When I said that I was going to Tolte back in August, Jeff immediately started making llama jokes. After all, since I was heading for the Andes, it seemed to him that llamas would likely outnumber people in Tolte, and that I would be spending much of my time hanging out with llamas, and perhaps eating one, occasionally. But the truth is that here in Tolte, people consider llamas to be animals of the high paramo, requiring a cold climate to do their best.
I think that what has actually happened is that the llama has been replaced by burros and sheep. Burros are about the same size as llamas (though not so tall), but can carry at least twice as much weight. And sheep have a finer wool than llamas do, but more important than that, they are tastier. So the European influenced farm economy of the mid-level Andes prefers burros and sheep to llamas. I have heard that llamas are less environmentally damaging in their grazing than sheep are, but I’m not sure exactly what the causes and effects are. Given that llamas evolved in the Andes, and sheep did not, it does seem like a reasonable possibility.
And so, it was with great excitement that llamas came to Tolte last week. I gather that the motivation for this I that llamas are touristic; when people arrive at the touristic Nariz del Diablo train station, they will now be greeted not only by folk dancers from either Tolte or Nizag, but by the llamas as well. The tourists can pay to be photographed with the llamas (including BABY llamas, as you can see from the pictures), and perhaps small children can ride them. This seems to be somewhat in advance of an enormous investment in tourism near the station that is going to involve the rehabilitation of part of the abandoned town of Pistishi, which is next to the station. I don’t have a good handle on how this is supposed to work financially, but plans seem to be moving ahead. The overall plan seems to involve outdoor activities such as biking, horseback riding, and maybe canoeing or rafting from a base in the former town of Pistishi.
Whether or not the llamas are tourist magnets, everyone in Tolte is delighted with them, at least for now. Some people call them “llamingos,” which might be their original Kichwa name. When school was over last Thursday, the children went running all over town looking for them. And when we rode by one on our way to Chunchi on Sunday, and saw it sticking its nose over a hill, everyone burst out laughing. They are certainly treated more like pets than the guinea pigs are.
Speaking of what things are called in Kichwa, I suppose I’ll be finding out a lot more about that. I’ve started attending the children’s Kichwa classes offered on Thursday. A young many comes in from Nizag and gives them an hour or two starting at 2. Nizag and Tolte have an uneasy relationship, even though they share the train station. Nizag is much larger, and much more steeped in traditional indigenous culture. Although I haven’t visited there yet, I hear that it is a place where you can hear Kichwa spoken in the street. There are often laborers who come to Tolte from Nizag—all women, none of them all that physically imposing, who can pick and shovel with the best of them. But people from Tolte and Nizag don’t seem to entirely trust each other. If they did, the relationship that everyone here has with Chunchi would probably be the relationship we would have with Nizag. I can’t say I understand the details.
So here’s an example of what I have learned so far about Kichwa: The world “killka” (pronounced KIZHka) means “letter.” The word “killkana” means “to write.” The word “pataku” means “table.” Therefore, a desk is “killkanapataku,” which is quite a mouthful, but it’s fairly easy to understand where it comes from. Kichwa has 18 letters and 3 vowels, so it’s going to be all I can do not to get tangled in repeated sounds.
Speaking of traditional culture, I ran into a bit more archaeology this week. I spent Saturday with one of my students and his teen-aged brother and sister, and we took a ride up to a piece of land they have near the bend in the road at the entrance to Tolte. I’m sure some will be offended by the notion (and maybe I am at a certain level, myself), but the main product of this land is fighting cocks. A good one can fetch a price ranging from fifty to several hundred dollars. In a place where you can buy a hundred pounds of potatoes for less money, it isn’t hard to understand the motivation for keeping gallos finos. If it makes anyone feel any better, they live free range and are too small and stringy to eat, so their situation is not all bad.
But that’s a digression. I wanted to mention that in the little shack on this piece of land, hanging from a string, was a very fine example of a stone axe head, or possibly hoe head, polished surprisingly smooth. I’m not sure if the finish results from use or intentional polishing, but it was certainly an impressive object. The kids’ father found it on the surface of the ground one day when he was working on a different piece of land. On Sunday, I wound up spending the afternoon with the rest of this family and they told me about other objects found underground in Tolte, from clay pots to gigantic human skeletons. Who knows—maybe a museum of archaeological finds would add to Tolte’s tourist attractions.
I may have the chance to get involved in the tourism process, too, but as an organic agriculture extensionist, still my dream job. People are coming from MAGAP, the agriculture ministry, to train local farmers who are interested in organic agriculture (assuming there are any). The idea is to have organic produce to sell to tourists, who are believed to appreciate this sort of thing. I have wangled myself an invitation, pointing out that the MAGAP person comes once a week, but I’m here all the time. The training is supposed to start tomorrow, February 15, which is probably auspicious because it is my llama-obsessed brother’s birthday. I may get to build some bench terraces yet.
I have to mention one more milestone. I have an official nickname. First it was the children, but now the young people and some adults are starting to refer to me as “Naichu Michu.” Much as it resembles Machu Pichu, or some other words in Kichwa, it is a mispronunciation of one of the first phrases I taught the children in English. See if you can guess which one.
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