Qollyur Ritty

It all started after the fire ceremony. That's how most good stories start, right? Actually, that's taken from some kitchen conversation we were having about how one drug aficionado said no good story begins with "After I ate a salad..." The joke is that in South America that's how a lot of great parasite stories start. Fear not, this epic tale isn't about me getting a parasite (at least I hope it isn't). This is the last minute adventure of a lifetime.

At sunset last Friday, various residents, locals, and travelers convened around a fire pit in our back garden to celebrate, under the full moon coupled with a lunar eclipse (one of the most powerful moons of the year.) As part of the ritual, each of us contributed a small stick to the flames, breathing an intention to let something go on one end of the stick and to give thanks for something in our lives on the other end. Personally, that was a very powerful reflection about letting go of fear and surrendering to life, basically. After the ceremony, I was once again reminded that some of the house residents would be leaving Sunday to attend Quyllur Rit'i. Shevaa, one of the women who live in the house, suggested that maybe I should go. I wasn't planning on it at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized how amazing it would be if I could go. If you didn't already click on the link, Qoyllur Ritty, in Quechua star snow, is a massive annual festival held at the base of the Sinakara Mountain a few days before Corpus Christi. It involves a ton of dancing and singing in celebration of the Sr. Qoyllur Ritty, blending a lot of Catholic and pre-colonial traditions.

Actually, I didn't even know that much before I decided to go. I just knew about the singing and dancing, and it would be something I would not want to miss. So, I woke up with resolve Saturday morning. I would find a way to get there. My first instincts were to go with a tour group, due to my incredible lack of experience within Peru, with even higher altitudes, colder temperatures, hiking and camping. I roamed around town, visiting numerous travel agencies, which are almost on every street. (There's another testament to Cusco's main industry: tourism.) Still, I realized after visiting a few that, that all the nearby ones banned together to offer the same tour. By then, I wasn't sure I wanted to do that and make a festival like this one into a cheesy tour. I talked to some of the other friends I made around town (the door man at Starbucks and an artisan from the main square). Both spoke of the festival fondly, mentioning the amazing natural sights I'd see and their good experiences with the people there. I also remembered Bill, a Healing House resident, mention the sheer amount of buses lined up at the central station here in town, and how that meant it couldn't be that hard of a trip. So I don't know what possessed me but by that afternoon, I had rented a tent and a sleeping bag, borrowed a heavy coat, and started packing. I was just planning on heading out on my own the next morning.

Julia, one of the women in the house, heard about my plans that night and offered to talk to her friends who were going to see if I could tag along with them at least for the trip up there. I'm really glad she did, because getting up there was a lot harder than I expected. We (Julia, Tara--another woman who's staying at the Healing House, Ricardo--Julia's friend who's actually a shaman, and Sebastian--Ricardo's brother) left very early Sunday morning. I didn't even get to finish breakfast, and before I knew it, we were off in a taxi to the bus station. From there, we hopped on an already crammed bus for the three hour ride to Maywayny.

Being from South Florida, I've never really gotten to seen anything like the terrain we drove through. I couldn't believe my eyes as we wound our way through the mountains, speeding by valleys that extended down past where I could see and getting glimpses of snow-capped Ausangate (just north of where we were headed) every now and then.

Ausangate from our bus window

On the way, I also saw some terraced farms just like I read about in my World History textbook in high school. There were tons of short walls around yards and farms made of stones from the mountain itself, just stacked on top of one another. We passed some real small towns as well, that didn't even have one stop light. The people of those towns could be seen at outdoor markets or just sitting outside in very traditional garb, with the women wearing these flat hats, each brimmed with a different color representing where they're from.

Her's is yellow, but I also saw some green, pink, and other colors.

