Where the Sun and Moon were born

 “The origin of the [Inca] empire…[tells of] a time of darkness and a great flood sent to the world by the creator Wiracocha.  Taking pity on the earth, Wiracocha stood on an island in [Lake] Titicaca and flung into the sky the sun, moon, and all the stars.  Then he ordered these heavenly bodies to populate the land.  The Sun, lord of the universe, dispatched his son Manco Capac, and the Moon gave her daughter Mama Occlo to be his bride.  Together they emerged from the waters of Titicaca, from the islands of the Sun and the Moon, and bearing a golden staff, began a great odyssey.  Their instructions were to search the world, probing the earth with their staff, until they found a place that would accept it.  There they were to establish their kingdom.

“For years they wandered, escorted each day by wild geese, each night by condor. Finally, at the base of a mountain known as Wanakauri, the ground swallowed the staff and a rainbow rose in the sky.  Manco Capac called upon the local people to abandon their nakedness, their diet of wild seeds, their wretched lives to follow him into the valley where the imperial capital of Cusco would be built. Manco Capac, son of the Sun, became the first Inca, taking his coya, or queen, his sister, the daughter of the Moon.  Thus from its mythological inception the empire was inspired by the gods, the Inca, his family, and all his offspring were known to be divine.” (David, Wade. 1996. One River)

We had run out of time to head south, as Claire and I were hoping to make it to Cusco in less than a week.  We took the overnight bus north from Cochabamba to La Paz, where we spent one night at a discount hotel 8 blocks from the bus station.  While in La Paz, we walked around the markets and stalls and took in the sights of a clean and beautiful city. La Paz is situated in an uneven mountain valley, surrounded on all sides by mountains of varying slopes, heights, and geographies. The houses of La Paz are built ambitiously at all angles and all heights, climbing the slopes which surround the city with what appears to be increasing desperation the further the eye climbs. In the backstreets we found the ‘market of the witches’ where we found for sale all kinds of traditional medicines from herbs to llama fetuses.  We walked south almost half the city, and made a visit to our new friend Pablo, who shared with us spectacular views of the mountainous city and his collection of paintings he was creating to make his living. We had a wonderful dinner at his apartment, and spoke with a few Frenchmen that his roommate was entertaining.  By 9 o’clock, Claire and I were exhausted from the night bus the previous evening (and the fact that it was our usual bedtime). 

The next morning we took a bus to Copacabana – a once-small town on the edge of Lake Titicaca, grown larger and brighter on account of the tourists who visit there.  It was from this town, where we would spend only one night, that we would take a boat to visit the Island of the Sun and hopefully the Island of the Moon.  Not only are these islands the mythological birthplace of the Incan Empire, they are rumored to be the new center of Kundalini Energy for the Earth.  While in Copacabana, we ran into an old acquaintance from Hawaii, named Molly Jane, whom we had met in Cusco.  She had just returned from the islands, and over a meal of freshly cooked trout and enough rice to feed a family, she gave us some pointers and we talked about our travels.

We headed to the islands the next day prepared with more accurate information, and thus, our tent.  We bought tickets directly to the Island of the Moon, which is significantly less visited, and also much smaller.  The boat accommodated about 50 tourists, most of whom (including us) sat on benches fastened to the roof, where the lake and the sky competed for the truest shade of blue.  Our route took us directly past the Island of the Sun after about 1.5 hours, where we dropped all but 2 customers.  Then came the haggling and debate, for although we had paid the tour company to take us to the Island of the Moon, the driver was subcontracted, and didn’t want to drive the hour-long trip for so few people.  After finding a few more interested parties, and firmly but kindly insisting that the Moon was our destination, we set off.

When we arrived, the ‘Capitan’ told us we had 40 minutes to see the island, and then we would leave.  I don’t know how the rest of the passengers saw the place in such a short time, but we were lucky to have more time.  We walked past the Temple of the Virgins, which we would explore later with fewer tourists around, and walked to the peak of the island.  The view was breathtaking, as was the altitude.  Against the backdrop of the island, which included mostly high-savannah shrubs and a few groves of eucalyptus trees, sits the massive lake of Titicaca, with snow-capped glaciers overlooking the scene.  We headed to the back of the island, where we found the ‘town’ - about 15 families, all with houses closely gathered, and some sheep and llamas roaming about.  We spoke with a kind woman, who sold us a few supplies and let us know that her son could rent us blankets.  We inquired with the son about blankets, and he let us know it would be no problem, and that there was a beautiful camping spot on the south side of the island where we could pitch the tent.

