After the drab weather in Lima, we were promised, as we headed south, that 15 minutes outside of Paracas, we’d be drenched in sunlight. Alas, didn’t happen. Blame El Niño.
Besides the skulls, when in Paracas a boat trip to the Ballestas Islands is a must. On the way, you pass the Paracas Candelabra, a rather remarkable carving on the Paracas Peninsula that barely shows up when there’s no sun, despite intense photo manipulation.
Then on to the islands. And birds.
Not all of them fly.
But most do.
And they just keep coming, as far as the eye can see.
On the peninsula on the other side of the Candelabra, the scenery is quite spectacular.
And potentially dangerous.
And — lo and behold — the promised sun makes a return!
Lima — at least the part worth seeing — is built on a high bluff. If you go between May and October, this is pretty much what it looks like every day. No sun.
Lima, Peru, early July
But you can imagine how exploring on foot gives a good workout. Of course I had to go check out that pavilion on the jetty.
Proof! Lots of crabs. And happy seagulls, no doubt. You’ll also see lots of wannabe surfers. I thought I had a picture of them, but the light was so drab I found it difficult to get enthusiastic about taking pictures.
Miraflores, where we stayed, is upscale (and has the kitteh park). If you stayed and ate there, and avoided the rest of the city of 10 million, you might be convinced Lima is an OK place.
In the middle of Miraflores, you’ll find the Huaca Pucllana, a massive construction of mud bricks. We took many photos, and most are about as drab as you’d expect when photographing piles of mud bricks in dull light. This particular construction technique, with spaces between the bricks, makes it resistant to earthquake damage.
And in places it does indeed look like it’s been shaken around a bit.
Did I say there was no sun in Lima? I lied. This must have lasted a full five minutes.
And then, finally, some interesting light in Lima. Sort of.
I saw this crazy-looking vehicle parked at our little local zoo today. There is one very subtle clue of the brand in this view.
Can you guess? And hey, where’s the driver-side door?
It’s a 1959 BMW? The whole front opens?
And then there’s a little door for the passengers in back? I didn’t notice the door arrangements until just now, looking at the photos. I would have sought out the owner and asked for a demonstration….
Part of the Tiwanaku complex, Pumapunku doesn’t jump out at you. It’s just scattered rocks, until you look more closely.
The stones that form the platform are immense, and — as seems to be the theme — quarried and transported from a site improbably far away. Evidence of elaborate and precise machining of the stone is everywhere. This platform is called the temple, which is archeologist-speak for we have no idea what the hell this thing was.
Here Yousef Awyan points out intricate and precise stonework similar to what he sees in Egypt.
Evidence of machining includes perfectly circular drilled holes. in the background, Pumapunku’s distinct “H” blocks.
An interesting feature of these blocks came to light last January. Brien Foerster (pictured) had along a British engineer in his 80s (amazing guy who had stopped flying his own helicopter just a couple years before) who had brought a Tesla meter (magnetometer). Lo and behold, new mysteries! Knowing this, many on this tour had brought compasses. in this case, moving the compass inside the “H” recess causes it to point south instead of north!
One person brought dowsing rods, which reacted wildly. One would hold steady while the other spun like crazy. Changing position would cause the spinning one to reverse direction, or stop while the other started spinning.
Throughout the site, excavated stones are piled up more or less randomly, further demonstrating that the archeologists remain clueless about their positioning or function.
And there is much more of the Tiwanaku complex to be discovered. Here Antonio Portugal shows the results of ground-penetrating radar, which reveals promising excavation possibilities that may never happen for political reasons.
In closing, a couple more images from Tiwanaku:
Amazing stonework — function unknown — from many thousand years ago.
Tiwanaku lies close to Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world, divided between Perú and Bolivia (the joke goes that Perú got the Titi and Bolivia the caca — OK: hey, I just work here). I found the site underwhelming. The “reconstruction” and archeology feels contrived and inaccurate.
However.
From this courtyard, the very large “Bennett” monolith was excavated, displayed in La Paz for 70 years, then “returned” to a museum hall nearby where it would be safe from pollution and pigeon crap. When I descended the metal stairs with Antonio Portugal, there were very few people present (unlike this picture I took a few minutes later).
Jutting out from all sides are facial representations, each is carved on a piece of rock a meter or so long, he told me, based on other excavations. Caraclavos, I think he called them: face nails.
They supposedly represent every different race. In some cases, clearly, better than others.
When I spotted the one below, I turned to Antonio and gestured toward it. He simply pointed upwards. Yes, aliens.
And I thought of the “Starchild” skull we had seen in Paracas.
Then there’s another that seems just a little out of place.
This made me think of the Andayhuaylillas Museum and its enigmatic Huayqui skeleton, which some (and clearly the people who created the display) believe to be a hybrid human.
This was typical of the experiences on this trip: walk into a place with absolutely no prior knowledge, notice something with no prodding, ask a question without speaking, to be answered by an expert* with a single silent gesture.
