In previous posts I have focused on the geophysical aspects of the remote and wonderful little town of Torotoro, but in this post we will meet the indigenous Quechua people, and discover the monumental works of their ancestors.
Prior to the recent discovery of countless dinosaur tracks, and the great cave of Umajalanta, Torotoro had rarely been visited by anyone from the outside world.
There is no way to know when people first inhabited the region, but it was certainly a settled area during the time of the Tiwanaku Empire (circa 100 to 1000 AD) which long preceded the better known Inca empire.
With our Eurocentric worldview we suppose that civilization first arose in the Middle east, then came of age some 2000 years ago when the Romans invented monumental architecture and toilets; but in fact, the civilizations of the Andean highlands are equally ancient.
We duly credit the Inca for building Cusco and Machu Picchu, but those who long preceded them first domesticated wild plants such as the potato, and invented new fangled contraptions such as religion, government, irrigation systems, highways, and great temples to celebrate the one true god, the Sun.
The Aymara speaking Tiwanaku civilization eventually declined, and was replaced by the Quechua speaking Inca starting around the year 1400 AD. Those who malign the “great replacement theory” would do well to consider that the inhabitants of Torotoro today speak Quechua, which means that they replaced the Aymara speaking people who had lived there for many centuries.
Was this accomplished through war? Assimilation? It wasn’t because of any new technologies because there were none. Conservative agrarian people do not willingly change their language. Even today, many of the indigenous people of the Andean highlands refuse to learn Spanish.
Despite changes at the top, and the displacement of the original inhabitants, the basic way of life in Torotoro remained unchanged until Columbus sailed the ocean blue in 1492. It is hard to believe, but true, that a mere 40 years after the new world was “discovered” the bloodthirsty Pizarro conquered the mighty Inca empire in 1532 with a handful of men.
The Conquistadors marched with incredible rapidity and arrived in the present day city of Sucre, which is relatively close to Torotoro, in 1539. I say relatively nearby because though Sucre is only 72 miles from Torotoro in a straight line, to drive there requires an eight hour 245 mile drive on a newly opened toll road. In the good old days everyone walked.
It is truly extraordinary to consider that the fundamental changes brought about by the conquest could have happened in so short a period of time, but such was the nature of conquest when men were men. It is true that the invaders had the advantages of “guns, germs, and steel”, but without supreme courage they could have accomplished nothing.
Allow me to digress for a moment. The Conquistadors were the direct descendants of Roman soldiers, and maintained the martial attitude of the Romans long after Rome had fallen. Why did Rome fall? Because as the empire expanded it became “inclusive”, and allowed aliens with different languages, cultures, and beliefs to become Roman citizens. These in turn were fodder for the worst idea to ever infect an empire, that “the meek will inherit the earth”. Needless to say the meek fully embraced Christianity, and the rest is history. The conquistadors may have been nominally Christian, but they apparently missed the part about being meek.
…the worst idea to ever infect an empire, that “the meek will inherit the earth”.
Quoth the Weazel
The Spaniards may have brought a new language and a new religion to the new world, but other than that little changed. Despite all the drama, and the rise and fall of civilizations, Torotoro slumbered in oblivion until about 1980 when the tracks of antediluvian monsters were brought to the attention of the outside world.
What must they have thought about those enormous tracks? Perhaps some ancient sage reflected upon the three toed tracks of raptors and thought, “Aha! Gigantic birds from the age of heroes!”
The marvelous thing about Torotoro is that even though it is now on the world stage, and the inhabitants have embraced their roles as custodians of the Cretaceous, along with what modest prosperity that has brought, they show very little sign that cultural pollution from the modern world has corrupted their way of life.
Their successful continuation of a traditional lifestyle stands in stark contrast to the many more fragile cultures around the world that have crumbled when faced with the onslaught of modernity.
The people of Torotoro have been civilized for thousands of years, so why change now? If it ain’t broke don’t fix it!
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When it’s time to go to town the first step is to spiff up, then start hoofing it down the road. Women often carry substantial burdens on their backs, in front, and in their hands. How else can produce get to market?
