A Return to the Sacred Valley of the Incas

IN NOVEMBER, 2005, I TRAVELED in Peru through the Sacred Valley of the Incas, from the altiplano around Lake Titicaca, dropping by stages to the nominal beginning of the incredible Amazon downriver from Iquitos. I had not been there for more than 30 years and was struck by an accelerating process among indigenous people that could be called sincretismo.¹ It's not a new word, but seems particularly relevant there now. Consistent with the view of Spanish invader-discoverers, the word indio itself is now redefined by some as coming from the Spanish "Los-sin-Dios," literally "the-without-Gods." There were some 8 million indios in the Valle Sagrado alone when the Spanish arrived. The Andean slopes are lined with thousands of miles of neglected terraces where food was grown. How many years of human toil lie there? The most impressive thing about Machu Picchu, for me, is that as I walk among and on the precisely cut, polished, fitted stones of that vast terraced city fortress, I sense I'm walking on the rounded backs of uncounted millions of lives. But despite my sober reflections, there is evidence of change, much of it taking the form or syncretism.

¡Halloween! El dia de los muertos, is a traditional religious celebration in honor of the dead, and begins a week of festivities. Even the most remote altiplano cemetery is crowded with celebrants, processions, music, and feasting. Churches are filled with worshipers and flowers. Among the indios, however, Halloween is consistent with their love of celebration, of music, dance, and bright masked costumed revelry. On arriving in Puno, I was surprised to see many signs bearing jack-o'-lanterns and the admonition ¡Feliz Halloween! Until late at night on the 31st of October, the narrow streets were clotted with adults and children in witch costumes, painted faces, gaudy hair dress, masks, painted bodies, and every outrageous costume imaginable. Packs of children invaded stores and restaurants until late at night for handouts of candy or trinkets. Meanwhile, in the press and on TV, somber citified folk agonized about a foreign and barbarous cultural invasion of a serious religious celebration. For indigenous people, however, Halloween is in perfect harmony with their most cherished traditions. The witch, the owl, the black cat and crow, the Dracula mask, treats, and revelry are perfectly syncretic today in Puno, if not in Lima (yet). Santa seems out of place there; Jack is right at home.

Fujimori Schools. Clutches of healthy, well-dressed, indio school children prowl the paths of Machu Picchu shepherded by their teachers. Villages mainly populated by indigenous peoples are studded with new ecuelas fujimori, or Fujimori schools. The ex-president, now better described as fugitive Fujimori, was accused of abuse of power and fled to Japan. In a carefully scripted return, he was recently arrested in Chile, and will likely be turned over to the Peruvian government. He may run for president again in the upcoming elections, perhaps from jail. He is popular in the altiplano for ruthlessly controlling the Shining Path terrorism and for investing in rural education.

The Uros of Lake Titicaca. When I last visited the floating islands of Lake Titicaca 30 years ago, the Uros lived isolated and marginal lives of some 30 years average duration. They tended to peer at curious tourists with sullen suspicion and fear, sometimes with hostility, or as if trying to be invisible. The small island we visited in 2005 was inhabited by three or four families, who now farmed mainly...turistas! We were a group of 14. The people met us in full dress. We were mutually introduced one by one. The Uros, however, gave curious names like Valter, and Rocky, and Mitchiko, obviously adopted from world travelers who came to them. They took us into their totora reed homes, demonstrated food preparation, offered samples of cooking, explained the ecology of the island, how it was constructed, how long it would last, how it was fastened to the lakebed; how guinea pigs, birds, vegetables, fish, were grown or obtained; and details of potable water and sewage management. They showed us their guest hut, where world visitors often stay for days or weeks. They sold woven goods, memorabilia, and boat rides. Nearby were a rudimentary health facility and the ubiquitous evangelical school. A solar panel had been installed by the wily Fujimori for TV and communication.

We gathered in a circle and were each asked where we were from, what we did, what observations or questions we would like to make. Our hosts likewise asked questions of us. "Do you have children? How many?" In contrast to the '70s, they all spoke very good Spanish. Lastly, they sang songs in several languages, learned from travelers. The last was a version of "Oh Susanna," obviously adapted by Evangelicals. In turn, we unbent enough to sing an astounding rendition of The Star Spangled Banner, and Oh Susanna as we knew it. The experience was heartwarming, even for this time bitten traveler. I sensed the same syncretism among the Aymara (southern) indios on visiting a small, neat altiplano farm near Juliaca at 13,000 feet, where houses were entirely constructed with rock and adobe; there again was that combination of commercial hospitality, a wary but practical accommodation with the world, and fierce pride in the past as well as the present.

An Amazonas Tribe: It was the beginning of the rainy season. The village was located on a small tributary of the Amazon that would rise some 30 feet during the coming several months. We had seen rose/pink river dolphins, and fished for piranhas without success, catching only small Amazon catfish. The humid springtime air was heavy with a sweet scent of millions of orchid blossoms, and the symphonic sounds of jungle life. As the brown waterway narrowed under heavy canopy, we saw local birds and an occasional iguana. We stopped to stare at a pair of curious saddleback tamarinds that bobbed and swayed and looked back..

