Inca ruins, 2010

Another grand week. So much done, seen. Inca ruins, more processions this Santa Semana, visit to the largest mercado, local food tasting, parcial participation in the apprehension of a thief, as well as participation in an Inca ritual involving burning cocoa leaves, plus amazing scenic memories.

But, will focus on the seven Inca sites visited. Despite many fond memories of American native structures in Chaco Canyon, Mesa Verde and other locations, there is no comparison to the Inca construction. The skill displayed is incomprehensive. Massive stones, sometimes from distant locations, so perfectly quarried, cut, modified, sculpted, placed, that no adhesive is used nor needed. So perfectly fit that a knife blade cannot penetrate between. And not all are squared. Many have multiple sides, one in particular is famous for the twelve sides, each representing some Incan meaning. Yet, as if some great jig saw puzzle found on the tables at the senior center, all fit so neatly both in balance and shape to create massive walls, straight lines, withstanding centuries of earthquake prone tendency, which modern Peru cannot duplicate in strength nor structure. Some are placed not only for structural use, but also representation. See if you can find the duck in flight in the attached photos.

Built for varied purposes, ceremonial and religious ritual, commercial, military outlook and defense, noble or priestly residence. The location of these structures add to the impression. Many located on steep moutainside, layered on terraces climbing up the mountain. How was it done technically, how many people needed?
Many, particularly the ritual sites, have been engineered for water systems, from the numerous cascades in the area, with irrigation canals, fountains and baths for cleansing prior to entry. They still function perfectly without intervention. Simple, functional, beautiful. The sound of splash, the movement of wave within receptor, draws you, tempts you to put your feet under, but the guards watch. Yet, at one time, people gathered, cleansed, the entered for devotion to a variety of designees, almost all related to Pachumama – tierra madre.

Tantomachay, Pukapukara, Q’enqo, Saqsaywaman, Pisac,Ollantaytambo, Temple of the Son. All wonderfully different, impressive. I must say my favorite (Machu Pichu is in May) is Ollantaytambo. Immense coverage of the moutains and valley. The pueblo still occupies and lays over the same stone streets, and many of the walls stand as strong as centuries past. Too narrow for vehicles I can easily walk with the ghosts of the Incas. Hmmmm. I wonder. Would I have been king, noble, sacerdote (priest), artisan, or work in the fields, birds distant, water from the well aside.

We can make it, I know we can.
Only time will tell.
Let’s take a walk down to the water
Let’s go to the well.
Hear that low humming underground
Hear the skylark in the dell
While the world is sleeping
Let’s go to the well.
Sometimes my heart feels like a dandelion
Seeds scattered in a careless wind
Nothing to show for my life and time
But innocent wonder in the face of thunder
Feeling like something is about to begin.

Dia del Senor de los Temblores

This Monday was a major day in Cusco, celebration of the day of Senor protector from earthquakes. Almost an all day affair. A beautiful wooden carving of the crucifixion normally maintained in the cathedral in the central plaza is carried to a variety of churchs in the central area of town. Literally thousands observe the slow procession from church to church, beginning in the afternoon. As the crucifixion is carried through the streets, the observers throw billions of beautiful flower petals upon the crucifixion as it moves through the streets. I am not sure the of the flower except it is found in the area obviously and has high meaning to the andean people. This is again one of those strange mixtures of catholic and Incan belief. The ritual is similar to other catholic celebrations, while the image of Christ used in Incan fashion to acknowledge the connection to the mountains and mother earth is definitively tied to the Incan belief. I personally do not know how it is all reconciled. I can only witness to the fact that this day attracts thousands.

