Titicaca
Arequipa is one of the pleasantest places in the world: mountain air,
bright sunshine, warm days, cool nights, and a sparkling atmosphere
dear to the hearts of star-gazers. The city lies on a plateau,
surrounded by mighty snow-capped volcanoes, Chachani (20,000 ft.), El
Misti (19,000 ft.), and Pichu Pichu (18,000 ft.). Arequipa has only
one nightmare--earthquakes. About twice in a century the spirits of
the sleeping volcanoes stir, roll over, and go to sleep again. But
they shake the bed! And Arequipa rests on their bed. The possibility
of a "terremoto" is always present in the subconscious mind of the
Arequipeño.
One evening I happened to be dining with a friend at the hospitable
Arequipa Club. Suddenly the windows rattled violently and we heard
a loud explosion; at least that is what it sounded like to me. To
the members of the club, however, it meant only one thing--an
earthquake. Everybody rushed out; the streets were already crowded
with hysterical people, crying, shouting, and running toward the great
open plaza in front of the beautiful cathedral. Here some dropped on
their knees in gratitude at having escaped from falling walls, others
prayed to the god of earthquakes to spare their city. Yet no walls
had fallen! In the business district a great column of black smoke
was rising. Gradually it became known to the panic-stricken throngs
that the noise and the trembling had not been due to an earthquake,
but to an explosion in a large warehouse which had contained gasoline,
kerosene, dynamite and giant powder!
In this city of 35,000 people, the second largest of Peru, fires are
so very rare, not even annual, scarcely biennial, that there were
no fire engines. A bucket brigade was formed and tried to quench the
roaring furnace by dipping water from one of the azequias, or canals,
that run through the streets. The fire continued to belch forth dense
masses of smoke and flame. In any American city such a blaze would
certainly become a great conflagration.
While the fire was at its height I went into the adjoining building
to see whether any help could be rendered. To my utter amazement
the surface of the wall next to the fiery furnace was not even
warm. Such is the result of building houses with massive walls of
stone. Furthermore, the roofs in Arequipa are of tiles; consequently
no harm was done by sparks. So, without a fire department, this
really terrible fire was limited to one warehouse! The next day
the newspapers talked about the "dire necessity" of securing fire
engines. It was difficult for me to see what good a fire engine
could have done. Nothing could have saved the warehouse itself once
the fire got under way; and surely the houses next door would have
suffered more had they been deluged with streams of water. The facts
are almost incredible to an American. We take it as a matter of course
that cities should have fires and explosions. In Arequipa everybody
thought it was an earthquake!
A day's run by an excellent railroad takes one to Puno, the chief
port of Lake Titicaca, elevation 12,500 feet. Puno boasts a soldier's
monument and a new theater, really a "movie palace." There is a good
harbor, although dredging is necessary to provide for steamers like
the Inca. Repairs to the lake boats are made on a marine--or, rather,
a lacustrine--railway. The bay of Puno grows quantities of totoras,
giant bulrushes sometimes twelve feet long. Ages ago the lake dwellers
learned to dry the totoras, tie them securely in long bundles, fasten
the bundles together, turn up the ends, fix smaller bundles along the
sides as a free-board, and so construct a fishing-boat, or balsa. Of
course the balsas eventually become water-logged and spend a large
part of their existence on the shore, drying in the sun. Even so,
they are not very buoyant. I can testify that it is difficult to use
them without getting one's shoes wet. As a matter of fact one should
go barefooted, or wear sandals, as the natives do.
The balsas are clumsy, and difficult to paddle. The favorite method of
locomotion is to pole or, when the wind favors, sail. The mast is an
A-shaped contraption, twelve feet high, made of two light poles tied
together and fastened, one to each side of the craft, slightly forward
of amidships. Poles are extremely scarce in this region--lumber has
to be brought from Puget Sound, 6000 miles away--so nearly all the
masts I saw were made of small pieces of wood spliced two or three
times. To the apex of the "A" is attached a forked stick, over which
run the halyards. The rectangular "sail" is nothing more nor less
than a large mat made of rushes. A short forestay fastened to the
sides of the "A" about four feet above the hull prevents the mast from
falling when the sail is hoisted. The main halyards take the place of
a backstay. The balsas cannot beat to windward, but behave very well
in shallow water with a favoring breeze. When the wind is contrary the
boatmen must pole. They are extremely careful not to fall overboard,
for the water in the lake is cold, 55° F., and none of them know how
to swim. Lake Titicaca itself never freezes over, although during
the winter ice forms at night on the shallow bays and near the shore.