Before I knew it, we arrived at a mass of buses, cars, and blue tented shops selling anything and everything you might have forgotten to take with you (from sugar cane to brimmed caps). This was where everyone embarked on the next leg of the journey, an 8 km hike to the Sanctuary of Sr. Qollyur Ritty. Close to where the trail started, there were some mules people were using to carry extra luggage. Some even decided to ride them up. In our group, Julia and Tara went in on two mules, one to carry up their bags and the other they were going to take turns riding.

our group just beginning the 8 km hike

I was planning on just carrying my stuff up and hiking the whole way. I mean, what's 8 km? I used to run just over 5 km every other day back home. This wouldn't be anything, right? Wrong. I'm used to being fairly close to sea level. We were up at about 4,600 m or 15,000 ft above sea level, even higher up than Cusco, which is at an altitude of 3,400 m or 11,000 ft. I barely made it up the first couple kilometers, where the trail was completely up-hill. I fell so far behind the others and almost got lost several times amid the sea of people who were also heading up the mountain. I really felt like Bilbo Baggins at this point, and I began wondering why I even left my comfortable breakfast that morning. I felt even sillier after we hit the 2 km mark, and Julia and Tara insisted that I ride the mule up next. Although, I have to admit, I was so grateful to get to catch my breath and enjoy the sights riding up there. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was like something out of a movie.

the view from atop the horse

There were herds of llamas and alpacas just out there doing their thing on surrounding pastures. Up above, the sky was so blue it was incredible, and a quick look down revealed that our path was just cut into the side of the mountain. The very bottom was a ways away, where there was a rushing stream of water that probably originated high up in the glacier somewhere. For that part of the trip, I just couldn't stop smiling, at first because of the immense beauty, but then because my lips got stuck like that in the crisp, dry mountain air. At about the half way point, I felt much better and Julia got back on and we made it to the site with relatively little trouble.

Okay, so there was some trouble. In another genius move by yours truly, I stepped straight into a muddy bog in my Doc Martens from high school. If you don't know, I call those my "Jesus shoes" because in my four years of high school I could walk through any puddle and survive without even the slightest dampness in my socks. However in that moment, my foot sunk straight down and mud soaked through all three of my layers of socks and tights. Still, I didn't think too much of it, and while the others were looking for a spot to tent, I went down to that stream and cleaned off my shoe in the freezing cold water. But then, in an even more ironic turn of events, as we were heading up a bit further to put our tents down, I lost my other shoe completely in a bog. Literally, I stepped down and my foot came up, but there was no shoe. It took one of the guys nearby about five minutes fishing around in there, but he got it out eventually. Well, I guess that's life.

By the time we set up camp in a sea of the other tents and Tara lent me a pair of her shoes while mine dried out, it was about 3 or 4 pm. The sun was just sinking behind the mountains, and already I noticed a drop in temperatures. I was already wearing three long sleeved shirts and two pairs of leggings with jeans, but I had to put on my pea coat I borrowed from one of my friends back at the house. Ricardo, our shaman companion, also let me borrow his poncho, and I needed everyone of those layers and more. The festivities were already fully in swing, and I watched from a short distance, freezing and bundled up.

Dancers and musicians made their way down the mountains like it was no big deal, convening for full performances side by side in front of the sanctuary.

a group just arriving at the Sanctuary

one of the groups in front of the Sanctuary

Up to four different groups performing simultaneously created a very interesting cacophony to say the least. Still, I was so mesmerized by their intricate costumes and theatrical performances, I was hardly bothered.

Great masks, right?

The meticulous details of this costume is so amazing.

It really sounded like there were full marching bands accompanying each group, but a closer look revealed that those bands were actually similar in number and size, to the ones that occasionally parade through Cusco. Their lineup was usually a mere five to six musicians, including one bass drummer, maybe a snare or cymbal, accordion, one or two flutes, saxophone, trumpet, and/or concert euphonium.

You can sort of see the percussion section in the background.

