Over a gorge, a bridge to the Incan past

An annual ceremony involves smoke, rope, prayer, guinea pigs – and lots of company.

from the July 25, 2007 edition

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Up and down the Andes, there are few living reminders of the Incan empire, which once spread from its center in Cusco as far north as present-day Colombia and south to what is now Argentina. But the grass-rope k'eswachaca of Huinchiri, unlike Machu Picchu and other big-name Inca attractions, is more than just a ruin.

"This bridge is part of our lives even if we don't use it every day," says Ccanahuiri. "We cannot let it disappear, because we would lose our meaning."

The bridge, for Ccanahuiri and other village elders, is a symbol of the Incan traditions of collective work and reciprocity that have allowed communities to survive, even thrive, in inhospitable lands. It is also about conserving a relic that has been passed down through the generations.

On the other hand, the grass rope represents a simple supply issue: Huinchiri is located in a vast plain more than two miles above sea level, where nothing grows as quickly as q'oya, the grass. Llamas and other camel-like animals depend on it for food; humans use it for thatched roofs; and, of course, it can be woven into rope capable of holding, villagers say, up to 10 people at once.

Locals begin gathering q'oya a few weeks before the weaving gets under way, harvesting it with machetes and storing it until the ceremony starts. Women and children put the grass in pits or barrels and soak it until it is soft enough to weave, usually at least a day.

Here, they pause: This work requires ritual. Ccanahuiri, the priest, is called in to inaugurate the first of many ceremonial payments to the gods. The offerings begin small and grow in complexity as bridge-building progresses. The first involve blowing smoke and spitting a fermented drink over the ropes to guarantee their strength for the coming year. Ccanahuiri and two fellow elders also chant Quechua incantations, asking the gods, collectively known as apus, to bless the bridge and those who use it.

"We must pay tribute to the mother earth and gods of the hills to protect us and the bridge," he says. "Without the tribute, the bridge turns on us. It sucks people in, giving them to the river."

Hundreds of people from neighboring hamlets join the Huinchirians to weave the q'oya into cords. Volunteers are provided with plentiful food and drink in return for long hours of work.

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