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FIGURE
A Lake Titicaca Balsa at Puno
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FIGURE
A Step-Topped Niche on the Island of Koati
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When the Indians wish to go in the shallowest waters they use a very
small balsa not over eight feet long, barely capable of supporting
the weight of one man. On the other hand, large balsas constructed
for use in crossing the rough waters of the deeper portions of the
lake are capable of carrying a dozen people and their luggage. Once
I saw a ploughman and his team of oxen being ferried across the lake
on a bulrush raft. To give greater security two balsas are sometimes
fastened together in the fashion of a double canoe.
One of the more highly speculative of the Bolivian writers, Señor
Posnansky, of La Paz, believes that gigantic balsas were used in
bringing ten-ton monoliths across the lake to Tiahuanaco. This
theory is based on the assumption that Titicaca was once very much
higher than it is now, a hypothesis which has not commended itself
to modern geologists or geographers. Dr. Isaiah Bowman and Professor
Herbert Gregory, who have studied its geology and physiography, have
not been able to find any direct evidence of former high levels for
Lake Titicaca, or of its having been connected with the ocean.
Nevertheless, Señor Posnansky believes that Lake Titicaca was once a
salt sea which became separated from the ocean as the Andes rose. The
fact that the lake fishes are fresh-water, rather than marine, forms
does not bother him. Señor Posnansky pins his faith to a small dried
seahorse once given him by a Titicaca fisherman. He seems to forget
that dried specimens of marine life, including starfish, are frequently
offered for sale in the Andes by the dealers in primitive medicines who
may be found in almost every market-place. Probably Señor Posnansky's
seahorse was brought from the ocean by some particularly enterprising
trader. Although starfish are common enough in the Andes and a seahorse
has actually found its resting-place in La Paz, this does not alter the
fact that scientific investigators have never found any strictly marine
fauna in Lake Titicaca. On the other hand, it has two or three kinds
of edible fresh-water fish. One of them belongs to a species found in
the Rimac River near Lima. It seems to me entirely possible that the
Incas, with their scorn of the difficulties of carrying heavy burdens
over seemingly impossible trails, might have deliberately transplanted
the desirable fresh-water fishes of the Rimac River to Lake Titicaca.
Polo de Ondegardo, who lived in Cuzco in 1560, says that the Incas
used to bring fresh fish from the sea by special runners, and that
"they have records in their quipus of the fish having been brought
from Tumbez, a distance of more than three hundred leagues." The
actual transference of water jars containing the fish would have
offered no serious obstacle whatever to the Incas, provided the idea
happened to appeal to them as desirable. Yet I may be as far wrong
as Señor Posnansky! At any rate, the romantic stories of a gigantic
inland sea, vastly more extensive than the present lake and actually
surrounding the ancient city of Tiahuanaco, must be treated with
respectful skepticism.
Tiahuanaco, at the southern end of Lake Titicaca, in Bolivia,
is famous for the remains of a pre-Inca civilization. Unique among
prehistoric remains in the highlands of Peru or Bolivia are its carved
monolithic images. Although they have suffered from weathering and
from vandalism, enough remains to show that they represent clothed
human figures. The richly decorated girdles and long tunics are
carved in low relief with an intricate pattern. While some of
the designs are undoubtedly symbolic of the rank, achievements,
or attributes of the divinities or chiefs here portrayed, there is
nothing hieroglyphic. The images are stiff and show no appreciation
of the beauty of the human form. Probably the ancient artists never
had an opportunity to study the human body. In Andean villages, even
little children do not go naked as they do among primitive peoples
who live in warm climates. The Highlanders of Peru and Bolivia are
always heavily clothed, day and night. Forced by their climate to
seek comfort in the amount and thickness of their apparel, they have
developed an excessive modesty in regard to bodily exposure which
is in striking contrast to people who live on the warm sands of the
South Seas. Inca sculptors and potters rarely employed the human
body as a motif. Tiahuanaco is pre-Inca, yet even here the images are
clothed. They were not represented as clothed in order to make easier
the work of the sculptor. His carving shows he had great skill, was
observant, and had true artistic feeling. Apparently the taboo against
"nakedness" was too much for him.