We also inquired about some trout meat, as one of the main activities of the village (which has a population of about 80) is raising trout in submerged mesh cages for sale to the mainland.  He asked us to return in the evening, and promised to take us out and show us his operation.  After setting up camp and gathering enough wood for what was sure to be a cold night (temperatures reached about 40 F  (5 C)) we returned.  We found the man’s wife, who was there with her young son sifting, drying, and preparing the trout food.  We learned the trout food was actually small, pulverized ocean fish shipped from Peru and then mixed with wheat and other carbohydrates.  The trout, originally introduced in 1939, thrive in both captivity and wild in the lake, but have preyed to extinction many of the local species, few of which grew bigger than a human hand.  Since that time, trout have grown in demand in many markets throughout Bolivia and Peru.

The woman and her child took us on a rowboat 10 meters offshore, where we dropped the dried food into the cages and watch the swirl and bubble of activity as the trout surfaced and ravished the offerings with the sound and appearance of boiling pasta.  Then, as we reached the last cage housing the largest trout, the women dipped a net in and pulled out three trout with such ease that a passing thought of the futility of my fly fishing efforts passed through my mind.  We thanked her for the experience, during which we chatted about her family, their history, the town, and the tranquility of life on the Island of the Moon.  The family, as the community, is heavily rooted in traditional Inca and Aymara beliefs, including the worship of Pachamama – who represents the divine mother nature.

We headed back to camp, and made it just in time to see the sun color the sky and the peaks of the distant mountains as it took its leave from the day. We spent the night roasting trout over a fragrant fire of eucalyptus wood, drinking eucalyptus tea, and enjoying freshly boiled Quinoa. When we awoke, the sun was rising directly over the peaks of the highest mountains, and we stayed snuggled in the warmth of the tent.

By midday, the relentless sun was bearing down, and it was warm enough to take a dip in the icy waters of the lake to refresh.  We spent most of the day relaxing, basking, taking in the energy of the place and the peacefulness of the waves lapping against the shore.  We decided to spend another night, and the morning provided us the opportunity to buy some wild fish, caught in gill nets.  We chatted more with the people on the island, most of whom married others from villages on the nearest shore, and nearly all of whom reported that their lives of fishing, tending livestock, and cultivating left them happy and satisfied. 

The next morning, we took our leave.  Paying a small contribution for the blankets, food and fish, we thanked our hosts and headed back to the front of the Island.  There, we investigated the Temple of the Virgins.  It was here the Aymara culture (which predated the Incas) built a temple which housed prized Virgin girls, who would come here to practice worship of the Sun.

From there, we caught a boat ride back to the Island of the Sun. After another unpleasant encounter with the same boat captain (the only unpleasant Bolivian we met in our travels) we arranged to be returned to shore the same day.  We had the opportunity to soak up the energy of the lake and the islands so sacred to the Incas, and as we passed towards the Island of the Sun, it was a truly magnificent experience.  The Island of the Sun was much bigger, with numerous heritage sites, ruins, Eucalyptus forests – and, consequentially – tourists.  We enjoyed our time as we climbed along the infamous ‘fountain of youth’ and took in the beautiful Inca Gardens.  Still, after seeing a few hours of what the island had to offer, we were excited that we had chosen to spend most of our time in the relative isolation of the Island of the Moon.

After the boat ride to Copacabana, we hopped on another night bus towards Cusco.  There, at the heart of the Inca Empire, we would finish our whirlwind trip of Peru and Bolivia, and return to Ecuador.

From Inner Searchings to Celestial Worship

When the meditation retreat ended, Claire and I found ourselves with no plan in a country of which we had very little knowledge, and almost no travel objectives.  We sat around the meditation center for a few hours and chatted with some of the interesting Vipassana participants, and observed many forms of art all coalescing at once: a group of musicians with guitars, wind flutes, clarinets, and a tambourine; a beautiful Japanese woman teaching contact-dancing to a few interested peers; a Bolivian artist named Pablo sketching the scene; and several people writing their thoughts as the days of silence ended and our minds and bodies adjusted to the increasing sensory information.

