Episode 13: San Martín

Words and imagery by Alyssa D'Adamo

Today is starting out with, you guessed it, another long ride. This time it’s extra bumpy and crammed with one more person than usual. Adler, a young native from Nueva Cajamarca who’s learning the technical side of cacao. 
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The region of San Martín is nestled in the central-north of Peru and is widely recognized for its coca leaf production. Over the years, different environmental groups have groomed the area of coca and replaced it with cacao to regrow the forests, which we love. What we don’t love is that the cacao they planted is CCN51. So now in place once bountiful in wild or semi-native varieties bursting with flavor, we’ve got an entire region that is ready for mass, monotonous production, which is why Mey wrote it off. Don Leon exclaimed to Mey that it was worth a visit—that he had some interesting leads in the virgin forest. She resisted, but finally agreed to at least go and look for herself.

​We stop for a breakfast of stewed tripe and set out. There's not a single part of the road that was smooth, which is surprising because once again we find ourselves surrounded by flat, infinite rice fields. There are so many fields that it felt like we were going in a circle, which may also be due to confusion caused by the drones swarming around us spraying the fields. I keep turning around to see the mountain range behind us, cascading high above the fields to check if we are really moving in some sort of direction.

We eventually peel off onto another unmarked dirt road to finish the journey by foot. The fresh mountain air has certainly abandoned us and left us surrounded by the dense, humid air where we’re completely swarmed by mosquitos as we trudge through the muddy trails. I’m heavily depending on the water resting on the leaves and branches of the coffee trees from last night's heavy rain to keep me cool as we pass through them. We arrive to shake the hands of the hospitable Don Esteban, a Quechua Cajamarca native who migrated to the native community of El Tornillo for love. He shares that he was welcomed with open arms, and how the traditions are the same in his community. The only difference is the language.

He immediately takes us to climb up a steep hillside of coffee trees, plantains, and achiote to where his property meets the virgin jungle. Through the copious and protruding branches of the coffee trees emerges the “cacao madre,” the mother of the cacao trees. She’s over 100 years old and looking great for her age. She’s adorned with copious, large, mature pods holding seeds that hit 21 on the brix scale, which will certainly call for interesting fermentation and flavor development. For the past thirty years, Don Esteban has been nourishing this tree and using its seeds to create a plot just down the hill.

We brave the mosquitos for a bit longer and take measurements, record our findings, and of course taste those seeds.  It always surprises me how every pod holds a different flavor, even from the same tree. This baba is bright, citrusy and sweet. Don Esteban continues to tell us that he’s “legally in love with the forest,” which is why he continues to preserve it. He himself recognizes the difference in the taste of his cacao, and he’s dedicated to preserving it.

We head back downhill past the chickens, puppies and clothes drying out on the line towards where Don Estaban planted seeds from the mother tree. We arrive to find a treasure trove of colorful, healthy pods and trees. Mey and Don Leon have been here before to identify these trees, and they decided to submit a sample to the HCP with cacao made from the whole plot.

Don Esteban’s currently sells his cacao to a cooperative that mixes his precious beans with neighboring plots of pure clones, but thanks to recent collaborations with local organizations, he would have the possibility to separate the fermentation batches if designated. 

Don Esteban generously offers us fresh oranges from his farm to cool off before his sweet granddaughter helped me take my final shots with the drone.

This may be the last stop for me, but Mey’s just getting started. She will be back to visit these farms, check samples, prepare and ship them to the HCP. I ask her what a designation would mean for Don Esteban. Her reply is simple and true: A designation from the HCP would help preserve these precious forests, would give farmers more opportunity through specialized training, and finally put Peru on the Heirloom map.