Among the thirty-six islands in Lake Titicaca, some belong to
Peru, others to Bolivia. Two of the latter, Titicaca and Koati,
were peculiarly venerated in Inca days. They are covered with
artificial terraces, most of which are still used by the Indian
farmers of to-day. On both islands there are ruins of important Inca
structures. On Titicaca Island I was shown two caves, out of which,
say the Indians, came the sun and moon at their creation. These caves
are not large enough for a man to stand upright, but to a people
who do not appreciate the size of the heavenly bodies it requires
no stretch of the imagination to believe that those bright disks
came forth from caves eight feet wide. The myth probably originated
with dwellers on the western shore of the lake who would often see
the sun or moon rise over this island. On an ancient road that runs
across the island my native guide pointed out the "footprints of the
sun and moon"--two curious effects of erosion which bear a distant
resemblance to the footprints of giants twenty or thirty feet tall.
The present-day Indians, known as Aymaras, seem to be hard-working and
fairly cheerful. The impression which Bandelier gives, in his "Islands
of Titicaca and Koati," of the degradation and surly character of these
Indians was not apparent at the time of my short visit in 1915. It is
quite possible, however, that if I had to live among the Indians, as
he did for several months, digging up their ancient places of worship,
disturbing their superstitious prejudices, and possibly upsetting,
in their minds, the proper balance between wet weather and dry,
I might have brought upon myself uncivil looks and rough, churlish
treatment such as he experienced. In judging the attitude of mind
of the natives of Titicaca one should remember that they live under
most trying conditions of climate and environment. During several
months of the year everything is dried up and parched. The brilliant
sun of the tropics, burning mercilessly through the rarefied air,
causes the scant vegetation to wither. Then come torrential rains. I
shall never forget my first experience on Lake Titicaca, when the
steamer encountered a rain squall. The resulting deluge actually
came through the decks. Needless to say, such downpours tend to wash
away the soil which the farmers have painfully gathered for field or
garden. The sun in the daytime is extremely hot, yet the difference
in temperature between sun and shade is excessive. Furthermore, the
winds at night are very damp; the cold is intensely penetrating. Fuel
is exceedingly scarce, there is barely enough for cooking purposes,
and none for artificial heat.
Food is hard to get. Few crops can be grown at 12,500 feet. Some
barley is raised, but the soil is lacking in nitrogen. The principal
crop is the bitter white potato, which, after being frozen and dried,
becomes the insipid chuño, chief reliance of the poorer families. The
Inca system of bringing guano from the islands of the Pacific coast
has long since been abandoned. There is no money to pay for modern
fertilizers. Consequently, crops are poor. On Titicaca Island I
saw native women, who had just harvested their maize, engaged in
shucking and drying ears of corn which varied in length from one to
three inches. To be sure this miniature corn has the advantage of
maturing in sixty days, but good soil and fertilizers would double
its size and productiveness.
Naturally these Indians always feel themselves at the mercy of the
elements. Either a long rainy season or a drought may cause acute
hunger and extreme suffering. Consequently, one must not blame the
Bolivian or Peruvian Highlander if he frequently appears to be sullen
and morose. On the other hand, one ought not to praise Samoans for
being happy, hospitable, and light-hearted. Those fortunate Polynesians
are surrounded by warm waters in which they can always enjoy a swim,
trees from which delicious food can always be obtained, and cocoanuts
from which cooling drinks are secured without cost. Who could not
develop cheerfulness under such conditions?
