The journey this year was more successful than we had hoped. It was not without a few bumps and detours, as we’ve come to expect in our travels to third world countries, but rich with the beauty of landscapes, history, and relationships.

 
 

This year we were five travelers: me (Tim), Penelope, JaNoy, Perry, and Jodi. I want to express my deepest gratitude to my companions this year. They were truly amazing in their capacity to see the big picture, to embrace all experiences with both appreciation and durability. When there was work to be done, with packing, with planning, with carrying, this group threw itself into the effort with joy and humor. When we felt sick, fatigued, overwhelmed, the group complained little and willingly supported one another to the fullest. What fabulous travelers you all are! Thank you, friends.

No Whiners: White Knuckle Travel Lines

The journey to the village is not easy. The first stage requires brutal overland travel to a tiny village on the east side of the Andes Mountains. Our driver was a young off-duty policeman supplementing his meager wage by driving a borrowed ‘combi’ (van). The cost was reasonable in dollars; emotionally and physically, the cost was questionable.

The driver had hoped to leave very early so that he could make the return trip the same day. Even best laid travel plans rarely go as clockwork. That equation amplifies in Third World countries. We were picked up by 6:30 am but didn’t leave Cuzco until 9:30 am. We had to change a couple of tires on the way, which meant taking the old tire off the rim and putting the new one on the rim by hand. A ten-minute stop in the US is a forty-minute stop in Peru.

We commenced travel in earnest at 10:30 am, creating additional pressure for the driver who planned to return to Cuzco the same day. Drivers in a hurry scare the crap out of me, especially in a country like Peru, where lane lines are seen as mere suggestions of where cars ought to drive. It’s amazing there are not more fatalities on the highways. Drivers prominently display religious articles and prayers on the car dash for protection. Then they drive with complete trust that the Señor of Qoylloriti will protect them, despite their driving habits. Sheesh! Talk about white-knuckle travel…

As we settled in the combi (van), I found the front two seats open. At the time I was not aware that those who had previously made the trip purposely avoided those seats. You see everything from the front of a combi, far more than you would want. If you’ve survived the paved highway, where passing on curves is entirely acceptable to our driver, you embark on one of the world’s more terrifying dirt roads. The one-lane mountain tracks in the Andes terrify travelers, with hairpin turns, steep cliff edges, and no shoulders. Our road has earned its reputation, most especially when you have a driver intent on setting a land speed record for the road. OMIGOD! Spontaneous prayers issued from my lips regularly.

You have to pass through two major mountain ranges, with two major passes exceeding 17,000 feet in elevation, requiring an initial climb of approximately 8000 feet from the floor of the Sacred Valley, and a second climb of nearly 7000 feet to cross the continental divide close to Ausangate, Peru’s highest peak. The scenery is spectacular … when one can enjoy it. Our driver insisted on running the tires within a foot of the cliffside edge of the road (seriously!) where the surface was slightly less bumpy. Often I could look out my window to see an almost sheer drop of thousands of feet. I have an iron stomach, yet this trip left me feeling drained and weakened.

17,000 Feet in the Sky

I was nervous. Having missed the trip in 2004 prior to open-heart surgery, I wondered how I would manage the high altitude hiking. I think everyone who hikes high altitudes wonders how they will respond to the thin air, especially at 17,000 feet. We carry an oxygen canister in case of difficulty, but in the two trips to the village, this oxygen has not been used. We chew a lot of coca leaf, which helps with high altitude and exertion. Whenever I began to feel a slight altitude headache, I would stuff a few coca leaves in my mouth, drink more water, and the discomfort would subside.

   

The trail up from the road climbs steadily for several miles. Our starting elevation was approximately 13,500 ft, and the highest pass was 17,000 ft (5000 m).

    

These people are so strong! While I labored with my twenty-pound pack, men from the village carried heavy bundles on their backs that were overflow from the animals. Believe me, no whiners in that group! One of the young men put down his box of donated machetes to chase a runaway llama. I grabbed the box, to haul it for a while for him…bad idea! I didn’t make a quarter mile before I was looking for a place to put that box down.

