“1 less than 100.” Wisdom from Two Fortuitous Meetings This Year.
Cusco Peru.
I take a seat on a sunny morning in the Plaza de Armas in Cusco to do a bit of people watching as a I always do as a form of personal meditation. It’s become a bit of a circus these days with the touristy gimmicks and street peddlers coming up to you every 5 seconds, but there’s still an allure with this beautiful and vibrant square.
A few moments pass, an older man sits next to me to take a break. I notice he’s one of the photographers that works in the plaza snapping photos of tourists and printing it on the spot or emailing them digital files for a nominal fee.
I’m drawn to this fella for some reason. His aura tacitly screams countless stories, but at first, I’m slightly trepidatious to engage. I want to absorb the moment and feel into it…but that doesn’t last long. I ask him “How long have you been working here?”
He responds “70 years.” I think for a moment he misunderstood my question… and he’s giving me his age, so I ask again.
A moment passes, and he responds 70 years. I’m instantly in awe. My mind races with the living history I’m sitting next to. Yes, this man has stories…many of them. And I want to sit with him and absorb as many as I can.
What’s your name, I ask? He responds, “Serapio Vargas.”
How old are you might I ask Serapio?”
“One year until 100.” He responds.
My mind is racing. Here I am sitting next to a photographer who’s worked in this very plaza for 70 years and has experienced this world for 99. He lived during the same time as the iconic Peruvian photographer Martin Chambi. I’ve studied Chambi’s photos for endless hours absorbing them into the fabric of my being and fascination with the Andes.
We chat for the next hour or so. I buy Serapio a ice slushy as a gift for his time but more so “it just felt right.” We talk with pauses of 10 minutes of silence in between thoughts. After all, we are both photographers and are generally observers versus talkers. The silence is a beautiful thing. It gives me time in the present to reflect and ground myself into this fortuitous and beautiful encounter.
I show him my camera. He picks up, holds it up to his eye and presses the shutter once. “Wow, it’s heavy he says. I can’t hold cameras that heavy anymore! But it sure is a nice one!” He shows me his aging more compact Canon which is held together by many pieces of duct tape. I too snap a photo or two for the fun of it.
I ask him about his history with photography.
“I’ve dedicated myself to photography since 1952. I became interested in it as a way to capture my children growing up and the memories. I found that I loved it and taught myself everything I could about it. I started working here in the plaza 70 years ago taking photos for people. I’ve been here longer than any of the other photographers. I enjoy coming to the square every day, because I like it. I meet friends and lots of new people. A lot has changed in my time here. Cusco used to be a quiet city. Now it’s very busy and lots of tourists….”
I interrupt, Did you like it more back then or now?”
“Oh back then!” It was so peaceful and the air was fresh. Life was much quieter.” He continues…But I still enjoy coming here to work everyday; however, almost everyone has a cell phone now and our work has dropped 70%. But I still love to capture memories for people and work brings me purpose. I receive 5 soles per photo (About $1.25). It’s not much, but it supports me.” I walk a few blocks from here and get the photos printed and bring them back to people.”
I’m here 9am-5pm almost everyday. My family has told me to stop working and rest, but I’ll work until my last day on earth.”
A few moments later, another photographer walks up and introduces him self as Juan Carlos. He’s one of Serapio’s sons. He too works as a photographer here in the plaza and keeps an eye on his father. Juan Carlos is a delight. He deserves his own outright dedicated story.
We talk about the changing nature of Cusco, the challenges to cultural traditions, politics and his relationship with photography and his dad and how lucky he is to have had his father in his life for so long. Juan Carlos pulls over a vendor and not surprisingly offers to buys us all a juice. He wants nothing for it. It’s a gift, or for him “it just feels right.” We all offer a “Salud” as we clink glasses together before pouring out a tiny amount to offer to pachamama (mother earth).
We continue to chat for awhile, and I ask to take a few photos of these men. A photographer taking photos of photographers. A treasure. I felt giddy inside. This is what it’s all about, I screamed inside.
I took down Juan Carlos’s email and have since sent him several photos as those special family memories. It all comes full circle…..and alludes to the power of imagery and the experiences and stories it gives us in this world.
I told Serapio next year when I visit, I hope to celebrate his 100th birthday and learn more about his story. It’s one to pursue and honor his life and work…
Hopefully, this is to be continued….
And it was…
I posted this story on social media and received incredible messages about people seeking out Serapio after reading my story. One in particular stood out. The power of imagery and storytelling…
Bodith Lake, Pakistan.
We stroll along an ancient dirt path among the willows, poplars, wild roses and cottonwoods above Bodith Lake in the Hunza Valley. The mighty Passu Cones tower to the heavens framing our backdrop A crisp wind flutters across the leaves and an irrigation channel provides a melodic tune further nurturing a sense of peace and presence. A storybook scene.
We come around a bend and find two men sitting in the shade.
“ Salam alaikum.” We offer our greetings.
“Theek hai, shuk-reeyaa.” (We are fine thank you).
Both men touch then reach out their hands for a soft handshake then returning their hands to touch their hearts, a sign of welcoming and honoring us as equals.
We get to chatting with our translators Matthieu and Amin. Matthieu asks how old they are? One quickly responds…
“I’m 1 less than 100.” “Health is good. Knee hurts but my mind is sound.”
“What’s the secret?” We ask.
The men softly reach for the other’s hand and a tender loving grasps follows. Their souls smile.
The man on the right replies’ “Eating fresh food and cherries, drinking lots of chai, breathing fresh mountain air, being happy and spending time with dear friends.”
There you have it. The wisdom of a long and fulfilling life.
It’s these moments of humanity that soften and vibrate deep within.
Borrowing from Matthieu Paley’s project “The Softness of Man” and a ‘quote from a ‘wizard’ he met along the way…”We have come from the same stream, which has split to many rivers.”
Make time for tenderness, for there’s so much strength that resides within our authentic selves. Let happiness ripple through our hearts, and prioritize time to sit under shaded trees with those we care about most. Being content with the here and now. Chatting but also allowing space for quiet reflections together.
We thank the men for their time and let the continue their conversation and head on our way. I offer my appreciation and let them know how special it is for me they’ve kindly offered us gifts of wisdom that only a long life can lend.
These two fortuitous encounters on opposite ends of the globe with two 99 year old men this yea can only be reflected into wonderful gifts of growth. Consider this my diary as a means to introspectively return to these in the years to come as a special reminder on how to honor our elders, sit with ourselves, just be, take it back to the basics and admire the gift of life. Hopefully, if I make it to 99, I’ll be able to share my reflections….