I was really impressed by their stamina, playing, dancing, and marching through the mountain I could barely walk through.

making their way from the Sanctuary

Unfortunately, I couldn't stay up and watch them for long though. I was exhausted, so I found myself back at my tent at around 7 pm. Before I went to sleep, I walked over to a nearby tent where a family was selling full meals for only about 4 soles. I asked one of the women if I could stand by their fire pit and warm my feet. She politely allowed me to, and while my foot-sicles thawed out, a little girl who was about ten years old came out and started talking to me. She asked me where I was from and what I thought of the festival. I learned from her that she was from a nearby village. She was in primary school, and when she grew up she wanted to be a nurse. She thought it was really cool that I was from the United States, but she couldn't stop laughing because I thought it was cold out. That's when I noticed she was only wearing a skirt and some sandals.

I feel asleep almost as soon as I was back at my tent, but that didn't mean the party stopped. On the contrary, the singing and dancing and fireworks went on all night long. Sometimes, they even brought the party to me, as I could have sworn some bands marched right by my tent. I woke up that morning, brushing the ice off of my tent, to find that the wet, muddy shoes I had put out to dry that night had actually frozen solid. I just can't catch a break, can I? Still, I felt a lot better knowing the sun was going to come out eventually and warm things up almost unbearably. It's true you could actually get pretty serious sunburn quite quickly if you aren't careful, merely because of how high up we were.

By the time the sun finally made its way over the mountain, I finally got up the energy to go back and enjoy more performances from the different groups. Each group had a person who carried a huge embroidered sign indicating what region they were from.

the "sign guy" in the flesh

Most were from a different part of Peru with some from as far away as Bolivia or Chile and even Brazil. I started to think it seemed a bit like a marching band or color guard competition, surprisingly well organized and with each group supporting the other and making a wall around the floor for the other performers. The main difference was really that there was no winner after all was said and done. Each group was performing for God, el Señor.

the main space in front of the Sanctuary

Standing watching those groups from some stairs, I sort of found myself in a line to get inside the Sanctuary. I thought maybe it was going to be for a mass, but when I got in the door, I saw there were no seats. Instead there was a huge space with tons of people lighting candles in prayer off one side and some different groups marching in and performing a bit in that space as well. After hanging out in there for a bit, I made my way to the very front, where behind the altar, many flower bouquets, golden framed images, and ultimately a thick glass wall was the painted stone with the image of Jesus this place was famous for. It was overwhelming being up there, mostly because of how some incredibly fervent people were clamoring to get up there and bless themselves near the image. I was completely awe-struck by how eager people were to practice their faith. It was definitely something I wasn't used to seeing, to say the least.

After getting out of there, I decided I really needed some fresh air. We were at the base of a pretty impressive mountain. I had already seen many people wandering about at the very top, so I decided I'd give it a shot. I followed the path we took to get in there, winding up the side of this mountain. It just got narrower and narrower, and before I knew it was only wide enough for a single person. I inched up little by little afraid to slip down the side of this dusty mountain. It was pretty heart-stopping to step on a rock and suddenly have it tumble down beneath you, to the abyss below. So, I might have gone on all fours for a little bit, but who's to say? Well actually, I did have a few witnesses. Some women found my attempts quite funny and sat and watched for a bit. I understood why, when I saw some others just ran by me along the path like it was the easiest thing in the world. Making my way further, I did find that building up momentum did help, and the views just got more and more impressive as I got higher up and away from everything. I didn't make it to the peak, but I got up to one of the higher summits and rested for a while. I watched some people making their way back down the path carrying ice chunks, so I figured the path led out all the way to the single snow-capped mountain, Ausangate. I didn't really feel the need to go all the way out there. I felt quite successful where I was and the view was magnificent. There was a lot I learned climbing up that mountain, just about being careful, not fearful and knowing your limits.