The last mile before the highest pass is the steepest, a climb of at least 1000 feet from the sacred lakes below Apu Mamarosa, the sacred craggy peak protecting this part of the trail. I cannot begin to express the exhilaration I felt climbing the steep trail, feeling the strength of the mountain in my legs, knowing I would soon be in the pass.

We celebrate with prayers of gratitude at the top of the pass, thanking the mountain spirits for the joy of passage. For centuries before us, travelers have given thanks and honored the apus (gurdian spirits), symbolized by the placing of a stone atop an apachekta, or prayer-pile. These towers give testimony to centuries of earth-honoring relationships of balance and harmony between the Q’ero people and the spirits.

From the top of the highest pass, we had four to five more miles ahead of us to the village.

But this year we have another plan: we are going to vicuña camp!!

Chasing Vicuñas

Just as we began to descend the pass, we were astonished and delighted by the rare sighting of a handful of vicuñas moving away from our group just a few hundred yards away. Vicuñas are camelids, smaller than alpacas and llamas, with long, graceful necks and unbelievable speed. They are protected by the Peruvian government as an endangered species. Vicuñas have never been domesticated, and it is rare for a visitor to see these shy, wild creatures. Yet, here they were welcoming us into the Andes with their ethereal grace!

Since ancient times, the Andean people have had a cooperative relationship with the vicuñas. The people conduct a winter ‘hunt,’ in which the villagers trap the vicuñas by driving them down from high ridges into a valley to corral them. There they shear the hair of the vicuñas and release them. The government will pay five hundred dollars -- that’s right, dollars -- for each kilo (2.2 lbs) of vicuña hair. Vicuña wool the most prized on the planet. In exchange for their hair, the Andean people protect and pray for the vicuña, allowing them to graze the same ranges as their domesticated llamas, alpacas, and sheep.

On the day we hiked in, the entire community was encamped at approximately 15,500 feet preparing their annual, government authorized vicuña hunt. What an experience! Shortly after arriving at camp, the fog began drifting up the canyons into the high valleys, as the warm air from the jungle carried moisture to the high lands.

I found myself wandering in circles among the stone huts and stone fences, surrounded by sheep, llamas, and alpacas. Perry, in his inimitable way, said, “I’ve always dreamed of doing this if I ever came face-to-face with a llama.” Walking to within a stride of a bewildered llama in the shifting fog, with the straightest face imaginable, Perry spoke to the llama: “Cómo se llama?” How can something so dopey be so funny?

Wild vicuñas are herded into capture net-fences for annual shearing, then released.

The government officials bring about 2500 feet of sturdy net, 10 foot high. The men carry long wooden poles up to the area of the hunt, anchor them in the ground, and stretch the net tight in a sort of V-wedge layout. The officials allow the community only a few days to hunt and shear the vicuña before they take the net to other mountain villages. This creates problems for the community, who see that their dependence on the government net changes the hunt experience in negative ways. First, they are unable to do the ceremonies important to the hunt because the Peruvian officials rush the whole process. The officials also aggressively direct the hunt, contrary to the traditionally spiritual focus of the hunt. For this reason, the community asked us to buy a fence-net that would allow them to hunt in the traditional ways. With their own fence-net, they will use traditional spiritual methods in harmony with the vicuñas, yielding more sheared hair and more income every year.

We arrived at the vicuña camp in early afternoon, just prior to the fog rolling in from the jungle. The fog brings bone freezing cold, with moisture that penetrates every pore. Our lodging was a rock hut, too small to accommodate us all. Dust, straw, dung, cold, and smoke from the inside fire of the cooks living in the other side of the hut challenged sleep and comfort.

By 4:00 in the morning the community was up and moving about, laughing and joking, preparing strategy for the hunt. There is something to be learned here; who can have fun at 4:00 in the morning? The Q’eros people are the sweetest I have known, gentle and strong at the same time. All must know the plan because everyone participates, and both timing and execution are essential for success. One capitán lined his crew up to ensure discipline and to demonstrate teamwork.

