Under fish
Door: Gilles
Blijf op de hoogte en volg Gilles
02 November 2009 | Peru, Pariacaca
The main Inca offering ritual was yesterday. We packed coca leaves, Pisco and all kinds of little whares in two heart formed Pacific shells. While the two folded shells flew through the air, we thanked the lake with faith.
I´m sitting on a small rock, breathing deeply. In front of me: a little house. Roof of straw, base of stones. It is held together with sundried clay. Rocks are flying out of the tiny doorgap. I watch the scene unfold.
All around grows yellowish green spiny grass called hicchu. Further away I see huge rocks, loaded with minerals, who vibrate a powerfull magnetic energy. I am surrounded by sheep and lamas, living of the grass and the little flowers that grow around. High above the sharp, angelically white peaks of Pariacaca slice the sky apart.
It´s been two days since we left the driveable road. A cabride through a broad, once inhabited valley left us at our starting point. Marco, the sun of my guest family in Huancayo explained me everything about the history of this place. He is a mountain guide, and one of the last remaining non-christian Peruvians. He knows the history of his country well, and remains eager to learn more. When we left the cab, we stepped upon an Inca trail. A short climb over the more than 1000 years old road, lead us to our first stop. An altar: stone built, cone formed, standing at the point where exausted travellers could first put their eye on one of the twelve most sacred mountains of the Inca empire.
We payed some of our drinks to the altar, and Marco started with a coca-leaf payment ritual, ending in a bow towards the Apu of Pariacaca. When I bowed, finishing my ritual, Marco started playing deep wooden tones on his Quena, a type of flute. From that moment onward, he would play his instrument now and then, and when he would, he´d do it good.
We arrived at a second sacred point, where miniature images of Pariacaca are carved out of the rocks.
I reached Marco, overwhelmed by the view.
"Reconcha su madre"
"Caiate, huevon! Estas frente a nuestro Apu."
10 minutes later, I realized I forgot my hat.
"Offer it"
I did
The arrival at our first resting place was right in time. A cave with rock paintings. We gathered hicchu for isolation under our tent. Then suddenly: an inmensely bright white flash of light, right in front of me. It came with a tremendous bang. We were caught in a thunderstorm, protected by rocks we could not touch. The green landscape turned white in no time. When the skys stopped rageing, we left the cave, headed to a sacred lake. While the lake smiled at us, Marco let his Quena sing once more. From far left came a gull. He made a small circle in the air above, saluting us with his crowlike voice.
This morning we woke up under two drying trouts in the little house of Kalikspo and Alicia. They have a 10 month old boy called Finix, exactly two days younger than Amaru: Marco´s humbly intellectual firstborn. The news of Finix´birth helped Marco realize that his sun is a gift from the Apu. We came unanounced and were welcomed yet with some shy resistance. Today, we helped the family with building a furnace of clay and stones. Marco is throwing the unused stones out of the house, as I watch nature´s glory.
The afternoons are cloudy. We won´t get thunderstorms anymore. We sit inside, bake fresh trout, and speak a few words, observing each others movements. A baby lama stands in front of the door and gathers some of the heat of the smokey fire. It looks at us with big eyes.
At sunset, the clouds will turn the green world around us bright red. Shortly after, everything will be deep blue, then grey-white. The cold night will fall over the valley, locking us up in this little place. Our only escape is to smoothly dissolve into the realm of dreams.
With the return of the day, an unexpected party in Tanta will lodge new meetings.
I´m sitting on a small rock, breathing deeply. In front of me: a little house. Roof of straw, base of stones. It is held together with sundried clay. Rocks are flying out of the tiny doorgap. I watch the scene unfold.
All around grows yellowish green spiny grass called hicchu. Further away I see huge rocks, loaded with minerals, who vibrate a powerfull magnetic energy. I am surrounded by sheep and lamas, living of the grass and the little flowers that grow around. High above the sharp, angelically white peaks of Pariacaca slice the sky apart.
It´s been two days since we left the driveable road. A cabride through a broad, once inhabited valley left us at our starting point. Marco, the sun of my guest family in Huancayo explained me everything about the history of this place. He is a mountain guide, and one of the last remaining non-christian Peruvians. He knows the history of his country well, and remains eager to learn more. When we left the cab, we stepped upon an Inca trail. A short climb over the more than 1000 years old road, lead us to our first stop. An altar: stone built, cone formed, standing at the point where exausted travellers could first put their eye on one of the twelve most sacred mountains of the Inca empire.
We payed some of our drinks to the altar, and Marco started with a coca-leaf payment ritual, ending in a bow towards the Apu of Pariacaca. When I bowed, finishing my ritual, Marco started playing deep wooden tones on his Quena, a type of flute. From that moment onward, he would play his instrument now and then, and when he would, he´d do it good.
We arrived at a second sacred point, where miniature images of Pariacaca are carved out of the rocks.
I reached Marco, overwhelmed by the view.
"Reconcha su madre"
"Caiate, huevon! Estas frente a nuestro Apu."
10 minutes later, I realized I forgot my hat.
"Offer it"
I did
The arrival at our first resting place was right in time. A cave with rock paintings. We gathered hicchu for isolation under our tent. Then suddenly: an inmensely bright white flash of light, right in front of me. It came with a tremendous bang. We were caught in a thunderstorm, protected by rocks we could not touch. The green landscape turned white in no time. When the skys stopped rageing, we left the cave, headed to a sacred lake. While the lake smiled at us, Marco let his Quena sing once more. From far left came a gull. He made a small circle in the air above, saluting us with his crowlike voice.
This morning we woke up under two drying trouts in the little house of Kalikspo and Alicia. They have a 10 month old boy called Finix, exactly two days younger than Amaru: Marco´s humbly intellectual firstborn. The news of Finix´birth helped Marco realize that his sun is a gift from the Apu. We came unanounced and were welcomed yet with some shy resistance. Today, we helped the family with building a furnace of clay and stones. Marco is throwing the unused stones out of the house, as I watch nature´s glory.
The afternoons are cloudy. We won´t get thunderstorms anymore. We sit inside, bake fresh trout, and speak a few words, observing each others movements. A baby lama stands in front of the door and gathers some of the heat of the smokey fire. It looks at us with big eyes.
At sunset, the clouds will turn the green world around us bright red. Shortly after, everything will be deep blue, then grey-white. The cold night will fall over the valley, locking us up in this little place. Our only escape is to smoothly dissolve into the realm of dreams.
With the return of the day, an unexpected party in Tanta will lodge new meetings.
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Je kunt nu ook Smileys gebruiken. Via de toolbar, toetsenbord of door eerst : te typen en dan een woord bijvoorbeeld :smiley