On the small island, Koati, some of the Inca stonework is remarkably
good, and has several unusual features, such as the elaboration of the
large, reëntrant, ceremonial niches formed by step-topped arches, one
within the other. Small ornamental niches are used to break the space
between these recesses and the upper corners of the whole rectangle
containing them. Also unusual are the niches between the doorways,
made in the form of an elaborate quadrate cross. It might seem at first
glance as though this feature showed Spanish influence, since a Papal
cross is created by the shadow cast in the intervening recessed courses
within their design. As a matter of fact, the cross nowy quadrant is
a natural outcome of using for ornamental purposes the step-shaped
design, both erect and inverted. All over the land of the Incas one
finds flights of steps or terraces used repeatedly for ornamental or
ceremonial purposes. Some stairs are large enough to be used by man;
others are in miniature. Frequently the steps were cut into the sacred
boulders consecrated to ancestor worship. It was easy for an Inca
architect, accustomed to the stairway motif, to have conceived these
curious doorways on Koati and also the cross-like niches between them,
even if he had never seen any representation of a Papal cross, or a
cross nowy quadrant. My friend, Mr. Bancel La Farge, has also suggested
a striking resemblance which the sedilia-like niches bear to Arabic
or Moorish architecture, as shown, for instance, in the Court of the
Lions in the Alhambra. The step-topped arch is distinctly Oriental
in form, yet flights of steps or terraces are also thoroughly Incaic.
The principal structure on Koati was built around three sides of
a small plaza, constructed on an artificial terrace in a slight
depression on the eastern side of the island. The fourth side is
open and affords a magnificent view of the lake and the wonderful
snow-covered Cordillera Real, 200 miles long and nowhere less than
17,000 feet high. This range of lofty snow-peaks of surpassing beauty
culminates in Mt. Sorata, 21,520 feet high. To the worshipers of the
sun and moon, who came to the sacred islands for some of their most
elaborate religious ceremonies, the sight of those heavenly luminaries,
rising over the majestic snow mountains, their glories reflected in the
shining waters of the lake, must have been a sublime spectacle. On such
occasions the little plaza would indeed have been worth seeing. We may
imagine the gayly caparisoned Incas, their faces lit up by the colors
of "rosy-fingered dawn, daughter of the morning," their ceremonial
formation sharply outlined against the high, decorated walls of
the buildings behind them. Perhaps the rulers and high priests had
special stations in front of the large, step-topped niches. One may
be sure that a people who were fond of bright colors, who were able
to manufacture exquisite textiles, and who loved to decorate their
garments with spangles and disks of beaten gold, would have lost no
opportunity for making the ancient ceremonies truly resplendent.
On the peninsula of Copacabana, opposite the sacred islands, a great
annual pageant is still staged every August. Although at present
connected with a pious pilgrimage to the shrine of the miraculous
image of the "Virgin of Copacabana," this vivid spectacle, the
most celebrated fair in all South America, has its origin in the
dim past. It comes after the maize is harvested and corresponds to
our Thanksgiving festival. The scene is laid in the plaza in front
of a large, bizarre church. During the first ten days in August
there are gathered here thousands of the mountain folk from far and
near. Everything dear to the heart of the Aymara Indian is offered
for sale, including quantities of his favorite beverages. Traders,
usually women, sit in long rows on blankets laid on the cobblestone
pavement. Some of them are protected from the sun by primitive
umbrellas, consisting of a square cotton sheet stretched over a bamboo
frame. In one row are those traders who sell parched and popped corn;
in another those who deal in sandals and shoes, the simple gear
of the humblest wayfarer and the elaborately decorated high-laced
boots affected by the wealthy Chola women of La Paz. In another row
are the dealers in Indian blankets; still another is devoted to such
trinkets as one might expect to find in a "needle-and-thread" shop at
home. There are stolid Aymara peddlers with scores of bamboo flutes
varying in size from a piccolo to a bassoon; the hat merchants, with
piles of freshly made native felts, warranted to last for at least a
year; and vendors of aniline dyes. The fabrics which have come to us
from Inca times are colored with beautifully soft vegetable dyes. Among
Inca ruins one may find small stone mortars, in which the primitive
pigments were ground and mixed with infinite care. Although the modern
Indian still prefers the product of hand looms, he has been quick to
adopt the harsh aniline dyes, which are not only easier to secure,
but produce more striking results.