   

   

Young men are chosen as ‘drivers.’ They climb high onto the steepest slopes of the surrounding mountains, slowly moving the vicuña down into the sloping valley that serves as the trap. The men need to move in a manner that drives the vicuña but doesn’t alarm them greatly. The area these drivers cover is astonishing, as is the synchronicity of the drive. They are often several miles away from each other, but arrive at the valley with the vicuña in front of them at almost exactly the same time.

The rest of the community spreads out through the ridges, hidden in the rocks above the valley, above the net-fence. As the vicuña begin to appear, at least four or five different groups from areas above the valley, everyone jumps up at once and the chase is on. The vicuñas dart side to side, looking for gaps in the approaching runners, trying to get back to higher ground. The people run and yell, and some have ropes with flags on them between runners to herd the animals down into the trap below. The vicuña can fly! They quickly cover vast expanses of ground to circumvent the chasers. It’s an amazing sight, full of adrenalin and excitement. Just when escape seems inevitable, people jump out of hiding to turn them back down towards the valley.

I was stationed with a group of small girls posted along the edge of one possible escape route, perhaps a place where they felt I could do less damage to the hunt. From there I was able to watch a herd of about twenty vicuña dashing in circles, seeking a break in the line of runners. They churned for high ground, only to be turned by the initial drivers who were sprinting across the rocky terrain, arms waving. The herd reeled electrically down the valley, but turned quickly towards the ridge where the girls were trying to cut the animals off. Just when escape seemed imminent, more people appeared, having been so well hidden in the rocks that I hadn’t seen them. In spite of astonishing effort on the part of the runners, this herd eventually escaped, as the runners from above over-committed their position towards the valley. The herd doubled back and found the only gap in the line; disappointment hung in the shoulders and faces of the panting runners.

I heard a yell from another direction, and realized that other herds were being chased as well. Runners changed directions and raced towards the head of the valley to support another group. I could see two other herds escaping up the mountainside, free. I saw another herd of about twenty down low in the valley, charging back and forth between the nets, their escape blocked by all the runners bearing down on them from all sides. These vicuñas continued down the valley into the final corral, where people closed a gate on them, where they would be sheared.

One exciting drama occurred at the upper edges of the valley. One young vicuña was separated from his herd and was dashing back and forth between chasers, determined to break free. It tried an opening next to a small water cascade coming from the glacier just above, where it was quickly bogged down in mud. A Q’ero man immediately jumped on the animal, wrestling it down and holding it until others arrived to help. This animal was carried down to the corral on the back of one of the men. As it turns out, two animals were caught in this way, one by a man without assistance.

Eventually there were
twenty-two vicuña
caught in the corral
for shearing of the
world’s most precious wool.

The community sat together in groups for lunch and rest. Potatoes were spread on woven cloths set on the ground in the middle of groups. Several groups invited us to share, and the people relaxed, joking and talking about the hunt. They tried one more drive that day, without success. Then each vicuña was sheared and released.

We visitors sat together after the hunt, overwhelmed by the intensity and the electricity of the event. Perry, ever the contemplative one, wondered aloud how many Anglos might have participated in a vicuña hunt over the centuries. To say we felt blessed understated our emotions. To add to the magic of the day, while I was hiding for the afternoon hunt with a companion, we saw two condors angling down through the cliffs. We watched them for several minutes before they disappeared behind the ridge. Speechless for one of the few times in my life, I stared at the cliffs long after they disappeared.

Frozen in the Andes

Yes, it’s cold up there! The village rests at the confluence of two canyons, at more than 14,000 feet. While it froze every night during our stay, the days were actually comfortable due to the intense sun, as long as the air was calm.

Such startling beauty, these high valleys of the Andes! The color and light dazzle us; we share many moments in awe together, and often find it hard to continue conversations from distraction of the naturaleza. Tears of gratitude surface so easily, strong emotion unavoidable.