Still, I couldn't stay up there reflecting for long. The sun was setting, and I lacked warm clothing, so I decided it was time to head back. As I was making my way down the mountain, I started met girl named Sumira who was there with her two younger nieces, one was on her back and the other kept running ahead. Sumira told me that this was the third or fourth time she had been to this festival. She asked me if I made it to "el helado" the icy part of the mountain. I told her no, and how I felt successful anyway. She said she didn't go this time because she looking after her nieces, but she would have and has in past years. Further down the mountain, we arrived at a place where there were people constructing miniature houses out of rocks and setting off fireworks in them. I had seen these people on my way up too and stopped multiple times asking different people what they were doing and why they were doing it. However, they all gave me ambiguous answers and kept working. One guy even chuckled and told me he was going to live there. Sumira explained to me that the tradition goes that if one builds a miniature rock house like this one truly faithfully, God will complete it and it will come true in real life. The same goes for the fake soles and dollars, and even toy cars and buses many were also selling nearby. If you buy one and truly believe, God will make it happen in real life. Sumira told me that last year she and her boyfriend built a small house and got a toy car. She said soon enough God will provide them with what they seek.

I didn't see Sumira or her two nieces after that, but what she explained really got to me. I don't know why, maybe it just caught me off guard. I think then again I was awestruck by the faith of the participants, and the wonder they have about the world, and how they desire a better life. It was beautiful, and heartbreaking, to see so many buying toy cars and fake dollars knowing that it was bought with the intention for that to come true in real life. I did mean dollars though. People were offering on million fake dollars for about a single sole.  They could also buy Peruvian currency, soles, but why were they also selling dollars?

Back at the tent, still feeling triumphant after climbing that mountain, I noticed Julia's tent was gone and so were my shoes I'd set out to dry. Anxiously zipping open my tent, I found a small not. It was from Julia. She wrote that she and Tara felt sick, and decided to go home early. She felt really bad for leaving without saying goodbye, but she waited around until about noon and then decided to go. It didn't hit me until after I left my tent, chuckling sort of nervously, that I was alone here. I'm in South America, in a country I've never been to, at a huge festival, and I didn't know anybody. Thinking that over, I realized I didn't feel scared at all. I feel more like I was one of my favorite fantasy novel characters. As a child, I had always craved the wild adventures I read about, where young teenagers found themselves in new and magical lands without any sort of guidance and went on epic journeys. The sun was beginning to set and as I wandered around the mass of blue tents, it really began to feel like I was catapulted into The Thief Lord or Inkheart.

Before retiring to my tent, I did head back out to catch some more performances. Things had sort of come to a standstill, as groups were just out waiting to get into the temple, so I figured it would be a good time to catch up on my field notes. As I took out my notebook and started scribbling down the day's observations, a girl sitting next to me kept looking over my shoulder with sheer curiosity. I made small comment to her that I was worried I was running out of paper, and with that we started talking and getting to know each other. Her name was Mary Carmen. She was thirteen years old and was at this festival with her whole family for the third time now. She was sitting with her mom and dad, and she told me her brother was actually performing with one of the groups. She thought it was really cool that I was writing in English and asked me to help her learn some words. I agreed as long as she promised to fill in the gaps in my Spanish vocabulary. She also helped me learn some Quechua. Quechua is the indigenous language here, spoken before anyone on this continent knew Spanish. Most people here speak that in addition to Spanish, and you'll see it everywhere. (A ton of street names in Cusco are in Quechua.) I don't remember much of what she told me except allqu means dog and michi means cat.

Mary Carmen also said she wished she had climbed up to the glacier, and I told her that if she wanted tomorrow we could climb up there. Excitedly she told me to meet her back where we were sitting at sunrise and we'd go. I agreed and with that began to head back to my tent when I noticed her family was getting ready to go to sleep as well, except they weren't staying in a tent. Their family had brought with them a queen size mattress and they were sharing it. They placed it on some bright blue plastic people were selling for a couple soles a meter and put another piece of that same plastic above them for warmth. They also had several blankets, but that was their makeshift tent for the night. What's even crazier was that wasn't uncommon for people to do, and looking around I noticed several families doing the same thing.

