Written by:
Erin Raber
Photographer:
courtesy promperú and Erin Raber
» Order
this Issue of Curve:
11.6
My first day in Lima, I wake up to an earthquake in the early morning hours, a sign of the changing of the seasons, according to local Peruvians. After the mild tremor slows to a halt, I leap out of bed and look out my 18th-floor hotel window. The span of the Pacific Ocean, covered in fog, hints at the approach of winter.
That morning I meet with the other members of my group, 15 gay men and one other lesbian, for a tour of downtown Lima, Peru’s capital.
Even on this first day, the busy streets of Lima seem familiar — they have the same energy of Mexico City, where I lived for a short time. I take it all in: the moneychangers, street traders and vendors; the policemen, businessmen and homeless beggars; the children selling chicles (gum), indigenous women selling blankets and young boys shining shoes against the backdrop of colonial buildings, sky scrapers and pre-Inca archeological sites.
With the migration in recent years from the highlands, Lima has become a reflection of all Peru’s gente — from European and native Andeans, African Peruvians, Chinese, Japanese, Italians, and Germans to indigenous Amazonian tribes. Despite centuries of discrimination, Peru’s indigenous peoples make up the majority of the population and much of their culture and tradition continues on, especially in the Sierra and jungles.
My 24-hour stay in Lima serves as brief visit and gateway to an adventure that begins in Cuzco and includes stops in the Sacred Valley of the Incas before my final destination: Machu Picchu.
The next day, I gasp for air as I step off the plane in Cuzco, one of the highest cities in the world at 11,000 feet above sea level. What was once the political, economic, military and religious capital of the ancient empire of the Incas is now a tourist destination. Located in the southeastern part of the Andes, Cuzco means “navel of the world,” a title derived from its former position as the hub for networks of roads that extended into Colombia and Argentina. At the outskirts of Cuzco lie the walls of Sacsayhuamán, an Inca fortress that towers over the city.
Driving down the cobblestone streets of Cuzco, it’s hard not to notice the colonial architecture fused onto Inca construction at every turn or the rainbow flags waving boldly all over the city. My guide quickly assures me that it is in fact the 400-year-old flag of the local descendants of the Incas, which upon closer look is slightly different from the Pride flag. Apparently, the similarity posed a problem for local officials when they learned of the rainbow flag’s significance in the gay community.
Upon my arrival at the Hotel Monasterio, I’m greeted warmly and offered a cup of coca tea to adjust to the high altitude. The coca leaf, considered sacred in Quechua culture, has many healing properties, one of them being the reduction of nausea and headache from altitude sickness.
From Cuzco I descend 3,000 feet into the Sacred Valley of the Incas (also known as the Urubamba Valley), a breathtakingly scenic ride past endless ridges of brown and red mountains and roads lined with small villages and houses made of adobe bricks and tiled roofs.
The bus stops in the town of Ollantaytambo. An Inca fortress nearby seems to be dressed in gold and literally towers over the inhabitants of this city, most of whom descend directly from the Incas who originally populated the area.
As we climb the small stone stairs leading to this Temple of the Sun, I move slower, trying simultaneously to catch my breath and feel the energy of this place. My chest tightens as I move through the ruins, and I pray quietly as we pass the sacrificial altar.
Leaving the ruins, we’re greeted by women in traditional Quechuan dress. They are selling postcards, along with beautifully colored textiles and other local artwork. Slowly, in our big bus, we move through the narrow cobblestone streets of Ollantaytambo, goats and lambs following in our wake as laughing schoolkids run ahead of the bus.
Our guide wants us to see a local chicharia, a place that sells chicha (corn beer). As we enter the chicharia, I can smell the fermented corn in the air. Three local women sit with tall glasses of chicha in their hands, offering each of us a taste. We pass around a glass and sip after first offering a little bit of chicha to the ground, which is the custom, as corn is considered sacred and requires an offering to Mother Earth.
Although there are more ruins to visit in the Sacred Valley, I can hardly wait until we arrive at the legendary destination of Machu Picchu, the Lost City of the Incas. The next day, I’m on board a tourist-class train that will take me to Aguas Calientes, the town just under Machu Picchu. The more adventurous travelers hike their way into the Inca sanctuary, situated high on a mountain peak in the cloudy forest. The most popular and less difficult path takes about six hours to traverse, and passes through a series of Inca ruins as it wends its way through the cloudy rainforest with more than 300 orchid varieties and 375 bird species.
I take a 20-minute bus ride from Aguas Calientes. In moments, I’m surrounded by ancient stones. The early morning clouds are hanging low, almost touching the ruins. In awe, I stand silently and take in all 70 acres of stone and green grass glistening from the early morning dew, a condor circling high above.
Chucho, a Quechua paqo (shaman), greets our group as he takes us to the Temple of Knowledge. He begins to carefully prepare the despacho (offering) to the Pachamama (Mother Earth), laying out several offerings from three ecological regions: coca leaves, shells, wayruros (grains of the forest), and the fetus of a llama, or cuy (guinea pig). He passes around a handful of coca leaves and asks each of us to pick three from the pile as representations of the Inca trinity. He asks us to meditate on the leaves and pray for our families, our loved ones, or anything we want. One by one, we put our offerings, the three coca leaves, in the despacho. After he sings and prays over the despacho, he carefully wraps it in paper, ties it closed with string, then blesses it with his fan of condor feathers.
As the sun begins to rise, Chucho starts to bless each of us. I wait with my eyes closed and as the condor feathers brush gently against my body, a calm enters me. We face the rising sun, raise our hands and ask permission to be on this land.
In procession, we follow Chucho to the edge of the mountain, where the eldest of the group is chosen to throw our offering to the Pachamama. We stand quietly as we watch our prayers and wishes fly off the side of the mountain. With one hand to my heart and one to my navel, I bow and thank Chucho for a beautiful ceremony.
I walk away from the group, eager to be alone. I climb up onto a smooth, giant stone. Gazing down at the rich green landscape and lush river, I pray to my ancestors and give thanks for bringing me to such a beautiful place full of energy and history.
For more information on gay and lesbian tours to Peru visit http://www.limatours.com.pe or http://www.DavidTours.com. |