But ‘Frozen in the Andes’ refers to something quite different. I remember a dear friend of ours exclaiming that Perry was ‘frozen in the Sixties,’ reflecting Perry’s affinity for Volkswagens, living with a heart of peace, and other manifestations of that often magical era that Perry wears on his gentle sleeve. Like Perry in the Sixties, to be ‘frozen in the Andes’ is to enter the social, cultural, religious, and relational life of a people who still live as they have lived for over a thousand years, with very little difference.

On the one hand, many might obsess on the lack of comfort: the women in knee length skirts and often with bare feet; the babies often bottomless during the day; the limited diet; and the absence of heat. And the cold, the cold, the cold! At 14,000 feet, it will never be warm. In winter it is dry during the day. During the rainy season, mud covers the ground.

The poverty is extreme. We asked Vicente how much each family spends, in soles, each year. His responded, “Poco.” (little) Well, how ‘poco?’ “Poco!” We finally established that a family of 4 to 6 spends an average of ten to twelve dollars a month. Per month! All they can afford are the basics of a little oil, salt, sugar, oats or rice, and maybe flour. Everything else the family must generate from the natural resources and animals they raise ~ everything. For westerners, this borders on inconceivable.

In spite of what we might experience as unbearable conditions, the Q’ero maintain a social order and dignity beyond what I see in the western world. We in the north value independence, self-sufficiency, and having lots of ‘stuff.’ The Q’ero people make every important decision with the entire group in mind – and in heart. To seek one’s own comfort at the expense of another is simply not socially acceptable.

Westerners will struggle, I believe, with understanding the customs and cultural norms of the Q’ero. Possibly we might comprehend the nature of these social obligations as we consider feelings for immediate family members. We generally believe, within our culture, that family is forever, and that we take care of family. To the Q’ero, the entire village is family, and the well being of the community is measured by the well being of the family most disadvantaged or vulnerable. Each person is responsible for the well being of all others. I learned so much from these ‘primitive’ people, felt so satisfied with the reciprocal commitment they have for one another.

In our relationship with the village, we are wary of disrupting the natural and cultural order. We are not the ‘great white saviors’ come to rescue, convert, and educate. It would be easy to blunder in, with the best of intentions, and create more harm than help. We focus on identifying viable forms of self-sufficiency already functioning in the community that we could encourage and support. The most obvious of these is the weaving … the incredible weaving.

 

The Q’ero people are world-famous for two things in particular: shamanic traditions and fabulous textiles. Sometime after the trip in 2004, the village created a weaving cooperative for all the weavers (every woman). When we began to plan the trip for 2005, Penelope sent specifications for weavings that we could purchase. The women had worked diligently to fill the orders.

It is difficult for the Q’ero to market their crafts. It requires a two-day journey to Cuzco, where the tourist trade brings the best prices. Few Q’ero women ever leave the village. When they send textiles with their husbands to sell in the city, the merchants pay the lowest prices so they can sell for a profit to the tourists.

We planned to buy textiles from the weavers at a fair price during our stay in the village and sell them in the U.S. All earnings would be sent to the weaving guild and community projects. It was experimental, and we were unsure how it would work out. The reality surpassed our highest expectations. Being sensitive to the need for all weavers to benefit, we intended to purchase at least one textile from each weaver to help each family. We also want to focus our attention on the contributions of the women and strengthen their status and confidence. But we had no idea how we were going to negotiate with each of the weavers, and unsure how the process would unfold.

What ensued was nearly two days of working with the weavers.

Building Enduring Relationships of Trust and Exchange

After finishing many items of business during the assemblea, or town-meeting, the president of the weavers’ guild came forward with her husband, who speaks Spanish. He proposed to speak for the weavers and negotiate the prices for the weavings. We sat in a line, Penelope greeting and negotiating with each weaver. Perry passed money to the weavers’ president. I wrote the names and prices. Jodi made tags for every weaving. JaNoy took photos of all these beautiful weavers, young and old. It took nearly two full afternoons, working non-stop for hours, to complete the exchange.

