unfamiliar foods “taste like chicken.” This did not. I still cannot adequately describe the flavour, as nothing I have tasted before comes reasonably close.

Since that evening, I have developed a deeper appreciation for safe Canadian comfort food. Butter chicken suddenly feels adventurous enough. Sweet-and-sour pork now seems perfectly acceptable.

Whenever someone says, “You are what you eat,” I cannot help picturing myself covered in fur, sprinting endlessly on a little exercise wheel, inside a wire cage. That was certainly not part of the plan.

Bon appétit.

Jonathan van Bilsen is an award winning photographer, author, columnist and television host. Follow his travel adventures at photosNtravel.com.