That night the procession ends after maybe five hours of movement around the central area of the city, where at least five churchs, massive, historic and beautiful, sit within a two block area. A Canadian friend and I met Elvis on the streets prior to the full gathering of folk in the plaza about two hours before the reappearance of Christ back to home presence in the cathedral. Elvis was trying to attract patrons to one of the balcony restaurants overlooking the plaza. This was a perfect overlook, so we accepted Elvis´invitation as well as his free offer of Pisco sour, the national drink of Peru. We enjoyed a simple meal, pisco sours, and awaited the arrival of the crucifixion. During this time the cathedral and adjacent church bells rang in response to each other. Beautiful the sound of the campanas. Particulary one massive bell in the cathedral bellowed out a beautiful base tone, that brought a tinge of emotion to me at least. Story is that the original clapper was of gold, but because the sound was so enormous it cracked both the bell and the tower wall itself. So, they replaced it with a smaller metallic version. Still, the sound was wonderful.

About eight the sighting came. By now the plaza was filled, standing room only. As the crucifixion moved to the front portal of the cathedral the crowd quieted. Slowly the cross was turned to face the door, but before proceeding up the steps, the men bearing the crucifixion moved to make Christ bow three times. And as faitfully linked, the crowd of believers kneeled. I failed to mention that bomberos, firemen and trucks were parked to the side of the church. When finally the crucifixion was marched back inside, the alarms screamed. Not sure the modern connection here, not really enamored of the use, particularly with the beauty of bells so easily present. But, that is how it was done. As soon as Christ was within, the alarms stopped, the crowd clapped and dispersed. That quick.

But, what a wonderful experience this was for me. Like nothing I have ever seen, nor felt.

Cusco, 2010

¡Aieeee Cuenca! ¡Increible! Que una experiencia positiva this has started to be. This timely place is like no other I have seen, visited, or lived within. Once the heart of the Inca empire it still holds close to that heritage despite the efforts of Spanish conquest and dominion to erase and displace. So instead, Cusco presents a strange, sometimes shameful, sometimes embarassing, mostly wonderful mixture (mezcla) of Inca ans spanish. The Inca language of Quechua is as present as espanol, adding to my confused attempt at learning spanish. Where the spanish came they destroyed virtually every Inca structure in their path. But, what is found in this wonderful place is spanish structure over partially destroyed Inca foundation. It is easily seen where Catholic cathedral or church stuctures rise from the walls of Inca temples. Religion itself has often united the multiple deity worship of the Inca into the Catholic ritual and practice.

It is almost too easy to get lost here. There is a slight patchwork of street placement. However, there are almost as many incoherent, almost invisible, pathways diverting to unknown intersections, many using the very Incan rock roaks laid out between temple sites. Way too narrow for vehicles you have to follow as young Judy Garland walked and sang up that yellow brick road. Not too far fetched an idea either as on Temple of the Sun, its blank walls still visible, once had gold on those walls, that reflected the fullness of the sun down the Avenida del Sol toward another distant and massive defensive structure, Saqsaywaman (pronounced in a drunken drawl as Sexy Woman). If you squint your eyes you can easily imagine the mirrowed rays of gold bouncing off the stone avenue from the temple walls. Of course the spanish took the gold and ran.

People are everywhere, Peruvian and turistica. Even on these strange side streets you often will find a Quechuan woman sitting against the walls weaving some textile creation from llama or alpaca. And, most expectedly wanting to sell her products. I have yet to see any signs of affluence, so all are in constant wait to sell good or service, artwork, craft, shoeshine, food, photo. Some Andeans dress in full cultural attire, bring their youngest also so attired, and even llama or alpaca, themselves often decorated, expecting turisticas to take photos, for a cost of one sol, or about thirty cents. Why not? And, these children´s faces could change the heart of the coldest and most greedy on Wall Street. Certainly memories and photos to have and share.

Since few read this far, I will come back next week with tails of Inca ruins.

I hate graveyards and old pawnshops
For they always bring me tears.
Can´t forgive the way the rob me
Of my childhood souvenirs.