Everybody walks everywhere. The journey starts at a remote homestead somewhere in a high valley inaccessible by road. From there, a tiny trail leads across hill and dale for however many miles it may be to the nearest graded road where, with luck, a trufi (minibus) might pass.
How elegant they are! Traditional Native Americans take pride in their tribe, and show it by dressing in a thematically consistent way that identifies their tribal membership, yet highlights their individual creative preferences. For the women in Torotoro that means a short skirt, leggings (optional), a colorful blouse, sweater,shawl, and crispy straw hat. Most importantly, all the women sport double plaited pigtails!
If you are a young Quechua woman it is easy enough to walk fifteen miles across an 11,000 foot mountain pass while carrying a suckling infant and a load of produce as long as you get to pal it up with the gals, but what if you are old?
If you are old you do it until you drop.
Because of the bright light, high contrast, and shadows cast by the everpresent hats, it was difficult to get photos of the women’s faces without being overly intrusive.
Here, as elsewhere in Latin America, indigenous men are often less traditional in matters of behavior and dress than women. Most speak Spanish, and many of the “townies” wear modern clothes. Those who live deep in the hinterlands are often stuck somewhere in the middle. The hat says it all.
The fine fellow above, who I suppose to have had some Spanish blood, was thoroughly modern. He noticed that I wore glasses, which he professed to need, so he asked how much they cost, and where he might buy a pair. When I told him that my glasses cost $400 (about 2800 Bolivianos) he thought I was kidding. It was an astronomical sum! When I explained that he could easily find a pair for less than half that amount in Santa Cruz I might as well have told him there was a special sale being held on the dark side of the moon. He sighed and said, “Well, I’m an old man and have probably seen enough already.”
This gentleman lived on the edge of town. What’s older, him, or his house?
This prosperous fellow had two mules, shoes, and could afford to buy eggs.
I was surprised by the general lack of livestock other than sheep, probably due to the poor nutritional value of the scrub vegetation. There are a few cows and horses, but not many. Only a wealthy land owning patrón could afford to ride a horse into town, but I saw no rich Spaniards. Normally, donkeys, mules, and horses are only used as beasts of burden, but who needs an expensive mule to carry heavy loads when there are women? As to which is more stubborn, folklore tells us that both mules and women are equally adamant.
Thus far the men’s hats had been normal, but that’s because I hadn’t met any real hillbillies yet. A townie wouldn’t be caught dead in a traditional Quechua woven woollen men’s hat with ear flaps, those are only for tourists and bumpkins; so, needless to say, I bought one.
But what happens if you are very old, live in an extremely remote valley, and only come to town once a year? Then you might look something like this:
I have never, in all my travels, seen anything to equal this old man’s hat! Though not visible in this photo, his hat featured a miniature menagerie on the upper brim which included a tiny dinosaur!
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As previously mentioned, our hotel was the tallest building in town, and the roof terrace offered an expansive view up the beautiful valley.
I was intrigued by the green valley, for trees are scarce in the Andes, and especially by the high pass that can be seen in the upper right of the photo above.
It is illegal to enter the National Park without a guide, but the valley road is open to all; so, I set out for a walk along a pleasant lane that passed through the burbs to the open farmland beyond.
The road parallelled the river, which was barely a trickle. The rich alluvial terraces along the river were cultivated for wheat and other essentials. All the plots were separated by low stone walls.
This is the mountain where dinosaur tracks were first discovered. Most of the tracks were found in exposed slabs just above the stream. From this perspective, older, but similar, layers of sedimentary rock can be seen further up the mountain.
The mountain above may look like a bump, but in reality the summit is almost 2000 feet above where I was standing, and the little bands of jagged rock are cliffs hundreds of feet high. What paleontological treasures await discovery in the layers exposed by the deep erosional gully in the center of the photo? I very much wanted to visit the canyon, but to do so would have been very difficult for an old man wandering alone.
As the little road wriggled up the valley it gave me an excellent opportunity to view both sides of the syncline. In the photos below, which were taken on opposite sides of the valley looking upstream, the pale bluish uptilted rocks are limestone, and the adjacent mudstone strata are the ones full of dinosaur tracks.