* he has been researching Tiwanaku for decades. He showed us the site map done with ground-penetrating radar, which reveals large subterranean chambers. Alas, permission for excavation unlikely any time soon, he says, because the locals (and current political leadership) don’t want to know that the builders weren’t their ancestors. Who knows?
Atlántida can be a (relatively) noisy place — sometimes I refer to it as “Alarmtida.” In addition to regular and specious security “threats“ duly announced by neighbors’ alarm systems, we have weed-eaters, gas leaf blowers, lawn mowers, and chainsaws. The chainsaws have been mosquito-annoying persistent for a couple days. My wife had a revelation today, when all of a sudden her upstairs office lit up for the first time in the winter afternoon sun.
Turns out the neighbors spooked (perhaps) with the latest windstorm, and decided to remove a eucalyptus tree or two towering 40 meters or so to our northwest, where it/they blocked a significant amount of our afternoon sun (when you live in the south, the sun’s in the north).
A little hard to convey in pictures, especially when your point is, “Hey, the sun’s not blocked there anymore!”
From the balcony upstairs, outside my wife’s office window.
Most of the way up the tree in the middle, a guy with a chainsaw negotiated next moves and lowering of cut branches with the crew on the ground.
Seriously, there’s a guy in there somewhere with a freaking chain saw — about where the rope comes up from the lower left. At this point, half the tree horizontally has gone, and probably the top quarter of what remains. The neighbors will have a few years of firewood out of this. Good on ‘em (and thanks)!
The arbor vitae in the foreground doesn’t show from this sunset photo in June 2014.
And because it’s close, looks equivalent in this photo I took tonight. It’s not (notice the twin stumps of the removed tree, just left of it). This represents a huge, and wonderful, increase of light into our back yard. Sun glaring in the kitchen window — a new winter afternoon treat!
The microclimate of our back yard has just changed, for the better in terms of gardening, perhaps more challenging in terms of mitigating summer heat.
After three nights in a strange room in the Hotel Ruinas in Cusco, which opened onto the lobby, whose only ventilation was the bathroom fan which involved leaving on an extremely bright ceiling light all night, which guaranteed disrupted sleep, we returned there the final night to a wonderful room with a balcony (#306) — and this gorgeous view in the morning.
Located near Cusco, Tipon isn’t mind-blowing like Machu Pic’chu or Ollantaytambo. But it is an amazing place.
I realize I’ve been kind of slamming the Incas: not because they were incapable of the megalithic work they built on, which is technologically more advanced than anything we can do even now, but because of the “stupid history” that gives them credit for work they could not possibly have done.
I didn’t show it yesterday, but here’s the side of the cave opposite the megalithic “portal.” Megalithic “altar” behind the dude with the hat.
Umm, not quite megalithic. Not complaining, just saying.
Tipon has a number of well-watered terraces, a collection of microclimates. But your first introduction is a small gurgling waterfall.
Channeled from another waterfall.
And then you realize there are many of them, on every wall, every corner.
Our guide, shaman Dr. Theo Paredes, urged us to pay attention to the distinct sounds of each. When I observed many empty streams (the walls above and to the left), he explained that work was being done on the aqueduct from the source, 2 km away. I could only imagine that with all flowing, the atmosphere must be magic. As it was, all who visited left feeling energized.
Near the very top, the water enters through four streams. Simple, yes?
No! The water enters as one stream, which is divided into two streams, which recombine to one stream, which is then fanned out into four channels (that is not just perspective; the final four streams are farther apart at the end than the beginning).
As Theo tried to explain, what’s going on here is a profound understanding of energies we tend to ignore. Given his credentials — struck by lightning twice, first time at age 11 — I am happy to accept his word that more is happening here than I perceive.
So it was a place of healing as well as agriculture. And it wouldn’t have been monochromatic — amazing to imagine the effect of the water and geometry with the terraces planted in vibrant colors. Why not?
Returning from Ollantaytambo, we turned off the main road near the Skylodge Adventure Suites, where you can spend the night in a hotel room hanging off the side of a cliff. You can. Me, no thanks.
After winding along a riverbed with 1,000′ cliffs either side, we were let out to scramble up a steep terraced incline to a triangular cave.
Photo: Chester Jagiello
Inside, we found a perfectly machined wall and “portal.”
Our guide Wilco explained that in his grandfather’s day, the cave was open and extended very far into the hillside, but had collapsed at some point. The recessed ridges in the “portal” represent levels of consciousness. Portal to where? None of us found out (I think).
I spent a few minutes sitting in it, not as long as I’d have liked (we were quite a few people), but long enough to experience a gentle probing contact, like tentacles of consciousness coming from the rock on either side of me.
Then onto the megalithic gem at the mouth of the cave.
Photo: Chester Jagiello
Wilco explained this could be used kneeling, facing the morning sun, or sitting, allowing the energy to be channeled through the base of your skull. Being late in the day, there was no sun.
Photo: Chester Jagiello
Again, I took only a short time, out of respect for others. I didn’t feel much here — until I was ready to get up. Then I felt a distinct need to ask permission to disengage (immediately granted). Nobody had mentioned anything like this, nor had I thought of it before. But it clearly felt like the necessary and respectful thing to do.