As a citizen of Connecticut it gave me quite a start to see, carelessly
exposed to the weather on the rough cobblestones of the plaza,
bright new hardware from New Haven and New Britain--locks, keys,
spring scales, bolts, screw eyes, hooks, and other "wooden nutmegs."
At the tables of the "money-changers," just outside of the
sacred enclosure, are the real moneymakers, who give nothing for
something. Thimble-riggers and three-card-monte-men do a brisk
business and stand ready to fleece the guileless native or the
unsuspecting foreigner. The operators may wear ragged ponchos and
appear to be incapable of deep designs, but they know all the tricks
of the trade! The most striking feature of the fair is the presence
of various Aymara secret societies, whose members, wearing repulsive
masks, are clad in the most extraordinary costumes which can be
invented by primitive imaginations. Each society has its own uniform,
made up of tinsels and figured satins, tin-foil, gold and silver leaf,
gaudy textiles, magnificent epaulets bearing large golden stars on a
background of silver decorated with glittering gems of colored glass;
tinted "ostrich" plumes of many colors sticking straight up eighteen
inches above the heads of their wearers, gaudy ribbons, beruffled
bodices, puffed sleeves, and slashed trunks. Some of these strange
costumes are actually reminiscent of the sixteenth century. The wearers
are provided with flutes, whistles, cymbals, flageolets, snare drums,
and rattles, or other noise-makers. The result is an indescribable
hubbub; a garish human kaleidoscope, accompanied by fiendish clamor
and unmusical noises which fairly outstrip a dozen jazz bands. It is
bedlam let loose, a scene of wild uproar and confusion.
The members of one group were dressed to represent female angels,
their heads tightly turbaned so as to bear the maximum number of
tall, waving, variegated plumes. On their backs were gaudy wings
resembling the butterflies of children's pantomimes. Many wore colored
goggles. They marched solemnly around the plaza, playing on bamboo
flageolets, their plaintive tunes drowned in the din of big bass
drums and blatant trumpets. In an eddy in the seething crowd was a
placid-faced Aymara, bedecked in the most tawdry manner with gewgaws
from Birmingham or Manchester, sedately playing a melancholy tune on
a rustic syrinx or Pan's pipe, charmingly made from little tubes of
bamboo from eastern Bolivia.
At the close of the festival, on a Sunday afternoon, the costumes
disappear and there occurs a bull-baiting. Strong temporary barriers
are erected at the comers of the plaza; householders bar their
doors. A riotous crowd, composed of hundreds of pleasure-seekers,
well fortified with Dutch courage, gathers for the fray. All are
ready to run helter-skelter in every direction should the bull take
it into his head to charge toward them. It is not a bullfight. There
are no picadors, armed with lances to prick the bull to madness; no
banderilleros, with barbed darts; no heroic matador, ready with shining
blade to give a mad and weary bull the coup de grace. Here all is fun
and frolic. To be sure, the bull is duly annoyed by boastful boys or
drunken Aymaras, who prod him with sticks and shake bright ponchos
in his face until he dashes after his tormentors and causes a mighty
scattering of some spectators, amid shrieks of delight from everybody
else. When one animal gets tired, another is brought on. There is
no chance of a bull being wounded or seriously hurt. At the time of
our visit the only animal who seemed at all anxious to do real damage
was let alone. He showed no disposition to charge at random into the
crowds. The spectators surrounded the plaza so thickly that he could
not distinguish any one particular enemy on whom to vent his rage. He
galloped madly after any individual who crossed the plaza. Five or
six bulls were let loose during the excitement, but no harm was done,
and every one had an uproariously good time.
Such is the spectacle of Copacabana, a mixture of business and
pleasure, pagan and Christian, Spain and Titicaca. Bedlam is not
pleasant to one's ears; yet to see the staid mountain herdsmen, attired
in plumes, petticoats, epaulets, and goggles, blowing mightily with
puffed-out lips on bamboo flageolets, is worth a long journey.