The rocks on the right and left sides of the valley are both the same, a single Cretaceous formation that has been folded into a series of gigantic ridges and valleys by the invincible force of the rising Andes.
In both of these photos the tilted limestone slabs are obscuring the view of the much larger mountains beyond.
I continued up the road for about three kilometers until I arrived at the small settlement of Molle Cancha where I beheld a sign announcing that this was the Cementerio de Tortugas (Turtle graveyard), one of the places where tourists were taken on guided tours. I was eager to see the fossils, but the site was closed, and the fence locked. I later learned that there were over a hundred fossilized sea turtles and even a marine crocodile lying in situ. I have no idea of the age of the deposits, but both turtles and crocs were contemporaneous with dinosaurs.
I chanced to look at my gps and discovered that the large well graded road I had been following was not on the map. The main road continued ahead, but a little road that was on the map forked off into the village. The map indicated that it left the main valley, zigzagged up the slope, then crossed the pass that I had seen from Torotoro. Needless to say I had to follow it.
As I walked up the little road I noticed a group of people in the distance waving at me. Once they had my attention they pointed back down the road. I presumed that they were trying to let me know that it was forbidden to go any further, but instead of leaving I decided to visit them.
This is where I was standing when I noticed the people waving. You can see the people in a little light colored field behind a large tree. That field is actually a wheat threshing ground. The house in the foreground is typical of the area, an architectural style that has been in vogue for many centuries.
I approached the group, thinking that I would have to apologize. They sent someone to meet me, and I expected a reproach, but the emissary was all smiles.
The friendly group beckoned me over. All were festive, for the threshing of wheat is a time for celebration. The harvest is in, bellies will be full, and all will be well!
They still supposed that I had missed the path to the Cementerio de Tortugas. I explained that it was closed and gated, so I had just continued my stroll. They replied, “No problem, just go around the end of the fence. Here, this boy will lead you.” From this I concluded that the friendly group was not affiliated with the tourism cartel.
In the nearby distance I could see an abrupt geological unconformity where a stone wall enclosed an area of deeply eroded red earth. The boy led me to the wall, and indicated that I should climb over it to see the tortugas.
I was about climb over the wall when I realized that to do so would set a bad example, so I returned to the group and thanked them. I said that I did not want to enter the paleontological site because walking off trail might damage the fossils. I gave the boy a fistful of change from my pocket and he literally jumped for joy! Conservation pays! Perhaps someday he might even grow up to be a park ranger?
I continued my stroll up the mountain. I could find no evidence of the road shown on the map, so I went completely off trail and headed uphill toward the pass. In doing so I skirted around a small house where I saw a woman working in her garden. I thought she hadn’t see me but I was wrong. The pass beckoned, but I was not going to be deterred, so I picked up the pace.
I was about a quarter of a mile up the slope when I heard a motorcycle down by the little house. It was evident that I was being pursued! I pretended not to notice and kept on going. I made it a point not to use any trail that could be accessed by anyone on a motorcycle, but eventually he caught up and began gesticulating from a trail that was separated from me by two deep gullies. I had no choice but to acknowledge him, so I waved back and crossed the gullies to see what he wanted.
He gave me a stern look and demanded to see my permit. He was somewhat deflated when I showed it to him, so then he demanded to know where my guide was. I told him I didn’t need one since I wasn’t in the Park. “Aha! Now I’ve got you! This is private property and you are trespassing!”
I protested that I was just taking a walk, and wanted to go up the old road, which I supposed to be an ancient Inca highway. I wanted to get a better view, and to photograph the magnificent scenery. I was off trail because I couldn’t find the old road. I gushed about how beautiful Bolivia was and how friendly the people were. That softened him up a bit.
I asked if he would like to be my guide, and offered 50 Bolivianos. He perked up a bit and asked how far I wanted to go. I said, to the top! He grimaced, and made a counter offer of 200 Bolivianos, which I said was much too much to walk up a road. He sheepishly agreed, confirmed that it was built by his ancestors, then admitted that he didn’t want to go that far. Eventually he gave up, but warned me to be careful.