Several hundred houses sported hand lettered signs that read: "Lucho Luchin, junto con el pueblo construye casa no. Xxx." (Loosely translated, Lucho Luchin, together with the people, builds house no. Xxx.) Señor Luchin's name might also be translated as "struggling fighter" though it is a perfectly reasonable common name. The village was electrified, had a school, a soccer field, and a meeting area, and had been built recently with public money. It was very clean and nicely cared for.

Hand lettered signs carried admonitions useful in communal societies: "Si no quieres trabajar, no seas trabajo para los demás" (If you don't want to work, don't be work for the rest [of us.]) "Las palabras son de poco valor, cuando lo que se nececitan son obras." (Words are worthless when what is needed are deeds.) "La cortesía no cuesta nada y vale todo." (Courtesy is free but is priceless.)

Stilt houses surrounded a soccer field. We were in turn surrounded by dozens of children, many carrying pets: a three toed sloth, a green parrot, a mischievous spider monkey, primordial turtles that hid their heads to one side rather than retracting them, an iguana, a small python. We visited the school and were offered handcraft for sale. A village chieftain demonstrated his blowpipe and curare tipped arrows. Here again was a sort of syncretism, a spirited yet reserved accommodation to the world.

Lima. In my view, this pervasive and wide spread development among the indigenous people of Peru was far more impressive and encouraging than the long dominant nationalistic, stagnant economics and politics of the country. It seems to me that during 30 years Lima has not changed much despite some upscale construction. It is a captivating city because of its history, music, a varied and delicious cuisine, and the sharp contrast between a general drabness and many striking oases of color and beauty. It is said to never rain there; the city is almost always lies beneath a fog bank, which intermittently deposits a fine mist on the dark, dusty buildings and thirsty vegetation. Water, however, is plentiful underground throughout most of the pampas and in the brown rivers coursing from the Andes to the east. Despite obvious potential, it seems to me that a persistent lack of capital, clearly related to an ideological xenophobia and a suspicious and stagnating nationalism, still stymies significant progress. Without change, syncretism doesn't take place.

The Central Cathedral in Lima is generally typical of hundreds of churches built with the very stones and labor of the Incas. But extensive catacombs underground hold literally millions of human bones arranged for viewing. Why? The official word is that converted indios were allowed to be buried there, and after their bodies were decomposed by lime the bones were organized for reasons of space and esthetics. Another major feature of the cathedral is the choir area at the front of the church. It was hand carved from local, almost extinct cedar The elaborate choir chairs are absolutely stunning in detail, a rich, burnished red-orange color; maybe 40 in all. They were carved by indios with little figures at the front edge of every chair arm, each a bare-breasted, pregnant native woman. Another striking syncretic feature is a big mural of the Last Supper. The table features ears of corn in the bowl to the right and in front of Christ, and there are potatoes in the bowl front left. The glasses are filled with chicha morada, a purple, non-alcoholic native drink made from violaceous colored corn. In the center is a platter holding a large roasted cuy, or guinea pig, lying on its back, little roasted paws and legs reaching up into the air like a struggling infant. Most notable is Judas, who sits looking out at the viewer holding his bag of sheckels. But his face is precisely that of Pizzarro, who murdered the Incan God King Atahualpa after promising to set him free in exchange for gold. Pizarro-Judas betrayed the Sun God as Judas did the Son of God.

The mural was done by indios of course, like almost all the tedious work in the vice-royalty of Peru, something like Peru today, like the Inca empire, and, it occurs to me, something like California today.

Hugo. One night in Cusco, tired of milling about during a very loud and long communist/ socialist political rally in the central square, I returned to my hotel to watch Venezuelan president Hugo Chávez on TV. A day before the opening of the Summit of the Americas meeting in Mar del Plata Argentina, Chávez led a preemptive demonstration opposing the promised Bush push for free trade. He called on Ché, Fidel, and Evita like a young Castro with several very important differences: He has oil money and works in concert with Middle East producers; is moreno/mestizo, partly indio rather than educated white elite; professes devout Catholicism; and his ambition is to unite the continent in a Bolivarian South American nation. He spoke for more than an hour, proposing a spate of social, economic and political programs that he himself, or Venezuela, would largely fund. He called for the union of nations of the continent in a military alliance, a NATO-like South American Treaty Organization that would adamantly oppose capitalist world power. The following day, Chavez attended the American States summit. There, the presidents of Brazil, Argentina, Paraguay and Uruguay took a public stand similar to his. Only Bush and President Fox of Mexico opposed him, precipitating a war of words and recall of the Mexican ambassador from Venezuela. It's hard to see how anyone could unite the diverse and jealous nations of South America without serious bungling by North America. But it is a syncretic possibility, like Halloween becoming an important altiplano holiday. At the least, Chávez may be another force for change, for syncretism. In December, 2005, Bolivia elected South America's first truly indio president.

john@loofbourow.com

1. Syn-cre-tism: ...reconciliation or union of different or opposing principles, practices, parties, as in philosophy or religion. Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1996