"Puma of the Stone in the Before Days"

3 February 2002

We are in the lake, on an island called Amantani. The boat ride here was beautiful. I was reminded of the early years of my childhood in coastal Maine when I spent much time riding in boats – my young comfort in ocean waves replaced by an adult fear of the power of water – a result of too much distance, too much time passed.

The sun was behind and above the clouds for the whole trip, until the last hour. With the sun shining bright blue sky we pulled into port four hours after it began. The island pushing up to a very impressive point at 4110 meters above sea level. There were houses dotting the hillside, more rock walls and paths, terraces. This island was a holy site for the Inca and for many others before and after. We climbed to the top – to the peak called Pachatata that faces the other slightly lower peak of Pachamama. The third piece of this trinity is the lake itself, also referred to in the feminine. Titikaka means “puma of the stone in the before days” according to our guide.

A temple at the top is now blocked off from tourists. Looking from outside through cracks in the walls you can see a square structure made of rock. The corners of this structure line up directly with the four directions – east west north south. There are solstice alignments on June 21 – winter solstice in the southern hemisphere. For those who worship the sun, this shortest day of the year marks the beginning of a new year and the return of the sun.

The two mountains face each other across a field honeycombed with rock walls like those in Cabanaconde. Rocks are piled everywhere. It is said that people still bring 3 stones to the top of the mountain to pay homage – one for Pachamama, one for Pachatata and one for Titikaka.

We stopped at the Uros Islands on the way to Amantani. These are the famous floating islands, made completely of the totora reed. The reeds are piled up on top of each other so they form a squishy, deep and dense mat that is the “island” where people live. The island we visited had kiosk-houses (also made completely of the totora reed) circling the outside edge. It was about 30 - 40 feet in diameter. Inside this circle of houses was a circle of vendors selling trinkets and pottery, and many small gift items. The islands were surrounded by 15 foot long dragon-headed boats also made of the totora reed that were selling rides to boatloads of tourists.

Candlelight and Llama Blankets, A poem

6 February

candlelight and llama blankets
bring memories of the day
the inland sea
vast and blue
stretching for ever
burning rubber of laboring engine
alone in the world
the breeze kisses and bites my neck
like an excited lover
clouds slung low
scraping the water and my skull
the idea of eternity
clearly presents itself
for consideration
and my brain accepts
balancing the eternal
with NOTHING
(libra’s attempt at eternity)
the scale tips sharply
in favor of the neverending
and I open myself wide

the candlelight also illuminates
memories of other times and places
all so far from this bone of mother earth
this mountain birthed in amniotic fluid
of Lago Titikaka
all places and times
converge in a swirl of creation
memories molded to stone
stone molded in memory

I suck into myself at 4110 meters
snap into body myself
clean and cold and wet
a shadow of life eternal
and then
breath caught in my throat
I see the mother before me
she is facing father across a short distance
which is really where they connect
to become two plants
from the same root
lovers and twins
split in half at some important moment
only the rocks can remember
and they do remember
only they are silent
unwilling to give up the secrets
which make them so hard
unwilling to yield
to any but their creator
and the lovers face each other
across the distance
intense in their devotion
desire has cooled to attentiveness
and memories are the blood

I remember then where I am
in the candlelight
in a llama blanket
sounds of native music
in the distance
native music with gringo dancers
haunting and low, beautiful
the sound the rocks would make
if they whispered their secrets
the sound of beauty and knowledge
deep and innocent and sorrowful
in the memories of this night

The Birth of the Inca

5 February

I feel much better. We are in Puno, on the shores of Lake Titicaca after a sleepless bus ride and hours of hanging out needlessly in the bus station waiting for the hostals to open, trying to sleep but not able to. I was delirious and silly by the end, when I fell asleep at the hostal around noon today. [To anyone who travels to South America: the hostals are never closed no matter how late it is. You never have to wait in the bus station for hours on end until a “decent” hour. This was a ridiculous decision and I can’t for the life of me remember why we thought we couldn’t just go find a place to stay at 3:00 in the morning.]

Puno is a dark, drab town (as much as any of these towns can really be drab with all their colors, people, animals, landscape). There are dirty, narrow streets and even narrower sidewalks. Everything is perpetually wet, especially now in the rainy season.

I led us into the market this morning at the most inopportune place – the meat section. We were greeted by great hunks of every part of the animals; bones, heads, organs, slabs, everything -- and a woman hacking at a body part to separate it from its natural neighbor.

The markets here are amazing feasts for the eyes (and the belly), magical almost in the potentiality of all the secret corners and dark shadows that are interspersed with bright colors and open air. Coca leaves for sale, bottles of wine and pisco, bags of powders and spices, bags of home-made aji, fruits and veggies in all their colorful glory, all stacked in pyramids, squares, however they will best defy gravity. Each different fruit or vegetable blending into the next stack to create the most beautiful pile of food I’ve ever seen. There are lots of artesanias here as well that sell bags, clothes, rugs, and other local crafts.

It is the feast of the Virgen de la Candelaria here in Puno for the next 2 weeks. The locals say there are big parties on the weekends. This morning at the bus station, I walked out to look at the lake as the sun came up. The bus station sits right on the edge of Lake Titicaca. The lake was huge and I only saw a small bay stretching far into the distance. The city spread out behind me and to the right, rolling partially up the hills surrounding the bay. From a distance the city was beautiful, perfect with its lines and curves, the orange of clay tile roofs, church steeples and the haze of early morning.

This is where the Inca were born according to their creation myth. They were brother and sister birthed in the cold, deep waters of Lake Titicaca so they could rule this land. Father Sun and Mother Lake – a burning sphere and a huge amniotic sack, light and dark, hot and cold. This is the largest lake at this high altitude anywhere in the world.

Tomorrow we go on a tour to the islands of Taquile, Amantani and Uros, organized by our friend Edgar who also runs the hostal we are in. He also operates a new bus service to Cusco, leads tours to the funerary towers of Sillustany and owns a taxi company. He is a man of many interests and talents an much ambition it seems.

This afternoon I woke from a nap dreaming of condors. They were flying very close to where I stood, high in a mountain town. They were almost cartoonish in their hugeness with funny heads and eyes.