We flowed with the wave of the people onto a minibus, and into downtown Cochabamba.  Within 30 minutes, we were hauling backpacks through crowded streets where vendors hawked their wares, broad women sold chicken and potatoes, and cars and minibuses struggled for space.  A normal city scene really, but after looking around I was quite sure I wasn’t the only one overwhelmed by all the energy.  Struggling to maintain my newly-found (and lost) Zen, we journeyed to find ourselves a place to stay. We found a hotel about 10 blocks from the bus station, owned by a nice old couple who lived full-time in the compound and had made the hotel home to their beautiful plant collections.

We enjoyed our first time alone in 14 days to talk about the process we had just been through, and discuss what the meditation had meant for us.  Ironically, after planning what we would say to one another after all that time of silence, it seemed like words just couldn’t express the depth of the experience.  We discussed our plans, and decided that the next day we would head south to a jungle town about 10 hours drive by bus.

We woke slowly the next morning, the first in a while in which we woke without an alarm, past sunrise.  We ate breakfast, again slowly, at a city market covered with a tin roof; in which women own stalls to prepare their food, most of them offering the same deliciousness as their neighbors at the same price.  Initially astonishing, but later predictable, is that each of these women remain kind and courteous to one another as they compete for (or share) customers.  By the time we finished our dish, we had decided to stay another night – to take it easy, relax, and meet up with a few of our new Vipassana friends for an evening in the park.

That night we gathered with our friends (some of whom we had still not spoken with until that time, and many of whom whose names we did not know).  Still we were there like family, chatting, playing guitar, and just relaxing.  We were approached by some young Bolivians who had just bought a pipe and were trying to score some ganja.  I laughed at the irony of it: first, a local person asking a tourist where to find weed, second, that this group of long-haired, bearded, instrument-playing, handicraft-making and selling travelers was a sober group.  The youth didn’t get the joke, but he and his friend did (as many Bolivians) prove very interested in our travels and homes in foreign lands.

Two days turned into eight, as I caught a stomach bug that kept me weary of bus travel, and Claire decided to get a Wisdom Tooth pulled by a competent and inexpensive Bolivian Dentist ($50 without insurance, done the same day).  And, best of all, she faced no complications (anyone who knows Claire’s luck would expect this, of course…)

On the streets of Cochabamaba

During our time in Cochabamba, we shared in some marvelous experiences.  Our hosts at the hotel, as well as the many merchants and passer-bys we encountered in the street-side markets, were incredibly friendly.  As we were frequently the only obvious (white) foreigners around, we were approached for conversation and asked many questions by inquisitive, kind people.  It was a refreshing break from the tourist-laden streets of Cusco. 

On our first day of exploring we headed to a local hot springs, where we encountered an older couple who shared with us the single spring carrying the hot, sulfurous water in exchange for some theological banter.  The next day, we took a bus to the outskirts of town and walked for a few hours to reach a beautiful waterfall, cascading from the sharp cliffs of the rocky mountain slopes rising above the city.  Despite some trash (the distinction between clean nature and filthy landfills is often not so distinct) it was a pristine scene, and the first time since our retreat that we were welcomed by the calming sounds of nature.

The most unique experience we found while ‘recovering’ in Cochabamba was the solstice festival, introduced to us by a Vipassana friend named Begum from Turkey with a beautiful soul and a free spirit.  On June 21^st, which marks the longest day of the calendar year in the Northern Hemisphere (the summer solstice), Bolivians celebrate their winter solstice – marking the beginning of the winter season.  This date also (not coincidentally) marks the beginning of the Aymara New Year.  Aymara are a people whose existence is believed to have predated the Incas by about five hundred years, and whose language and culture still thrive in Bolivia alongside the Spanish-imposed language and religion.  For this special day, tens of thousands gather throughout Bolivia (both in small, rural towns as well as larger, urban areas) to celebrate the rising of the sun, and the start of the New Year.  Naturally, as the Aymaras are a traditionally agrarian culture, the New Year and the celebration revolve around the crops (and thus, logically, the sun).

Pre-Inca maize storage silos where the festival was held.