Memories they can´t be boughten
They can´t be won at carnivals for free
Well it took me years to get these souvenirs
And I don´t know how they slipped away from me.
(S. Goodman)

Lima, Peru 2010

Hola mi familia y mis amigos. I am doing my best to renew my blog. Technology here makes it difficult,but we will try. The high-tech infrastructure is weak. Plus, keyboards and other stuff are also different. However, do not give up yet.

My first days have been in Lima. Three days, one and a half too many. Very busy place, many people. Not much color except in the plazas and parks. But, a learning experience still. My hotel, the Bolivar, is and was a historic colonial. Quite nice, except it does have need of repair and maintenance, though the structure itself is beautiful.

I am not much of a museum guy, except, of course for art galleries. And so my disappointment that the one art museum, Museo de Arte, was closed for renovation until April. I have found some art in surprising places, much and most is tied to the Inca tradition in some way. Amazing the detail demonstrated centuries past. Includes the high importance of the shark, bull, owl, puma, condor and snake. Animals are indeed critical to the understanding.

Essentially visited only two places, the central area and one called MiraFlores, which is a section that lies next to the coast. More modern than the central area, upscale, and high dollar. One park named in honor of President Kennedy, another Parque del Amor, which apparently on the weekends fully demonstrates its name. A gigantic stone sculpture of two lovers in grasp and kiss lies within the park. Impressive overlook of the coastline.

Also went to a pre-Inca site, Huaca Pallaca(?). Consisted of pyramid, plazas and outlying buildings. Even though it predates the arrival of the Inca, it still demonstrates amazing ability with structure. They used a form of adobe, with dirt and conch shell, which provided the source for lime. No filler in between the bricks were used. Yet, the structure has withstood numerous earthquakes, even though recent effort to rebuild fallen areas with modernized replica of the adobe have not withstood recent earthquakes. And, we pay rising college costs for skills not able to compete with centuries old abilities? Explain that to me. Anyway, the place was amazing in size. Apparently human sacrifice of young women was an occurrence here. But, before the decapitation they were anesthetized. The burials in the location were reserved for the higher class. The sacerdotes, that is, priests, were buried here. For some reason they were decapitated after death, and a wooden mask was placed where the head once was. Another ritual was the breaking of huge vessels that I could easily hide in, similar to the tradition of some weddings where glasses and plates are smashed. All in all an interesting place.

Back in the central area are numerous beautiful and grand churches. Hard to choose one more beautiful than the next. Totally decorated, showing both the appreciation of art and faith as well as the use of art in developing and demonstrating faith. For me it is too bad, even deplorable, that the modern American church seems (to me) devoid of any connection to art, despite its gift to mankind from a higher power. But, . . . Still these iglesias son muy hermosas. Sculpture and painting in the most impressive demonstration of skill, effort and love. Enjoyed them all.

Did not enjoy the overall stay in Lima too much, though not unhappy with the stay. Just too many. But, lots of activity, particularly after sunset, and the streets filled with people. Too hot for me also, the Colorado Kid. Despite overcast skies I got burned, but I will survive.

I am already in Cusco with my family and have attended the first class. Cusco suits me. In a beautiful valley o.and much more. Will convey more later. Cial

October, 2009

I’m better with my muscles than I am with my mouth
I work the landscape in the summer
And raise the dust down south
And when I feel those chilly winds
Where the weather goes I follow
Pack up my traveling things, go with the swallows

And I might get lucky now and then
Sometimes I win some
And you might get lucky now and then
Sometimes you win some.

Now I’m rambling through this country glad (mad) as a man could be
Think I’ll just lay me under this old tree
On and on we go through this world of shuffling
If you got a truffle dog you can go truffling

But I might get lucky now and then
Sometimes I win some
And you might get lucky now and then
Sometimes you win some.

(M. Knopfler)

One last journey here in Colorado before I catch my breath and direct myself south for work and winter in Austin. Beyond that is hope for continued discovery.

