Monday, April 10, 2023

Huayna Picchu por Xánath Caraza

 

Huayna Picchu

por Xánath Caraza

 


Esa mañana, hace ya diez años, tenía planeado llegar hasta Machu Picchu y así lo hice. Salí de Cusco, la bella, como yo le puse, aunque en realidad significa el ombligo del mundo en quechua.  De Cusco recuerdo claramente el color de la tierra. Un rojo ocre que cuando llovía parecía que se convertía en sangre. Pues, salí de Cusco en tren rumbo a Aguas Calientes. Para mi sorpresa, en lugar de seguir subiendo íbamos en descenso hacia la zona montañosa donde se encontraba Machu Picchu. Aguas Calientes era simplemente un pueblo de paso. Como muchos de los pueblos de paso que se forman por necesidad. Busqué el albergue de mochileros en el que tenía una reservación y, al otro día, muy temprano por la mañana salí con un grupo de extranjeros rumbo a Machu Picchu.

 

Quería comérmelo entero. Era literalmente como estar en una postal de viaje. Buscaba con entusiasmo el punto clásico donde la mayor parte de las fotografías son tomadas y que, al fondo de éstas, se ve una montaña. Por fin lo encontré y tomé una de mis fotografías favoritas de todos mis viajes, abajo la ciudad de Machu Picchu resguardada por el Huayna Picchu y yo delante.  Luego la puerta de entrada a tan mágica ciudad. Mi cuerpo empezó a temblar cuando mis manos se posaron por primera vez sobre las piedras perfectamente cortadas que formaban paredes que aún se mantienen en pie después de más de cinco siglos.

 

Pasé horas recorriendo Machu Picchu. Era como estar en un sueño, recorrer semejante monumento incaico. Caminé tan lentamente como pude en ese exquisito lugar. Quería grabar en mi mente cada uno de los espacios de esa ciudad Inca en medio de las montañas. Me senté al lado de la piedra sagrada, intihuatana, tratando de ser lo más respetuosa que pude. Traté de imaginar la vida cotidiana, el ir y venir de la gente, sus palabras, su ropa, sus plegarias.

 

El corazón me palpitaba con grande emoción. Estaba en una de esas ciudades perdidas, casi mitológicas de una cultura indígena americana. No me cabía el corazón de alegría, sonreía para mis adentros mi logro. La vista frente a mí era inmensa, montaña tras montaña, verde sobre verde, infinitas nubes y, a lo lejos, el fragor del río Urubamba. Con ingenuidad deseaba que un cóndor apareciera de la nada y volara frente a mí. No sucedió pero la pura evocación de la imagen de esa ave majestuosa me hacía soñar aún más.

 

Ya avanzado el día, decidí que subiría el Huayna Picchu. Fue un plan de última hora que no tenía contemplado.  La ascensión fue relativamente fácil, un camino ancestral perfectamente delineado para otros viajeros como yo. El premio fue la cima y su superficie de rocas que en algún momento, en algún siglo, fueron lava volcánica. Un mar de nubes me rodeaba y la temperatura del viento cortaba la piel. Era como estar en un sueño más profundo con el rugir de las aguas turbulentas del Urubamba. Me aventuré hasta donde pude y disfruté de la vista del vacío. Belleza en blanco y negro, en roca y en nube, en fría niebla. 

 

Regresé a Machu Picchu renovada y con un doble respeto. Qué manos tan fuertes y estrategas, tan precisas pudieron diseñar tan importante ciudad en medio de una falla volcánica que nunca ha causado reparos en ésta. Perfectamente diseñada, perfectamente cortadas y acomodadas cada una de sus piedras. Sueño en rocas, sueño en verde, sueño de nubes, susurro de agua.

Estuve hasta que cerraron el lugar. Regresé caminando a Aguas Calientes, camino en zig-zag de bajada. Ya por la noche fui a las aguas termales, me relajé en ellas, y una tras otra de las imágenes del día me asaltaron la memoria como una proyección cinematográfica. Sin darme cuenta me quedé dormida y desperté porque ya entrada la noche sentí frío en los brazos. Como pude regresé a mi cuarto en el albergue de mochileros. Dormí hasta muy entrada la mañana. 

 

Un día después regresé a Machu Picchu con más calma, volví a recorrer toda la ciudad y regresé a la intihuatana. Con respeto me acomodé a un lado y saqué mi cuaderno de notas. Empecé a escribir lo que pude, nada me distraía, era mi tributo a ese lugar, mi palabra sagrada. Solo el aletear de un ave, que no quise voltear a ver, me detuvo en seco, no quise alzar la vista para no espantarlo. Sabía que era el aleteo de un cóndor, nunca había experimentado un aleteo y sombra tan extraordinaria. No me moví, solo dejé de escribir para que su vuelo se hiciera uno conmigo. El ave voló en círculos sobre mí, sentía su aleteo y veía su sombra, por un momento pensé que me pudiera atacar. No lo hizo. Se alejó sin darme cuenta, simplemente ya no estaba. Retomé la última línea con renovada fuerza y seguí escribiendo mi canto sagrado. La vista de las montañas frente a mí era interminable, verde sobre inmenso verde, nube sobre inagotable nube, montaña tras infinita montaña, furiosa agua del Urubamba.

