HUK. QORICANCHA-FIRST CHAPTER OF “CUZCO GOLD”

March 9, 2020 SouthAmerica

Our passion for South America continues. After we started our book club last year intending to support Latin America writers. Our list of books changed from what we originally plan on reading, mainly because I found some books more interesting than others.

2019 was a very good year. I enjoyed every book I read. Our last book review 1491: New Revelations of the Americas before Columbus by Charles C. Mann confirmed our fascination with this continent. The Americas still holds mysteries to be discovered.

James M. Wise created his own story. That is the kind of effect you get when you visit such a historic place, you have a plethora of ideas and your imagination goes rampant.

We are sharing the first chapter of his book on our blog, and we hope you enjoy this novel and continue reading it on kindle. It is free for all Kindle Unlimited users, $2.99 for Kindle users and $6.00 on paperback available on Amazon.com

What is Cuzco Gold book about?

It is about a South America adventurer, who settles into Cuzco. In the mountains of Peru, and searches for the lost Inca gold. Based on historic accounts, she embarks herself on exploring the city. Juliette looks deep into the patterns of Cuzco, its streets and cultural designs. Finding the greatest treasure of all time. But would they let her keep it?

Huk.

QORICANCHA

The Spanish Colonial city of Cuzco, in the southern Peruvian Andes. Was a vibrant, if not rich, place of ancient stone and Inca history that drew Juliette Laurent into its enchantment. Like numerous South America explorers before her. She first arrived there a month ago, along with two equally blonde German girlfriends she had made acquaintances with, while traveling the salars of Bolivia. They did the circuit, rode the train from Cuzco to Ollantaytambo, got their war badges of bug bites by hiking the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. Enjoyed the hot springs of Aguas Calientes, and then partied many nights in Cuzco. Until Elsa and Hanna returned to Frankfurt to attend university. Juliette did not have the head for confined organized studying, and she rather not return home, to Paris anytime soon. She liked art, design, and history. This pocket reality of Cuzco combined them all.

After saying adieu to her recent travel companions, she searched various hostels in Cuzco for the best combination of rate, quality, and location. She ended up in the sector east of the Plaza de Armas in an area called San Blas. From the small Hostal Pakcha Real she struck out in the morning to one of the main in-city sights, the revered Inca temple of Qoricancha, which had been built over by a large 17th century Catholic Church. It was easy to get there, first going to the plaza, and then heading south on the main artery street that runs through the historic city center, a road called Avenida El Sol. The street runs southeast, beginning at a T- intersection just offset from the plaza which lies at an elevation of 3,406 metres. The avenue has two lanes going in both directions separated by a cement median which features a dividing green-painted metal fence with frequent gaps and spaced out lampposts. Walking along the east side, one passes the massive white-painted courthouse. Next are a series of small stores, a post office, corner drug store, and then when reaching the cross road of Santo Domingo to the left and up on a slight hill is the massive dark-grey fortress- like walls of the Qoricancha temple complex with forever subjugation by the surmounted stone church. Spread before Qoricancha is a large grassy field, which is the only such feature in the entire historic center of Cuzco.

Once at the front of the building, one only sees the stonework of the church. Most of the blocks were supplied by previous Inca buildings that the Spaniards had demolished. They razed the Imperial city for the easiest and quickest possible gains. She entered the front door and went to the wooden ticketing booth to pay the entrance fee. They handed her a ticket which she showed to the grey-haired man tending the doorway. First, a short walk, then turn right and cross a long dark hall of the church to enter a larger well-lit patio that has two stories surrounding it. Both levels presented rows of arches. The Inca stonework is all on the first floor and consists of high thick walls in black stone. Room after room were completely open, no doors, and no ceiling, but above the massive structure of the church totally enclosed the area. The Inca walls all had the classic upward tapering inset false trapezoidal windows, which perhaps were used to shelf important items. Juliette felt the cool stone, tracing her finger along the unusually straight unions between the blocks.This temple must have been one of the better constructed places in the Empire that once spread from Colombia through Peru, Bolivia, and into northern Chile. She could feel the power once represented in this temple, a sacred energy of civilization formed independently of the Old World.

