74. Andean Soul 3
Andean Soul PART THREE
Chapter Four
Ayaviri
This was a threshold day. Here we were, straddling two worlds, standing at 16,000 feet above the sea; the Pacific slope behind us and the Andean interior in front of us – an endless landscape of peaks rising to between 16 and 24 thousand feet reaching up into a deep cobalt blue sky. Llongote Pass was a bridge from one world into another, from one life into another. As we wound down through high tundra grasses, a scattering of Vicuna grazing and drinking from glacial springs, Luis announced, “We’ve been given another day Pablo! Vamos a Ayaviri!”
To Ayaviri it was. We were committed now. The next road would be several villages and nearly two hundred miles away. This was the Andean interior. Ancient villages nestled in high mountain niches connected by pathways precariously carved into steep slopes where you could sometimes see a silver ribbon of river reflecting the sun some 4000 feet below. A long fall it would be.
Burros were a necessity. Goat milk, pork, chicken, eggs were the principle proteins. Legumes and tubers were plentiful along with other high altitude cold crops and apples! Yes, apples. The most amazing apple hybrids…like the grapefruit sized Viscas apples we ate along one of the many ancient canals built by the Incans.
“Up here, I am Incan!” Luis shouted out to me as he strode ahead whistling one of his inane tunes, half crazy smile on his high cheeked face.
We had stopped to eat apples along one of the canals and to soak our blistered feet, when up came a stocky old man striding behind a burro loaded with burlap bags full of coca leaves. “How far to Ayaviri?” we asked.
“Tres!” was his reply, Three!
“Three what?’ we called out.
“Three!” he shouted back.
Oy! Three miles, three hours, three days, three what? We didn’t know.
We put our rubber sandals back on to very sore feet, stocked up on apples and marched onwards to Ayaviri!
We walked and walked, well past three miles and three hours. Whatever was the mysterious ‘tres’, we weren’t there yet. We pushed on, our feet numb with pain, apples all gone, hungry, beyond tired…driven by sheer will at this point and absolutely loving it! And just as the sun met the horizon we saw a large cross on a ridgeline ahead.
We got to it and stopped for a few minutes. We must be getting close, we thought, but no sight of Ayaviri. Here we were sitting beneath a 30 foot high cross, facing another cold night without food, exhausted beyond belief, wondering where the hell was Ayaviri, both of us praying in our own ways for strength, for rest, for help, for something….
Just then when heard bells, lots of little bells.
It was a herd of goats! And behind came the most beautiful woman either of us had ever seen. This must be an angel! An angel goat herder coming to rescue us and lead us to the mythical village.
“Come!” she called, “to Ayaviri!”
“How far is it?” Luis asked.
“Tres!” she hollered back to us, “Hurry, it’s getting dark!”
So we followed, giddy with a strange euphoria, stumbling behind our angel another hour at least before we arrived at the outskirts of the village. She corralled her goats and beckoned us to follow her down through a maze of narrow alley ways all the way to the village center, where, to our total astonishment a fiesta was happening. Our hostess ordered us to wait here. So we stood there delirious trying to get oriented.
Traditional music was blaring out through a single speaker mounted on a pole above the plaza. The music was totally distorted because it had to compete with the diesel generator supplying its electricity. Every few minutes, an announcer would interrupt the music speaking half Quechuan, half Spanish, encouraging everyone to dance, drink and be merry!
We were sitting there watching in a daze, when our angel returned. She said, “Let’s go see the mayor!” So we followed her into a two story building next to the plaza, up a set of stairs and into a well lit room with a big man sitting behind a desk holding a microphone up to a record player in one hand and a bottle of Pisco in the other!
The mayor is the DJ!
He stopped the music, announced to the village that we had guests, greeted us robustly, said thank you to his daughter (our angel), and then commenced to interview Luis and myself ‘live at the Ayaviri village plaza’!!!
What followed was the most bizarre and hilarious situation…
The first order of ceremonies was to pass the bottle of Pisco for a couple rounds to get us warmed up. He then proceeded to ask us our names, where did we come from and what were we doing in Ayaviri??? Luis decided to be our spokesman.
“We come from the village of San Vicente de Azpitia in the Mala river valley. We have journeyed for five days coming here, mostly on foot. We are passing through all the mountain villages along this route on behalf of the Institute of Cultural Affairs.”
The mayor was slowly trying to digest all this, as Luis lectured on, describing the development mission of El Instituto, decentralized community empowerment, cultural preservation, economics, ethics, indigenous rights and on and on, as the mayor started to nod off in a crosseyed stupor. All this time we were being broadcast over the plaza loudspeaker.
Then suddenly as Luis spoke the words, … “and Pablo plays the guitar and sings and comes all the way from the United States of America”, the mayor jumped up, grabbed the microphone from Luis and announced to the entire population of Ayaviri, that sitting before him was a famous American singer and can somebody bring him a guitar!
“No, no,” I protested, “No soy famoso!”
“You are now, Pablo!” Luis elbowed me with a maniac grin.
Sure enough, a few minutes later the guitar appeared. It was missing two strings!
“Presenting, Pablo de America!” announced the mayor. “Play! Sing for us!”
- And he stuck the microphone two inches in front of my face, looking at me through unfocussed eyes, with an expression that said – You better deliver boy!
So I started. First, Guantanamera, then La Bamba, then Gracias a la Vida, then a couple originals, all the while Luis and the mayor encouraging me on conspiratorially. Something must have been looking over us, because though I was physically totally spent and we had passed the Pisco around many, many times now, on very empty stomachs, the lyrics nevertheless popped into my head and out through my mouth as sweetly and fluidly as can be!
When it was all over, the mayor applauded and thanked us for coming and made a very formal, official sounding announcement to the village, despite his impairment – to treat us as family, to provide anything we needed and to remember this night of nights in El Pueblo de Ayaviri!
As we walked down the stairs and out the door we were greeted by many toothless and glossy eyed smiles, wishing us a good journey, to go with God, be safe, thank you, thank you, we love you…come back…
A crotchety old woman grabbed Luis by the arm and led us to our suite for the night. When we woke the next morning, with hunger pangs, swollen, blistered feet, sore from head to toe and seriously hung-over, we realized we slept the night in the loft of a pig barn! OY!
And that…was Ayaviri.
~PAZ
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