8/20? no date: At the weaving co-op I tied friendship bracelets on to the slender wrists of the gaggle of young girls that clustered around us. The old woman dressed me in a vest and traditional hat. The hat, nearly flat with flowers embroidered on it, was an extraordinary affair.
Too bad the vest was uneven, I might have bought it, but we already bought so many things yesterday I didn’t want to load up on more things that I really didn’t want. They greeted us like old friends after yesterday‘s purchases. The women taking interest in who buys what since this is a co-op.
Being on this island is like stepping back in time. No cars, no roads, just cobbled paths.
Sunset, a desert lake the size of an inland sea, but at 12,000 feet from sea level. With the setting sun comes the chill of being at 12,000 feet. The lake is an aqua gray, with its skin fluxed into patterns by the complex winds. I keep looking for seals, it looks so much like the ocean.
We spent the day hiking up to the ruins at the top of the paps, twin volcanos of Pachamama, which has both a pyramid and round amphitheater, and then we hike over to the crest of the next volcano, Pachatata with a square temple. Both have niches and little cuy houses under the hearths. Interesting little locked doors. There are shallow tunnels beneath these doors reinforced with hinges and padlocks. Wonder what is stored in them?
There is evidence of earlier fires. The multitudes of stone arches, like portals to other worlds, are dressed with dried flowers. Apparently we’ve just missed an important ceremony.
But for the most part, the Incas have abandoned the top of this island, especially Pachatata. The terraces below us yield bright gardens of maize, and wheat stubble. Harvest festival? At Pachamama, stone cutters still divide the stones with crowbars and hammers looking for a clear stone to hew. We learn the volcanic rocks don’t make good corners.
In the pueblo of Santa Rosa, close to the lake, life is lived in the same fashion it has been for thousands of years. Tiny misshapen two-story dark houses, often windowless, tiny beds. Generations have lived here.
It is said the sun god, the Inti was born on an island not far from here. The Incas claimed this place as their ancestral home. Either that, or an older culture was settled here and the Incas took over, or this place is the birth place of the builders of Machu Picchu.
Being on this island is like stepping back in time. No cars, no roads, just cobbled paths.
Sunset, a desert lake the size of an inland sea, but at 12,000 feet from sea level. With the setting sun comes the chill of being at 12,000 feet. The lake is an aqua gray, with its skin fluxed into patterns by the complex winds. I keep looking for seals, it looks so much like the ocean.
Last night a surprise rain played on the galvanized roof. The adobes all sport new roofs, new economy comes to the island via the tourists. The separate kitchen still have the thatch reed roofs. Five girls dressed in full skirts of red and green, rush to the kitchen of the house where we are staying.
Children playing fútbol, soccer in an empty field. A baby is crying, the mother exclaims in Quechua. A woman in a full red skirt and black mantilla borrows something from her neighbor. She hurries to the kitchen with a white bucket and the cuy, the guinea pigs whistle an alarm call, and scuttle to safety into their stone abodes beneath the hearth. Dinner cooks in earthenware pots, full round ollas, blackened from dung and charcoal fires.
We spent the day hiking up to the ruins at the top of the paps, twin volcanos of Pachamama, which has both a pyramid and round amphitheater, and then we hike over to the crest of the next volcano, Pachatata with a square temple. Both have niches and little cuy houses under the hearths. Interesting little locked doors. There are shallow tunnels beneath these doors reinforced with hinges and padlocks. Wonder what is stored in them?
There is evidence of earlier fires. The multitudes of stone arches, like portals to other worlds, are dressed with dried flowers. Apparently we’ve just missed an important ceremony.
But for the most part, the Incas have abandoned the top of this island, especially Pachatata. The terraces below us yield bright gardens of maize, and wheat stubble. Harvest festival? At Pachamama, stone cutters still divide the stones with crowbars and hammers looking for a clear stone to hew. We learn the volcanic rocks don’t make good corners.
In the pueblo of Santa Rosa, close to the lake, life is lived in the same fashion it has been for thousands of years. Tiny misshapen two-story dark houses, often windowless, tiny beds. Generations have lived here.
It is said the sun god, the Inti was born on an island not far from here. The Incas claimed this place as their ancestral home. Either that, or an older culture was settled here and the Incas took over, or this place is the birth place of the builders of Machu Picchu.
Much of this was used in my article for The Paper.
Note bene: There was a round altar on one of the volcanoes, and on the other there was a square altar, and enclosure on Amantani. I asked one of the women and she said, as she padded both my breasts, PachaMama, y PachaTata! I was blessed in this way.
Tara Edna Miller from Colorado who lives part time on Taquile, and imports weaving, said, Yes, Amantani has two high points with ceremonial sites. Taquile has more than one ceremonial enclosure, but Mulcina is the high point and makes a triad with PatchaTata on Amantani and Auki Karu on the Capachica peninsula.
Tara Edna Miller from Colorado who lives part time on Taquile, and imports weaving, said, Yes, Amantani has two high points with ceremonial sites. Taquile has more than one ceremonial enclosure, but Mulcina is the high point and makes a triad with PatchaTata on Amantani and Auki Karu on the Capachica peninsula.
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