Marta, our cook and housekeeper, a cheerful young woman in her twenties, was pouring orange soda into the mouth of a calf.

The calf had no choice in the matter. It was tied up and on the ground. Its right ear had already been clipped. A "B" had been branded on its rump. And a necklace of red and orange pompoms had been festooned over its head.

The poor, suffering beast did not realize that it was the fair maiden of yesterday's marcada – the branding of the cattle – an offering to Pachamama, the Earth goddess many of the indigenous people of the Andes still worship.

At the Diary, we favor lost causes, underdogs and die-hards. Maybe that is what attracted me to this place. It is at the end of the road. It is also where Marta's ancestors – if any survived – resisted the Spanish conquistadores for more than 100 years after the rest of the region had given up.

Today, it is where old customs and traditions hang on.