 


 

 

 

Huayna Picchu

By Xánath Caraza

Translated by Sandra Kingery

 

That morning, ten years ago now, I was planning on reaching Machu Picchu, and I did just that. I left Cuzco, the beautiful, as I call it, even though it actually means the belly-button of the world in Quechua. What I remember clearly about Cuzco is the color of the earth. A red ochre that seemed to turn to blood when it rained. So, I left Cuzco on a train headed for the village of Aguas Calientes. To my surprise, instead of going further up, we descended toward the mountainous zone where Machu Picchu was found. Aguas Calientes was simply a crossroads, similar to other crossroads that spring up out of necessity. I looked for the backpackers’ hostel where I had my reservation, and very early the next morning, I set out with a group of foreigners headed for Machu Picchu.

 

I wanted to devour it in its entirety. It was literally like being in a postcard. I searched excitedly for the classic spot where most of the photos are taken, photos where you can see a mountain in the background. I finally found it and took a photo that’s one of my favorites from any of my travels: down below, the city of Machu Picchu sheltered by Huayna Picchu, and me in front. Then the entrance to that magical city. My body began to tremble when my hands first rested on the perfectly cut rocks that formed walls which are still standing after more than five centuries.

 

I spent hours exploring Machu Picchu. It was like being in a dream, crisscrossing that amazing Incan monument. I walked as slowly as I could in that exquisite place. I wanted to engrave in my mind every corner of that Incan city surrounded by mountains. I sat next to the sacred stone, the Intihuatana, trying to be as respectful as possible. I tried to imagine daily life, the comings and goings of the people, their words, their clothing, their prayers.

 

My heart was beating with great excitement. I was in one of those lost, almost mythological cities from an indigenous American culture. My heart was bursting with joy, fulfilling that goal made me smile inside. The view in front of me was immense, mountain after mountain, green on top of green, infinite clouds and, in the distance, the roar of the Urubamba River. Naively, I wished that a condor would appear out of nowhere and fly in front of me. It didn’t happen, but merely evoking the image of that majestic bird made me dream even more.

 

When I decided to climb Huayna Picchu, it was already late in the day. It was a last-minute plan which I hadn’t thought about earlier. The ascent was relatively easy, an ancestral path that was perfectly designed for other travelers like me. The payoff was the peak and its surface of rocks that at some point, in some century, were volcanic lava. A sea of clouds encircled me, and the temperature of the wind bit my skin. It felt like a deeper dream with the roar of the Urubamba’s turbulent waters. I ventured as far out as I could and enjoyed the view of the void. Beauty in black and white, in rock and cloud, in cold fog.

 

I returned to Machu Picchu renewed, my respect multiplied. Such strong, strategic hands, such precision, to design such an important city within volcanic fault lines that have never caused it any damage. Perfectly designed, each one of its rocks perfectly cut and placed. A dream in rocks, dream in green, dream of clouds, whisper of water.

 

I was there until they closed. I walked back to Aguas Calientes, the path zig-zagging down. After nightfall, I went and relaxed in the hot springs, and the images from the day stormed my memory one after another like the projection of a movie. I fell asleep without meaning to and woke up halfway through the night because my arms had gotten cold. I returned as best I could to my room in the backpackers’ hostel. I slept until very late in the morning.

 

I returned to Machu Picchu with more time a day later. I explored the entire city again and went back to the Intihuatana. I settled down to one side of it with respect and pulled out my notebook. I began to write whatever I could, nothing distracted me, it was my tribute to that place, my sacred word. The flapping of the wings of a bird, which I didn’t turn to see, was the only thing that stopped me; I didn’t want to look up and startle it. I knew it was the sound of a condor, I had never experienced such an extraordinary shadow or wingbeat. I didn’t move, I simply stopped writing to allow its flight to merge with me. The bird flew in circles above me, I could feel its flapping and see its shadow, it crossed my mind that it might attack me. It didn’t. It flew away before I realized, it simply wasn’t there any longer. I returned to my last line with renewed strength and continued writing my sacred song. The view of the mountains before me was endless, green over immense green, cloud over boundless cloud, mountain upon infinite mountain, furious water of the Urubamba.

 

“Huayna Picchu” is included in Metztli (Editorial Capítulo Siete, 2018)

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

I love your description of Machu Picchu you make it sound like the most beautiful place on earth. I also like how you where able to return the next day to further explore the beautiful city on the mountain. My spansih teacher in high school also went here and loves to talk about how beautiful it was and the amount of culture and history he learned while being there.

-Briana Frerking

Anonymous said...

I enjoy reading your explorations on Machu Picchu! It was my first time hearing and seeing such a beautiful place. I would too be filled with extreme joy and happiness if I were in your place. The descriptions you made of this place definitely persuaded me to want to go there. It was amazing how cultures initiation and origin were still so appealing that it's capture the hearts of the descendants. Thank you for allowing me to read such a beautiful descriptions of your visits to Hyaena Picchu.


- Sajeda Bee

Anonymous said...

auto corrects, Huayna

Morgan Nash said...

I have heard about Machu Picchu. What I did not know was how vastly gorgeous it sounds. I am not much of a traveler when it comes to outside of my state, but this is now one of the places I would go based upon your description. Life is always full of crossroads and it is amazing to be reminded that not all crossroads are bad. This sounds like an amazing place to have experienced and thank you for sharing your experience with me. I have been amazed by your words since the poetry reading as words do not come to me easily, but the way you speak and write makes me able to visualize what you are saying. You have an amazing gift.

- Morgan Nash