 

When the 2004 group first went to the remote village, it was with hopes to begin an enduring relationship. The villagers were hesitant and reserved, with ample reason to mistrust outsiders. For hundreds of years the Q’ero were severely abused by the hacienda system, similar to slavery. Heart Walk Foundation has followed through with everything discussed and promised, including this huge weaving order. When the money for weavings started to exchange hands, and the weavers could see that their work was going to be rewarded, the excitement was electric. As a fair price was negotiated and paid for each textile, the face of each weaver was indescribably precious.

Many of the weavings were ordered and pre-paid before our arrival, thanks to the work of JaNoy and Penelope, who collected orders. As they passed hands to where Jodi could tag them, we often heard her saying, “Oooh, I want it!” To make sure we got the message, she left notes on the tags, often seconded by JaNoy.

blanket of traditional plant dyes


‘mesa’ for ceremonial coca leaves


woman’s ceremonial shawl

In truth, the weavings are unbelievable. Their beauty and intricacy are more impressive as one understands the mechanics of how the textiles are woven. The exchange was an astounding success. We have held special in-home sales, with all the proceeds going to the village.

One touching detail to this exchange should be noted here. The widowers have no wife to weave for them. In keeping with the principle that each household receive some income, relatives of widowers looked out for them. A daughter-in-law wove a tapestry, a sister wove some placemats, a daughter wove a mesa cloth. When photos were taken of the ‘weaver,’ the men stood proudly for their portraits.

Community First

When one brings gifts to the village, one must think of every family! There are seventy-four families in five sectors (hamlets), and HWF donations are distributed equally for all seventy-four, upholding values that maintain balance and harmony.

Due to the generosity of friends and some of the fundraising work we did last year, Heart Walk Foundation has been able to send money to the Q’ero community. They now have their own bank account, and the leaders are learning how to make withdrawals for community purchases. It was fascinating watching Marcelo, the President, and Vicente, the Vice-President, explain the money and the purchases to the entire community in town meetings.

We trust the community members to know their needs and what will serve them best. Our trust in them will likely earn trust in return. When HWF makes deposits to their account, we make it clear that it is up to the community as a whole to decide how to spend the money. This year, each family received the following:

1. Machete to work down in the jungle
2. Small scythe for cutting grasses
3. Felt hat
4. Flashlight that needs no batteries – ever
5. Heavy duty folding pocket knife for the men
6. Lighter folding pocket knife for the women
7. Cloth diapers
8. Plastic pants
9. Infant, toddler, and small children’s clothing
10. Salt, sugar, oats, cooking oil
11. Leather work gloves

Each sector (hamlet) also received two kits for making electrolyte replacement fluids, with illustrated instructions, to reduce dehydration associated with diarrhea, a common health problem that can lead to death. These gifts are small, because our organization is small, but all is given with love.

To supplement their single-crop of potatoes, the people hope to build a trail to the tropical forest, where they will clear jungle to plant corn and other vegetables. Presently it takes them six hours to hike to this warmer region from the village. It is a rough trail, with overgrowth and many creek crossings. With a better trail, they can develop maize (corn) and other vegetable crops to supplement their single-food diet of potatoes. HWF plans to donate:

We recognize that each request is consistent with ancient traditions and way of life. The villagers could not afford these items without help. The whole community decided together that these are the most helpful purchases at this time. We will be working this year to raise the money for these items.

Insta -Family

Our last night in the village was marked by an extended ceremony in which HWF ‘adopted’ 19 children. It is traditional that families in Peru seek padrinos (godparents) for their children. The padrinos commit to providing some financial support for the ayjado (godchild) for clothing, food, and schooling. We were familiar with the ceremony, as Penelope and I are padrinos to Anyi, the daughter of our compadres Roberto and Martha in Cusco.

