Sipan Stories

As I’ve mentioned before, my site is home to some ancient Moche ruins – a civilization which pre-dates the Incas by nearly 1,000 years. The ruins are most famous for the 1987 discovery of the Señor de Sipán, an incredibly well-preserved tomb of a warrior king. Many of the artifacts from this tomb, and others more recently discovered, are on display at our local site museum, a state-run facility.

The story of the discovery and excavation of the tomb is a popular one around these parts. There is the version that exists in the “official” history of the region, and there are the versions that are passed from family to family. As you can imagine, the official history lacks some of the local color and flair I’ve come to expect from my Peruvian neighbors. I’ve been here long enough to listen with a heavy dose of skepticism, but after nearly two years piecing together the disparate bits, doing a little of my own research, and brushing up on archaeological vocabulary, I’m ready to take the story public.

Get ready – it’s a fascinating yarn of mystery, the supernatural, history, and international intrigue. And also one that’s surprisingly heartbreaking.

Seriously.

The Moches were dominant from around 100 AD to 800 AD, an impressive reign by all accounts. The surviving pyramids (the huacas for which my town is named) don’t look like much; they’re large, misshapen dirt mounds. Before the archaeologists descended, local residents didn’t know, or didn’t care, that they were valuable relics from the past. In the time of Spanish colonization, homesteads were built directly on the huacas. Weather, time and human destruction have taken their toll.

Local legend claims spirits still haunt the area. I’ve heard a number of people tell me about times they were walking by the tomb at night and heard strange whistling noises. One of the night guards swears he saw something glowing above an excavation site. The dogs, which supposedly have a sixth sense about these things, won’t go near the tombs on a full moon.

Beginning in the early 1980s, local residents began finding little gold statues or ceramics in the fields around the huacas. My host mom loves to tell a story of her kids bringing home huge hunks of turquoise they found in the mud after a particularly hard rainstorm. Every local family has stories of treasures found and lost again.

In the mid-1980s the Bernales family claims to have received a divine message directing them to the source of all these riches. Mr. Bernales, who coincidentally is a distant cousin of Papy’s family, told his friends and family that he’d dreamt of four donkeys pulling carts of gold from the mounds. He is said to have pressured Papy’s father to go on a late-night raid with him. Papy’s papy declined and the secret raid went ahead without him. The Bernales family racked up some serious loot, and they weren’t shy about telling people: supposedly their windowsills were decorated with gold statues. A local bigwig got wind of the fortune and alerted the authorities. According to my host family, a few months later, police stormed the Bernales residence, severely beat Mr. Bernales, and sacked all the loot. Mr. Bernales died in the car on the way to Chiclayo.

Shortly thereafter, in the spring of 1987, archaeologist Walter Alva discovered the warrior tomb, directly below where Bernales and friends first hit it big. The artifacts were hauled down in donkey-pulled carts. To this day, long-time residents of Huaca Rajada and Sipán scoff at Alva’s name, not believing he deserves the credit and fame for the discovery that cost one of their own his life.

The relationship between the town and the archaeologists was doomed from the start. Archaeological journals and history books mention little of the role played by the local excavators, to say nothing of the Bernales family saga. In the months following the initial discovery, huaceros (loosely translated as ‘grave robbers’) descended on the site, pillaging hundreds of priceless artifacts for sale on the black market. International investigators, including the FBI and Interpol, were called to the scene. Artifacts were found as far away as Philadelphia. A large majority of the pieces were recovered, but some remain lost to this day.

It’s unfortunate to lose such valuable relics, and with them a window into the past. But what is perhaps more tragic is the daily reminder to the people of Sipán and Huaca Rajada of the narrow window of their future.

In the wake of the 1987 discovery Sipán landed on the international archaeology scene. And with the subsequent discoveries and the construction of the new site museum, there was a hope that the community could at long last capitalize on its rich history.

Unfortunately, the increasing numbers of tourists and high-profile visitors do little to change the economic realities in these towns. The museum employs very few local workers, choosing instead to bus in “experts” from Chiclayo, Trujillo or Lima. The excavation site is only open for part of the year, and the additional workers hired earn a pittance for their manual labor. None of the proceeds from the ticket sales are invested back into the town.

This certainly does not mean that there aren’t opportunities for improving relationships between the museum and the community. There are. I’ve been trying to facilitate those meetings for two years. But the river of mistrust runs deep around here. Damn the man!

Editor’s Note: I am not an expert on this issue, and it’s more complicated than one blog entry can tackle, but I do feel confident in expressing my opinion as someone who has lived here, among the people, every day for the past 22 months.

Like Lists

My volunteer friends and I jokingly like to put together lists poking fun at Peruvians, a tongue-in-cheek way to let out some steam. I’m not going to publish “Things Peruvians Like” or its companion list, “Things Peruvians Are Scared Of” here because without understanding the context or the spirit of the lists, they seem a little harsh. We laugh because we love.

Instead, I've decided to share with you another list I've been working on:

Reasons I Like Peruvians:

• Their unwavering generosity;
• That no matter how many unexpected guests turn up at the dinner table, there’s somehow always enough food to go around;
• The women have a surprisingly raunchy sense of humor;
• They love to dance and do so completely unselfconsciously;
• They will tell you their life story immediately upon meeting you, which might be heartbreaking or heartwarming, but is always honest;
• Their lack of body image issues;
• And hand-in-hand with that, their rich culinary traditions;
• They love to throw a good party or tell a good story;
• That despite all the hardships they endure, they love to laugh – at themselves, at each other, at their country – and their humor is infectious;
• Because they welcome me into their homes as a friend, a sister, a daughter.