 We woke well before dawn, with pangs of remembrance of 4:30 AM meditations, and boarded a bus headed to the hills on the outskirts of the city.  The bus was organized by RedTinku, an intercultural organization for young social activists who organizes various activities around the city, our favorite of which was a “sounding board” in the city’s main plaza where people posted critiques and scratched their thoughts on the day’s newspaper headlines.  This poster board was consistently packed, with large groups of people standing together every day debating and discussing their country’s political, cultural, and social issues.  The bus was filled to capacity, with varied ages and socio-economic classes, including youths who had been drinking all night alongside elders who seemed to think 5 AM was a normal hour.  After about 45 minutes, we arrived at a hillside that overlooked the glowing lights of Cochabamba.  It was cold – near freezing.  Luckily, groups of people throughout the hillside had started lighting small fires using the abundant dry grasses, in order to keep themselves warm and create a place for ritual and dance. 

Claire, Begum and I joined a fire (accompanied with some scavenged wood for good graces), and chatted as we warmed our bodies by the circle.  Soon, instruments made their presence known in the dark, drums started booming, and various groups began playing flutes and singing.  Before we knew it, we were in the dance circle, all of us holding hands as we danced and spun, circling around the fire.  The sound of the music, the energy of the group and the fire, and the amazement that people of such strong culture and talent would welcome us into their (proverbial and literal) circle was elating. 

We roamed about, speaking with many people - amazed at the friendliness and openness of the people, and the lack of emphasis on drugs or alcohol among the crowd. What a beautiful celebration – to gather together with friends, family, and strangers to welcome the sun that brings us life and energy.  The people were so connected to the earth, so in tune with what really matters.  
We were lucky just to be there.

Just before the sun rose, we stumbled on an older Bolivian couple sitting near our fire.  The man introduced himself with a bountiful offer of coca leaves* (his two huge hands cupped together).  I thought not of refusing, but only regretted that I did not have my own leaves to trade with him – as is the traditional greeting among friends and strangers in the Aymara and Inca cultures.  He seemed happy nonetheless to share our company, as we chewed the leaves and felt the energy and warmth they provide.

*Many of you may know, but it deserves mention that chewing Coca leaves has almost no similarities to snorting Cocaine.  Although Coca is the leaf used to create Cocaine, the alkaloids in the plant are by concentration less than 1% of that found in the drug. In fact, this association and the idea that those who chew coca leaves are somehow ‘addicts’ or in any way related to Cocaine consumption is merely a smear campaign aimed at undermining Andean cultures throughout South America (all of whom have a strong history of chewing Coca for energy and nutrition). The leaves contain more calcium per gram than milk, and more protein per gram than meat - here's a link on nutrients.

This man and others makes physical offerings of money, herbs, and crystals to the sun

The gentleman explained the significance of the Aymara New Year.  He informed us that when the sun rose, we would all put our hands up – palms out – above our heads to welcome the sun, and take in its energy.  This symbolic gesture is accompanied by prayers and thanks for this beautiful, life-giving source, which will sustain and nourish us for yet another year.  The cold increased as the sunrise became closer, and soon the wisps of clouds above the eastern glacial peaks were dancing with hues of pink and orange. As the light slowly mounted behind the high peaks, we could see it slowly descending the hillsides behind us. The crowd hushed as the light approached, all turned east with their hands in the air, the anticipation mounting.  Then, in a brief spurt of energy, the rays burst over the mountaintops and danced on our finger-tips.  In an almost incomprehensible moment, the sun climbed to the palms, the arms, and then the face.  We all stood in awe as we took in the energy, the warmth, the life. 

After the sun had risen, we prepared to leave.  On our walk towards the exit, we were approached by numerous student groups, radio journalists, and news staff for interviews about our experiences at the festival, why we were there, what we thought of the event, etc.  What we attempted to say (albeit in falty, ineloquent spanish), was the following:

This connection is new to us, but it has always been here.  Every moment of our experience represents the continuity of life.  We stood in this spot, on this hallowed ground, where for centuries the ancestors of these very people stood to welcome the sun.  To welcome a New Year.  To pray that the cycle of life continue, that those infused by this energy be lucky enough to create more life, also to be touched in the same way.  Something about this experience is so fundamental that it must be lived, and yet somehow it had taken us 28 years to really stop and give thanks for something as fundamental as the life-giving source for our planet.  Now we have not only the sun to thank, but the people of this beautiful culture who demonstrated to us this fundamental connection, that we all share.

Our new friends from the celebration, flying the Aymara flag high and proud!