This journey literally nudged and shoved me to the edge of cliffs where I saw an expanse of line, color and shape, that begged for view and then expression, whether a scream of wonder and amazement, or through the potential of paint, or photo. From the encouragement of a friend, who calls me a “seeker”, I first visited the Colorado National Monument, and then later returned to Pagosa along one of the listed “scenic routes” between scenic destinations in this land of beauty.

First, the Colorado National Monument slapped my senses with a perimeter drive around the rim of mesa cliffs, overlooking from a distance the town of Grand Junction. I reached this wonder in the last two hours of the day, not near enough time to take advantage of the changes in shape and shadow as the sun descended. Still, even in the sparing moments of the daylight, the creative changes of land surface caused by the interacting elements of erosion and the varying hardness of rock, provided a gallery of natural sculptures and colorful murals that excited both sense and emotion. To be blessed to stand above, beside and above such creation only brought questions, without answers, to my worthiness and receipt of such reward. What justified my gift, what action had I taken to deserve this view, my shared presence? What scripture passage says “seek and ye shall find”? For, me, the only thing it seems I have done is, as my friend noted, be a seeker. Something I cannot deny, a rather simple acknowledgment, that wraps many times around the packaged contents inside. Not just a search for sights such as this monument, but almost a quest for place and location, understanding, expression, change, impact, connection and too often control. Certainly a struggle to let one lead and assign others to follow.

Second day sent me down the route of river and stream, Gunnison, Dolores, and others unrecognized. Through red stone canyons, carved and cut deep, by the waterways running alongside, hundreds, maybe even a thousand or so feet below the tabletops. A marker notes the age of some of these rocks, some even older than the Grand Canyon. In some ways this route resembles the Grand Canyon, though the water is not as wild, nor the depths as great. Still, there were as many and varied canyons, broken off the axis road as the shattered lines of a windshield splintered by a kicked rock from an unconcerned 18-wheeler recklessly speeding by. A 30-mile distance covered took more than two hours due to my constant need to pull aside and gaze and gasp. Cottonwood was in full golden cover along these liquid trails, providing a color wheel of contrast to the red canyon walls, and the occasional olive green juniper. Such beauty seemed unconcerned about my presence or impact, having seen and felt the steps of the first humans thousands of years ago, later followed by Native American dwellers or travelers, then the Spanish, eventually miners (seekers themselves). There were a few markers to note the first interlopers, and some direction given to show evidence nearby. But, there had to be undiscovered signs hidden, or at least, unobserved, of indications of other seekers, others transient in their lifestyle, others curious and needy to establish their place and purpose. In this amphitheater, it is impossible for me to believe or accept that previous steps could have been taken otherwise.

Now back at home, having to pack for that trip down south, another scene, another setting, a continued search.

El Calafate, April 29, 2009

Normally I ramble in sequential order, but this time I will begin with the best. All has been good, but this last Argentinian adventure is leaving me a most positive memory of my visit. As long as I can return the remaining 6,000 plus miles over a 24-hour period, without being quarantined for pig flu, then this last memory will be a keeper.

Started the day with a nice long warm shower and real coffee, both of which were lacking with my familes (about the only negative), got on the bus about 8:00 for the three hour ride to El Chalten, across the barren steppe that foots the Andes. Sunrise is about 9:00, so thanks to my Ipod, I was content. The bus was comfortable, clean and not crowded, nothing like my previous South American bus experiences. The sun rose on schedule, casting beautiful lines above the blue purple shadowed landscape below. If you want true wide open spaces, this is the place to come. Other than the isolated estancias, that lie miles apart (original land grants were 20,000 hectares), there is no human evidence here.

Along the way we make a brief rest stop at a converted estancia, a place where Butch and Sundance made presence before a nearby bank robbery put them on the run, before their death near the Bolivia border. Onward. If you have crossed the desert in the northwest corner of New Mexico, and have viewed at great distance the strange rise above the level landscape, which turns out to be Shiprock, then you have an impression of what I received.