He pointed at a little house further up the hill and told me that I would find the beginning of the old road just beyond the house. He explained that first part of the ancient road had been destroyed by bulldozers when the government decided to put a telephone line across the pass to serve remote villages. I gazed in wonderment at the distant pylons that had been placed in seemingly impossible terrain. Perhaps they had used a helicopter? All to carry a single line to who knows where? He smiled, shook my hand, and said, “Good luck!”
The beginning of the old road was less than obvious. It may have been a superhighway in its day, but the ongoing uplift and erosion of the Andes had covered most of it in rubble. There were only a few places where the original pavement was still visible.
The public works of the Inca, and their antecedents, are often compared with those of the Romans, but the Inca highway system was vastly longer than anything the Romans ever built. It is estimated to be at least 25,000 miles long, an incredible achievement.
I believe that, since the memory of people, it has not been read of such a greatness as this road, made through deep valleys and high peaks, snow covered mountains, marshes of water, live rock and beside furious rivers; in some parts it was flat and paved, on the slopes well made, by the mountains cleared, by the rocks excavated, by the rivers with walls, in the snows with steps and resting places; everywhere it was clean, swept, clear of debris, full of dwellings, warehouses for valuable goods, temples of the Sun, relay stations that were on this road.
— Pedro Cieza de León
El Señorío del Inca. 1553
The old road may have been in disrepair, for a lot can happen in 1000 years, but I marveled at the precise engineering. The road maintained an almost exact 12 degree gradient, the same maximum slope allowed by the Americans with Disabilities Act for walkways.
In the photo above you can see the old road as a diagonal line beneath the peak which ascends toward the pass. The two shorter lines are old agricultural terraces. There may once have been fertile soil here, but eons of farming and grazing have left it barren.
A painted stone cairn marked the park boundary, from which I overlooked the high valley beyond. The road continued, but I had gone far enough for one day.
As you can see by the patchwork of fields, the high valley, though entirely within the protected National Park, is extensively utilized for grazing and agriculture. The Bolivian authorities are wise enough to understand that allowing traditional practices to continue is the best way to gain cooperation from the indigenous inhabitants. Their activities contribute to erosion, but otherwise have little impact upon the ecosystem. They have few guns, so there is little hunting, and the people do not possess the mechanical means to effect large scale destruction.
This model of allowing traditional practices within protected land is not applicable to all areas. Here in the States the lunatic left, which imagines Indians to be benign stewards of the land (a racist stereotype), has proposed that we turn all of our national parks over to them in the name of environmental justice, and as a form of reparations; after all, it was once all theirs.
A worse idea is hard to imagine. We are not going to give Manhattan back to the Indians, nor should we. For example, the Makah tribe of Washington State contends that they have the traditional right to hunt whales and other endangered sea mammals. Needless to say, they do not use traditional means to do so. It’s OK with me if an Inuit wants to hunt whales from a walrus skin kayak while dressed in furs that have been chewed soft by a toothless squaw, and while using a homemade bone harpoon, but neither metal nor polyester clothing should be allowed, much less a motorized craft.
It’s OK with me if an Inuit wants to hunt whales from a walrus skin kayak while dressed in furs that have been chewed soft by a toothless squaw, and while using a homemade bone harpoon, but neither metal nor polyester clothing should be allowed, much less a motorized craft.
Quoth the Weazel
Take it from the Weazel, I’ve met many different Indians from many different tribes, not just tame reservation Indians who run casinos, and though I have great respect for many of them, I can attest that all are as rapacious of natural resources as any white man. Even deep in the Amazonian jungle there are no monkeys anywhere near where there are Indians, for they have eaten them all. Their ability to destroy the resource is limited only by the means available.
While loitering at the pass I took note of the many tracks of both people and domesticated animals. The old road may be rough, but it is the only way to get to the high valley without taking a very long detour. That was when I noticed the fresh puma tracks. I had been too busy surveying the grand scenery to notice the dirt beneath my feet.