Some of my favorite relatives showing off their hospitality (and adorableness).

To me, Peru is like that kooky friend or aunt or cousin we all have. The one we roll our eyes at and laugh a little about, but who we secretly, passionately hope never changes because we love her for being exactly who she is with no apologies, and because when you break through the surface barriers and see the essence of the person (or place), it’s startlingly beautiful.

Peruvians: always a good time.

Bolivian Bonanza

For this year’s Easter break, I headed across the border to Bolivia. I am happy to report it was a much more successful trip than last year’s ill-fated canoe experience. It was a week of superlatives with visits to the world’s highest navigable lake, the world’s highest capital city, and the world’s largest salt flats. And I’d like to add my own superlative as my most favorite vacation to date.

The adventurers.

We started the trip in Puno, Peru, visiting the floating islands of Lake Titicaca, which I was excited to see. There are indigenous tribes that live on reed islands in the middle of the lake, eschewing modern technology and preserving a lifestyle that dates back centuries. However, I was a little disappointed. It was so touristy – a 30-minute boat ride to what amounted to a floating artisan market. The Ayamara culture is rich with history, but this felt like such a bastardization of that culture, catering to the lowest common denominator. We were ferried over to the ‘capital’ island (after paying an additional ‘tip’) where vendors offered inflated bottled water and postcards. Granted, we only had a couple hours, so we went for the fastest and cheapest tour. There are more remote islands that, I hope, offer a better glimpse into the true nature of these ancient peoples, but what I saw left me with an icky feeling. The lake was picturesque though, especially as we got further away from Puno.

On a floating island, Lake Titicaca.

The floating islands, made of reeds.

We then spent a few days in La Paz, Bolivia. The city is built in a stunningly dramatic fashion, cascading down steep mountainsides. It’s all windy hills (that leave you quite winded) and crowded alleyways full of Bolivian women in traditional dress hawking everything from mouse pads to potatoes. It is a decidedly third-world city, but charming in its own, loud way. There are also a surprising number of delicious international restaurants, which we took full advantage of, shockingly. (Bolivian food being the poor-man’s version of Peruvian food and thus not suitable for vacation!) I think we were all surprised at how often we kept comparing Bolivia to Peru, and further surprised by how often Peru won. Absence certainly does make the heart grow fonder.

Enjoying delicious Cuban food in La Paz.

In front of the presidential palace, La Paz. Take that, Evo!

Just like the locals!

However, La Paz came out ahead in the artisanry, or maybe it was just because it was different from what I’ve spent the last two years buying. Either way, we bought lots of souvenirs (mainly for ourselves), ate lots of meals, and hung out with other backpackers in the hostel bar.

A Bolivian alpaca.

The real adventure of the trip was a three-day tour of southwestern Bolivia, home of the salares (salt flats). My main motivation for the whole trip was seeing these salt flats; the rest was of little concern to me. Luckily, my naiveté paid off and I was floored by the entire trip. Words and pictures will never do the scenery justice … but that won’t stop me from trying!

Ready for anything.

We spent the majority of the first day on and around the salt flats. They were incredible. It’s blindingly white for as far as the eye can see. We were there on the tail-end of rainy season, so some parts of the salares were still underwater, turning them into giant reflecting pools. The best way I can describe it is simply white. Everywhere you looked was bright, bright white. It quite literally took my breath away (though, admittedly that might have had something to do with the altitude) and is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The big attraction of the salares is the amazing pictures you can take playing around with perspective. We had a little trouble figuring out the ‘trick’, but spent a hilarious couple hours trying our hardest. Eventually we had limited success. While the pictures are a wonderful memento, that view and that experience are what I will hold in my mind’s eye forever. Amazing.

Big ups on the salares of Uyuni, Bolivia.

After the awesomeness of the first day, I was prepared to be underwhelmed by the next two days of sightseeing. How wrong I was! The landscape of this part of the world is absolutely incredible. You’re always at least 4,000 meters above sea level; the clouds, when there are any, look to be within your grasp, and yet the horizon stretches interminably, so you forget you’re on top of the world.

Trippy landscapes.

The contradictions confound the senses and it’s hard to make sense of what you’re seeing. The best I can come up with is ‘otherworldly.’ We drove across unending sand dunes, punctuated by crystal clear high-altitude lakes encrusted with bright white mineral deposits. We drove across dried up lakebeds and through a Dali-esque landscape of lava rocks. We bunked down next to a crimson lake (tinted by billions of microorganisms) that was home to hundreds of pink flamingos. And behind it all were towering snow-capped mountain peaks. Every stop afforded another unique and stupefying vista. We saw the sun rise between the sulphuric burps of 5,000 meter-high geysers and watched the sun set over a dusty, remote Andean village. I’m not exaggerating when I say it’s the weirdest, most wonderful place I’ve seen.

The flamingos of Bolivia.

On the Bolivia-Chile border.

We spent a lot of time in cars, buses, and planes to see so many places in such a short amount of time but it was undoubtedly worth it. If you ever find yourself with an invitation to the altiplano of Bolivia, don’t hesitate to check it out for yourself!