(Day 2) Introductions, all around

Today marked our first day waking up in Chavin. The wool had kept us warm through the night, and though the mattresses were more firm than soft, it was probably better than many alternatives in Chavin. Still, waking up at 6:30 was… different, to say the least, and not helped by the hostal’s roosters, which began to clamor around 4AM. Hot water took awhile to call down to the room – it has to be fired by a wood stove the owner lights – but showers were a blessing.

Breakfast was light but great – eggs overeasy, pita pockets with jam, and fresh, fresh orange juice. After the fare, Dr. Rick ran through the day, and declared it to be an introductory day to the site. Dutifully, we all trooped the few blocks out of town, across the Rio Mosna, and stopped just at the gate.

The site was confusing from the entranceway. The majestic façade we’d seen in pictures was around a hill, so we were presented with a wrought-iron gate, protecting a hillock dotted with small stele and obelisks. A group quickly gathered at the gate, Peruvians all, and smiled broadly as Dr. Rick came to the front. “Que dices?” (roughly: what do you say [there]? – like our greeting) he greeted them, shaking many warmly by the hand. He introduced us in turn as miembres de mi equipo (team members), and gave a short introduction to each of the locals. Many names fade now, for me, but I can’t forget Martín, who, before he had cataracts removed, could excavate solely by the feel of the soil layer.

The path to the rest of the site was lined with small cacti, often deformed, as if mangled. A small toothless man, whose name was too short to catch, introduced them as the (in)famous San Pedro cactus, whose hallucinogenic effects were central to the Chavin cult. The director seemed genuinely pleased they were growing again, for, as he mentioned, the site archaeologists had been eating them as fast as they would grow. Forgive me, but it gave a whole new meaning to tea party.

Llamas, which I have resolutely decided to pronounce correctly – (YA-maas) – roamed across the site freely, often herded by stray dogs from town. One vicious llama fought back, though; when a retriever tried to force him over the hill, he planted all four hooves and hissed, or sneezed. Either way, the ejecta and his ferocity sent the dog squealing. We decided to call him “Bonecrusher,” or, in his native Spanish, “El Rompehuesos.”

Dr. Rick walked us around the first hill , talking all the while about the trials of preservation. The plaza complex I remembered, though, was around the bend, a U-shaped temple that enclosed a 49-meter square plaza, which was sunk shallowly into the ground. It was made, he said, of granite and limestone, aligned originally to a very specific solsticial axis. The granite, before it was weathered, would have been a brilliant white, and the limestone, a velvety black. The entire site would have been split along this axis, white and black, even up the main stair. It would have been M.C. Escher’s wet dream.

After an extended walk around the plazas, we headed back for a light lunch: rice and assorted vegetables in a teriyaki sauce. Dr. Rick handed us over to Cesar, who walked us over to the new Chavin museum, due to be dedicated by the Peruvian president sometime this season. The museum was definitively out of place in the rural Andes, a hulking thing of glass and granite donated, mysteriously, by the Japanese government.

Though it was sparsely populated, pre-opening, there were a few artifacts from the site, lit dramatically from above, so that the relief cast shadows on the wild faces of half-men, half-snakes. The crowning exhibit, though, was a replica of the Lanzón – a stone obelisk that is as recognizable to Peruvians as the Statue of Liberty is to Americans. It was easily a story tall, shoulder-width in one direction and just a handspan in the other. The face was intricately wrought with baroque stylizations of birds, snakes, and priests (los sacerdotes) – all courtesy of some cactus-inspired artist.

Emerging again into the bright afternoon, we idled in the courtyard of the museum, taking pictures of the surrounding hills. As another introductory attempt, Ignacio, Dr. Rick’s student, took us back to the site. As we walked through the town, the townchildren, just freed from school, swirled past us; the daring ones yelled “mira el gringo!” – look at the white folk!

Ignacio took us deep underground, in the hidden galleries of the Chavin. Here, entombed in chilled stone, sat small cells and ventilation shafts, corridors to nowhere. Now and again, carvings and obelisks loom from the gloom. Though we cannot prove it – nearly 5000 years has passed – we think the priests would initiate others into the cult by feeding them San Pedro, and setting them free in the labyrinth. It’s certainly imposing enough without hallucinating.

A few more underground excursions, and we slipped back the top, happy to be done with the cold and the tour. Ignacio let us back the hostal, where we were left to our own devices. We showered, and used the lab’s projector to screen “Snatch,” the intricate comedy/action flick. Night fell early and heavily, and when we left the dining room, still talking about the movie, we were heavily swaddled against the cold.

The night sky was free from any light pollution; it stretched above, rich with stars. A few of us pointed out what southern constellations we knew, but most were content to watch the Milky Way (which is so clear!) turn silently as we moved towards midnight.