The big pussy was on the prowl!
As I descended the old road I paid more attention to the ground. Everywhere I looked I saw the tracks of people, dogs, and sheep. Alongside were the tracks of a puma. The big pussy was on the prowl!
Here you see the spoor of dogs, dogs, more dogs, and a puma. No,wait, there are three pumas, a mother and two cubs!
I followed the tracks all the way back to the farm where the woman lived who had previously seen and reported me. The tracks weren’t just a one time thing, the puma family had a regular path running right past her house!
The Duena and her family owned a large flock of sheep and a whole pack of dogs. How is it possible for pumas to be in such close proximity to people and their livestock? Pumas, or panthers as we say here in Florida, prefer deer, of which there are few, but would be more than happy to gobble up succulent sheep! It is the job of the dogs to prevent that from happening, but the dogs of Bolivia are scrawny mongrels, and pumas like to eat them too.
I saw no signs of guns or hunting. Why bother when there aren’t any deer? That alone explains how pumas could be so bold, but how to explain an apparent lack of livestock predation? I might be wrong about all this. There may have been an unobserved silent war raging all around me.
Is it possible that humans and predators have called a truce? People have inhabited these hills for a very long time, but long enough to have co-evolved mutually tolerant behavior? That seems unlikely. Europeans and wolves have yet to reach a truce.
The wild herds of llamas are long gone, and the scarce deer exist in direct competition with livestock. What is there for a puma to eat? Perhaps a viscacha if they can catch one? If there is any tolerance, I suppose that it is on the part of the Quechua.
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In preparing this story I had occasion to refer back to Google Earth to better understand the geology, and to confirm what I had seen. In doing so I made an astounding discovery. I knew that the small portion of the Inca road that I had found continued on, but to where? Google Earth revealed what I had missed.
(Note to readers who are unfamiliar with Google Earth: All of the Google Earth images used in this series are vertically exaggerated by a factor of three, which makes it much easier to comprehend the topography. Unfortunately, it also makes the images look unreal because the satellite images, which are completely real, are superimposed upon a distorted background. The images also utilized the tilt feature which allows a viewer to look at the terrain from any angle.)
In the image below you see my track highlighted in magenta. Torotoro is on the far left. The end of my short trek to the high pass is at the center bottom.
Look closely at the very center bottom of the image above (click to expand), and you will see that the Inca road continues below off the image. Now look at the upper center of the image and you will see that the old road continues in the opposite direction through a small pass to an extremely steep ascent up the mountain beyond. If I had gone just a quarter of a mile further up the main valley I would have been able to see it!
The Inca road zigzags up the mountain at a dizzying angle, then seems to disappear. That is because the top of the mountain is barren rock, so the road is not visible. But what’s in the valley beyond?
You can see what appears to be the end of the road at the lower left, but various smaller trails lead down to the community of Rodeopampa. You can see the patchwork of fields. The houses, a surprising number of which have metal roofs, are the tiny shiny dots. Rodeopampa is a place lost in time, and shut off from any contact with the outside world. The inhabitants may occasionally come to town, but I seriously doubt than any outsider has ever visited.
Want a vacation home in the cool mountain air where you can get away from it all? May I suggest the choice lots below which feature grand views! But don’t bother bringing your new 4×4 SUV, it would never make it!
I was in despair at not having discovered the rest of the old road. If only I had gone another quarter of a mile! But wise Dr. Ann just said, “Wouldn’t it be sad if, at the end of your life, there was nothing left to discover?”
So I leave it to younger stronger legs to follow the old Inca road. It would be a wonderful thing to get a good mule, a bilingual guide (Quechua and Spanish), and to find out. Who knows where it goes? Beyond the confines of the National Park with its rules and regulations the unknown beckons.
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Bolivia isn’t just a vast wilderness with strange tribes speaking strange languages, there are also ancient cities, not just those built by the Inca, but also those built by the Conquistadors.
In our next adventure, join the Weazel and Dr. Ann as we journey to Sucre, the capital of Bolivia, and the most civilized place the Weazel has ever been!
Weazelwise 