As we approached west, closing in on snowcapped peaks, appeared Mount Fitz Roy. What a sight. I have been rewarded with views and presence at numerous peaks in Colorado, the Sisters of Wyoming, Half Dome in Yosemite, Devils Tower of exterrestial fame, and even the Matterhorn, Chimborazo, and now Aconcaqua. Nothing prepared me for Fitz Roy. The almost 90 degree vertical rock faces, like the bottom row of teeth of some ancient menacing meat-eater, stops you immediately. Soon our bus stops at El Chalten, a town of 500 servicing thousands of hikers and climbers in the summer. But, this is the tailend of fall. Graced by one of the few windless days over the past month, plus full sun, I found one of the trails for an estimated 3-hour hike before I would have to turn and retreat. During my slow steady climb, I continued to view the glacial river valley below to my right, when a large dark shadow quietly passed over me. Instinctly I looked up to catch the spread winged flight of a condor, no more than 40-feet above me, that had left the rock cliffs to my left. What good luck.

It continued as I watched it glide down the valley, out of sight. With a sigh and deep breath, I began again. A little more than an hour later, briefly talking to a native and his Russian wife (they use english to talk to each other), I take a brief rise to a rock mirador (overlook). You could do nothing but freeze in awe at the sight, almost as if you could reach out and touch using some kind of 3-D visual aide. Total amazement at this creation. What a blessing to have seen this. A few more moments in stillness, then continued on for another hour or so, interspersed with more stops and breathless moments. Eventually the sad state of affairs of bus schedules turned me around and I retreated. When I eventually sided next to the cliffs of the previous condor sighting, I stopped to look. There far above the cliffs were now three, circling at distant heights.

Down below back in town it did not take long to inspect the town. Returned to the bus stop for beer and papas fritas, and back on the bus. It was now dark and the lonely ride across the Argentina Patagonia steppe. No traffic on this road, which is maybe a good thing, since I have found that Argentina has the highest vehicular mortality rate in the world. (Ecuador is number three, so who is numero dos?) But, this day, no problemas, no eventos, nada. ¡Que un dia magnifica y increible!

Now to retrace my steps. The previous two days were about glacial watching. In Parque Nacioñal Los Glaciares, there are over 350 glaciers. On my two days I saw maybe 20, via bus and boat. Truly beautiful and amazing, as to both the visual and the geologic. For those doubtful as to human impact to our earth, note that these glaciars have retreated in the last 20 years the same distance as in the previous 20,000 years.

At one of these, Perirto Moreno, I witnessed some cracking and falling from the advancing wall, at a rate of two meters per day. The cracking sound from just small chunks would knock you out of your LaZ Boy. Unfortunately, the crack is heard after the fall, so getting a photo shot is near impossible. However, the park is working with university scientists to refine an advanced warning system, similar to earthquake detection. Strategically placed sensors would detect the proximate location of impending collapse, send a message to several sites on the opposing catwalk views above the river, which would then send laser light points on the wall soon to collapse. Their hope is to perfect a 30-second advanced warning for photographers and other onlookers.

The shapes and colors appear as abstract ice sculptures as they drift down Lago Argentino, away from the glacial walls. All degrees of blue shades. The degree of density from previous compression determines the amount of air in the ice, which accordingly determines the spectrum changes from deep blue to white. Again, just amazing the beauty that is found on this earth, in this country.

Much more to share. But, this is the last posting for Argentina 2009. Hoping departure and return is uneventful. Then I can evaluate my six weeks here with a five star rating. My spanish is still crude, needs much work, and more time. As for Argentina, beautiful place, beautiful people, maybe the nicest I have ever encountered anywhere. Somewhat surprising reflective of the brutal changes made since the 60s, to have such smiles, and to have protected much of what has been a gift to them, but all are things of which I shall remember. Muchisimas gracias por todo.

And friend and family, I will be back this weekend for lecture and slide show to any who wish to inquire. Ciao.

