My Travels In Peru

The Island Gods of Amantani

Descendants of the Inca, who to this day speak the Quechua language, inhabit the island of Amantani. Spanish is their second language. The children learn Quechua from day one, and Spanish when they start school. So, its clear which is the island's mother tongue.

Amantani is largely an agrarian society: farming is more important than fishing. However, tourism is becoming a significant economic force. Strangely enough, it is helping to develop a bigger sense of community. For many years, families have been farming to eek out a subsistence living, each looking after its own interests. Now, the tourism income generated from entrance fees, which are part of the excursion fares, are used to fund community projects. The island is an autonomous, indigenous region and there is not even a police presence because crime is nonexistent and the community leaders deal with local disputes. The system is similar to that of our First Nations in Canada.

We weren't there long enough to see how well this spirit of community works, but those we met seemed to be courteous to each other, as well as to visitors. It appeared that everyone on the island knew each other by name. With fewer than four thousand souls living there, one expects a higher level of harmony than in a city of four million. Furthermore, the same families have been living there for generations; so, seeing a cohesive community was not surprising.

The island is self-sufficient in agricultural crops such as corn, potatoes, and broad beans. The other major product is wool. They have sufficient sheep to produce a surplus of woolen products that are sold to tourists. The community elders control tourism and manage it well. Tourists follow a set program, or itinerary, which every one on the island knows by heart. They know when the boats arrive and leave, so that vendors can be at the dock at those times to sell their arts and crafts. They know when tourists head out for the hike to Pachatata (father earth) and Pachamama (mother earth), and they are there on the trail to sell. They also know when the evening folkloric song and dance is, and they are there to sell to them coming and going.

Growing food crops for their daily sustenance is their main activity. Making wool products, when they are not busy in the fields tending the crops, is a secondary activity. We saw them spinning wool even when they walk. It was so common to see women doing it that someone in our group commented, "They probably spin even in their sleep." The point was that they make it seem so simple. It's second nature to them.

What brings people to the island? It's not so much the island that attracts tourists, as the Andean way of life that still exists here. With no cars and no electricity, it's a lifestyle reminiscent of life before the industrial revolution. For some of us, it's a lifestyle that our parents or grandparents talked about. And, for tourists with an interest in history, or ancient cultures, the temples of father earth and mother earth are also a big draw.

Amantani is a volcanic island with two high peaks, reaching over 4,000 m of altitude. The peaks have the same names as the temples that sit on them. At about 3:30 in the afternoon, all visitors meet in the community square and set off for the hike to these sites. The plan is to reach Pachatata first and then follow the connecting ridge to Pachamama. The objective is to reach the latter, on the western side of the island, just before sunset, to enjoy a spectacular show of colour; and then rush down to the square before it gets dark. Many of us brought headlamps in case darkness overtakes us.

We walk past light poles and someone asks the guide what they were for, given that there is no electricity. He explains that there was a time when the island had electricity. He says, "The state had put in a generator to light up the footpaths, but when the generator broke down nine months later, the government abandoned it. We have all the infrastructure, but no light." Farther up is a new whitewashed building – the health centre. As we pass it, the guide says, "Other than the defunct generator, the schools, and this centre are the only government presence on the island."

The climb from the village square is pretty steep, and brutal because of the altitude. Even with the help of the muña, which we keep rubbing in our hands and inhaling to get its medicinal, essential oils into our lungs, the effort winds many people, but my wife more than others. By the time we reach the halfway point to Pachatata, she says, "You go ahead. I can't continue." A local woman is sitting on the side of the trail selling woolen products and my wife decides to keep her company until I return.

From this point onward the trail is not as steep, but she is exhausted and needs to rest. She's also concerned that by slowing me down I wouldn't be able to see both temples, so she begs me to go on by myself, "You can show me the pictures when you get back," she says. "Go on!"

I'm now moving faster and overtake some of our group members, who had left us behind. I reach the intersection with the path that connects the two temples. As I turn left, I'm greeted by a stunning view of the Temple of Pachatata with a full moon right above it. Two stone arches line the path to the temple. The moon is now directly above them , and as I get closer it keeps dropping; and finally it is just inside the first arch and above the second. Out comes my camera and I delight in framing this spectacular scene. Many women selling their wool handcraftsline the new stone path, but the arches are of the same vintage as the temple; they are part of the island's history.

The temple is simpler than I imagined and a lot more primitive. The rectangular outer wall is about two metres high, constructed with unshaped fieldstones without any binding material. It has a sunken courtyard that is as deep as the outer wall is high: two or three metres. It's not surprising that it has no roof, as it would have decayed over the centuries, but the guide says "The temples of that era had no roofs. Both temples were constructed by the Tihuanacu civilization, well before the arrival of the Incas."

Unfortunately, we were not allowed to enter it. "It's open only once a year for the celebration of the sun, on June 21," he says. The only view of the interior is from the locked steel gate. The guide tells us, "The island's population is split almost into two equal parts: one following the cult of father earth, and the other that of mother earth." It didn't occur to me at the time to ask if the division was along gender lines, but I doubt it. Therefore, on the winter solstice, which is the Aymara people's new year, half of the population celebrates here and half at the other temple.

The guide says, "They arrive well before dawn to begin the festivities. The priests, dressed in white robes and red capes, start fires in the sunken courtyards and sacrifice llama foetuses to the sun god. They, and their helpers, are the only ones allowed to enter the courtyard. Everyone else stands inside the temple at ground level. When the first rays of the sun enter the temple, everybody lifts their hands up welcoming the sun and the new year, which is also the start of the new agricultural cycle." For an agriculturally-based society, it's understandable that this would be the biggest celebration of the year.

I'm set to go to the other temple, but it's already getting cold, and while I'm okay because I'm moving, my wife might be suffering of cold down below. So, I decide to go back to her with only half the mission accomplished. But before leaving I take a photo of Pachamama with my zoom lens: so close and yet so far away! Through the power of the camera I can see the circular temple of similar construction. I wave to it and make my way down.

She's sorry that I didn't get to see the other temple, but grateful for having returned early. While the others make their way to Pachamama, we make our slow descent back to the square and walk around the lower part of the village until the others return. By the time the last people arrive it's already dark, and we make our way back to the guesthouse by the light of my headlamp. We're ready for some nourishment, and, perhaps, even some cake. It's our host's birthday! "Surely they will have cake," says my wife. "They don't even have an oven. Where would she bake it!" is my reply.