Initially, Kike told us that some families had requested that we be padrinos. We consented to the ceremony in which we would accept responsibility for about ten children. By the evening ceremony, the group had increased to 19 children! Their families crammed into the schoolhouse, preparing for the important padrino ceremony.

The padrino ceremony is a beautiful exchange of good will. The padrinos are treated with great respect and reverence. Traditionally, gifts of money are received for the ayjado from the padrinos, while the family puts on a dinner for the extended family. Part of the ceremony is the welcoming of the padrinos into the family. Each family member expresses words of gratitude and joy to the padrinos. In 2003 the ceremony took hours for our one ayjada Anyi. We were overwhelmed with the idea of 19 children, 19 sets of family members, uncountable exchanges of coca leaves and soda.

These happy families are compadres for life with the sponsors from Heart Walk Foundation.

We are bound by love, Ayni, exchanges of sacred coca leaves & ceremonial conch trumpeting.

The feeling in that classroom was nothing short of magical, with at least a hundred people in the little room. Kike officiated, calling out the names of the child and parents. The people are so poor that all they could afford to offer was coca leaves and soda. JaNoy, Perry, and Jodi participated fully in the ceremony as co-padrinos. As Kike would announce a child and couple, we would work our way through the crowd to where the family was sitting. The couple would extend their gifts to us with words of kindness and love. We would each offer our blessings for the child and the family, for the strength of the couple, for the health of all. Then we would cut a piece of the child’s hair, which the parents save. As we exchanged commitments to one another, we five gringos became compadres, or co-parents, with each family.

Heart Walk Foundation is extending this honor to our donors by giving them the option to be a named sponsor of a child for $50 per year. This donation will purchase clothing, school supplies, and food for the child and family.

I lost track of time completely as the night progressed. When the ceremony began, the Southern Cross was shining brightly at about 2 o’clock in the sky. By the end of the ceremony, the Southern Cross was behind the mountain ridges, nowhere in sight. All those families, all that time in the crowded room, so much peace and generosity in the air. The experience was extraordinary.

The next morning we intended to rise early, pack, and start the long hike out to the road. Before daylight, we were awakened by quiet noises of people outside. Many of the families had risen in the dark and prepared food for our journey. Several brought plates of tiny trout fried in precious oil, sacrificing precious protein and oil in gratitude and love. There were plates upon plates of potatoes of different varieties.

 

Trekking up the mountain out of the village, we were met several times along the path by people carrying food. We were expected to stop with each group, but time didn’t allow us to stop and eat with everyone. At one stop, a young man met me along the trail asking for us to join his family for breakfast. I asked if we could carry the food with us to help us on the hike. He ran up the hill to his house overlooking the valley, returning quickly with a plate of potatoes. I pulled a bag out, put the steaming potatoes inside, and turned to thank him. He grabbed both forearms, and looking into my eyes said, “Gracias Papa, gracias compadre.” I’ve had a few moments in my life where I’ve felt completely focused, completely human, completely and naturally myself; this was one.

White Knuckle Travel II

The return hike was even more beautiful than the hike in. We took our time, resting often, as we didn’t want to get to the road earlier than necessary. We hoped to savor the day walking in the Andes, arriving late in the day to the roadside hamlet for a simple supper and sleep. Lo and behold, when we arrive in the roadside hamlet, our driver is waiting for us, agitated to get the van packed so we could return immediately to Cuzco. Apparently, one of the many huelgas, or strikes, was to begin early the next day, and the taxi drivers planned to close all major highways into and out of Cuzco. We were pretty exhausted from the hike, yet we had no choice but to load the van for a treacherous return trip through the mountains in the dark! As it turned out, it was better for me not to be able to see the cliffs along the way. We arrived in Cuzco at 2:30 in the morning, worse for wear but safe – and already planning our return to the village next year.

The only toy we saw. Its wheels are squared off.	After hundreds of years of abuse, most villagers are hesitant and shy.
JaNoy comforts a blind widow.