The next morning, I got up, began packing my things, and before I knew it, it was time to meet up with Mary Carmen. I walked out towards the main Sanctuary. I noticed there were more people out there than I was used to seeing, and the only groups performing we're the ones making their way back down the mountain. Still, I didn't think much of it until after getting there I realized no one was moving. One man yelled at me telling me to take off my hat, and that's what tipped me off. Everyone was out there gathered for mass. I know well that there would be no way for me to get through the crowd, so I just decided to attend mass with everyone. This time again, I was so overwhelmed with how fervent people were. Come time for communion, people were pushing and shouting to receive some. It did take the priest quite a while to get around to the people who wanted to receive it, and some people still didn't get some. But actually, the real pushing didn't start until after the mass, when there was a benediction. The priests came out with a plastic bucket of holy water and a bouquet of flowers and that's really when I saw the crowd collapse together to receive some. People held up images of Jesus, toy cars, even bottles of water to be blessed and most seemed adamant they wanted to be sprayed. I heard so many people call out to the priest near me to bless them, it was really something.

Eventually the crowd dissipated and I could make my way out to where Mary Carmen was the night before. I didn't see her, but her parents were there. I apologized profusely to them, but they just laughed and said she did ask about me that morning, but she was off lighting a candle in the Sanctuary now. I waited with them for her to come back, but they decided eventually that they were going to pick a new spot for the final mass of the day. They told one of the nearby families to let Mary Carmen know if she returned there, and just went. I was quite surprised at how easy going they seemed about letting her wander around there on her own. Then again, that seems to be the general attitude of parents in Cusco as well. I've seen countless kids, as young as 5 wandering around town by themselves or with friends on a daily basis.

Anyway, Mary Carmen came back just as they were leaving and she had me come with them to attend the final mass. We found a spot towards the tents and away from the new mass of people gathered in front of the Sanctuary. She told me she wasn't upset at all that we couldn't climb out to the snow-peak and instead I got to know her and her family a bit more. They asked me questions about what I was doing here and how long I'd be in Peru and invited me to come visit them in Anta, a city about an hour outside of Cusco.

the dance group from Anta spelled it out on the side of the mountain

After wishing them goodbye, I was off myself. Originally, I was going to go back with a friend of Ricardo, Julia's shaman friend, but he was a bit busy with his own family and making arrangements to get back. He helped me put away my tent, but I decided to just journey down the mountain myself. I carried all my belongings down the 8 km, which wasn't all that bad on the descent. I went down the whole way, only stopping once to gather my belongings that fell out when my bag unzipped. I was super sore by the time I made it back to where all the buses were leaving. It was then that I really started to worry because I needed to find a good bus back to Cusco. Luckily, I met a mother and her daughter that were from Cusco and had loads of sugar cane with them. I helped them carry some and they found us a bus in no time that was offering a pretty cheap trip back. I took it, and quickly found out why that trip was so cheap. The bus was older and therefore went pretty slow, but we made it back to Cusco after three or four hours.

The final leg of my trip, getting a cab from where the final bus stop was back to where I live was probably the most nerve wrecking for me that day. I didn't quite know where I was, and I had never hailed a cab before. To make things worse, plenty of people who don't have an official taxi license just drive people around and charge them, so I didn't know who to trust. After waiting around on my street corner for a bit, I saw another girl also hailing a cab, who showed me how to do it. After she helped I quickly found someone to take. I breathed such a sigh of relief when we were back on my street and I was finally home.

Now that I've been back, I definitely appreciate some things around here a lot more. I didn't realize how much I'd miss having a kitchen and hot running water, and all that good stuff. Still, the festival was absolutely beautiful, and the music was great. And it actually sort of followed me here. Corpus Christi is a huge festival in town. There's been tons of live music all-day. I can hear it from the House sometimes even, and the plaza is loaded with people. Also, everyone in the whole house has been telling me how proud they are that I did something like that and went off and did my own thing. It's really great and I feel very loved and supported. I think at the beginning of this post, I said something about how this was the "adventure of a lifetime," but somehow thinking about it, this feels like just the beginning.

*A big thank you to Julia, for letting me use the photos she took during the trip.

a dancer, Julia, and Ricardo (the shaman)