Bariloche, April 19, 2009

It just seems to get better the longer I stay here. Away from B.A. and Mendoza I am where I should have been from the beginning. In the mountains almost free of crowds and noise. Bariloche exists for the tourist, but it rests amidst mountains, a volcano or two, and an unbelievable glacial lake.

Today I took an excursion and in one short day see the variety, and only a part, of the Patagonia region. I wonder at how easily one could love this place, and in a few hours find stillness and loset thoughts beside the reflection of cliff and plant upon the mirrored surface of the lakes, which are strung along one after another, as turquoise stones on a Navajo necklace. Though not a fisherman, what thoughts, what excitement, what expectation, one might have to wade out from the shore and cast out, only slightly shaking the surface, alone. Other than these tourist vans, no others appear in sight. How strange to have a treasure chest open to view, and no pirates to grab the gold, the jewels within.

One stop, two stops, along the way to our destination of San Martin de los Andes, I enjoy tortas fritas, somewhat like sopapillas, in small secluded get aways within the immense space of Nahuel Huapi National Park. Isolated hosterias, distanced from the city and pueblo, cabins in the woods, awaiting the arrival of Red Riding Hood and the wolf. Alas, too little time spent, the burden and disappointment of schedule. Not sure the size of the park, but we were in and out throughout the day. Lago Nahuel Huapi lies within, stretched out full length, from satellite view, looking like some ancient petroglyph depiction of an antelope in stride.

We reach San Martin, a pueblo in the mouth of a horseshoe, the open mouth one of seven lakes along the way, the shoe being the mountains rising around. Luckily we approach from above and get a downcast view of the network of criss crossed streets. We stop for lunch, and due to siesta time, little activity otherwise. Our driver gives us a short view upon departure, driving around to give us a look at the mixture of frontier cabin and swiss chalet architecture. No adobe here.

Only a few miles out and a dramatic change in scenery. The trees disappear and steppe trundra vegetation on not so tall mountains, with numerous volcanic rock eruptions, scattered about. Off in the distance is a perfectly coned shaped volcano, snow-capped, towering above its surroundings, the king above the lords below. Along the way is a sign to look for condors. No, I saw none, but further along did see some Guanaco, and even a flock of pink flamingo on the edge of yet another lake.

As we drove nearer to Bariloche, the sun was in its final hour. Almost as if by stage call, the rock croppings increased in number as the road twisted beside an unnamed lake for miles and miles. Unfortunately I sat on the wrong side of the bus, with direct sunlight in my camera view. But the shapes danced, their movement not hindered by their cemented fixture, only by human lack of imagination. Though religion does not appear as prevalent here as I anticipated, these stone figures easily became characterizations of New Testament story, robed, bowed, hands clenched in prayer.

As the sun resisted its final descent, the colors amazed me. The ochred and crimson vegetation, set against the red cliff, the black volcanic rock, the sky blue water lit from beneath, the occasional gold alamo, and the random pine, a full rainbow (arco iris en español) stretched across the wide horizon before us. I try to compare this landscape, but cannot. A bit of Big Bend, some of New Mexico, Monument Valley, yet none fit. ¡No importa!

How easily early man would have found necessity to somehow create ceremony to give thanks, to receive grace in this setting. And, maybe, what a shame that an equal spiritual effort to connect, to relate, to confirm, may be little more than a one-day excursion, documented by quick photo collections.

These are memories. Two weeks for only a few more.

Memories can´t be boughten
Can´t be won at carnivals for free
It took me years to get those souvenirs
And I don`t know how they slipped from me.
(S.Goodman)

God moved in that moment
And the angels all cried
And they gave you a memory
That you will have ´till you die.

Where there´s too many memories
For one heart to hold
Once a future so bright
Now seems so distant and cold
And the shadows grow long
And your eyes look so old
When there´s too many memories for one heart to hold.
(S. Bruton)