In the Quechua language, Qori translates to gold, and cancha is a field. The temple was the Gold Field. When Don Francisco Pizarro arrived in Cuzco, he did so with the intent of securing any resources of value for the Spanish Crown. Upon learning of the golden items crafted by the Incas, the Spaniards’ appetite for these riches was insatiable. These temple rooms once had large plates of gold adorning them. The Incas had golden drinking vessels called Kero, bracelets ear and nose plugs, lip discs, figurines, and more items. The Spaniards had directed the Incas to fill up the rooms with gold, and then they took it all, eventually loading it aboard ships and sending it to Spain.

In what was one of the greatest ever conquests in human history. Through use of subterfuge and bearing previously— never imagined technology,— the Spaniards with a mere 180 men toppled an empire of more than fifteen million people. No two ways about it. The Spanish were brutal. Today Juliette had the feeling from talking with the residents of Cuzco that they universally lament the loss of the Inca Empire. That somehow the old ways were better before this modern Spanish-descended civilization. With its perpetual bickering and pervasive corruption. The Spanish busied themselves for decades gathering up the gold and silver from the Andean peoples. Once the easily robbed loot waned, they scavenged the hills and caves seeking out hidden caches. They raided ancient tombs, finding uncountable gold treasures.

The idyllic Inca civilization, was based upon three main rules: Ama Sua (Do not steal), Ama Llulla (Do not lie), and Ama Quella (Do not be lazy). This culture abruptly ended in 1533 with the execution of the Inca King named Atahualpa. Who had been in a civil war with his brother Huascar over the kingdom. The Inca Empire continued under a puppet king, but intrigue, rebellions, and finally larger battles stretched out for decades until, when in 1572 the Spanish captured and then beheaded the last Inca King, Túpac Amaru. Execution that took place in the middle of Cuzco’s plaza. The very spot where tourists come and take selfies. Thousands of locals watched the execution, and they paid their respects to his severed head, that the Spanish displayed on a pike. Apparently in the plaza right before the main church of La Catedral.

Juliette had read the classic book Conquest of the Incas by William Prescott and had picked up a general idea on the nature of Peruvian ancient cultures by visiting museums in Peru. But it forever seemed a partial story, so much was truly lost. There were numerous historical accounts and legends. Walking about the stone rooms of Qoricancha, Juliette imagined how the gold would have appeared on display, before the brooding high cathedral walls were placed above in domination. She had read an account from Comentarios Reales de los Incas, published in Lisbon in 1606 and written by Inca Garcilaso de la Vega, that described the aftermath of the conquest. Well, not the original. She had a paperback copy that she picked up from a Canadian guy from Vancouver, whom she had partied with one night in Machu Picchu pueblo. The book related family stories that Vega heard from his youth while growing up in Cuzco and one of these in particular was most captivating. The Inca King Huayna Capac had commissioned a great work to celebrate the birth of his son Huascar. Such royal events typical consisted of the central plaza having been encircled by dancers holding hands, but to mark this occasion he had fashioned a chain or long rope adorned with gold. This golden chain was long enough to encircle the plaza. It required two-hundred people to carry its weight. The knowledge of this incredible Golden Chain of Huayna Capac only continued through oral traditions, handed down tales, the Spanish never saw it. It was said the Incas hid this great treasure, and historic accounts said that it was thrown into a lake south of Cuzco. Apparently, the Spanish searched the lakes, and attempted to drain the waters from one, but never unearthed the golden chain.

They have gold in Peru today. She had read about it a week ago in the national newspaper called El Comercio. Take the paved route eastward from Cuzco, going over the Cordillera Oriental divide, and down to the Amazon jungle to see the immense goldfields being worked by thousands of illegal miners. These are placer operations in which old gravel deposits that had washed a load of gold nuggets are hydraulically mine. The sediments placed in slurry are washed over sieves. The gold settles out through gravity, and then is treated with mercury. It comes at great cost to the environment, polluting the rivers, deforesting the Amazon, and removing tonnes of gold each year. This is such big business that wealthy politicians in Lima back illegal miners and deal with export of the ill-gotten riches. The Russians once mined the river channels near the town of Quincemil, where today in silent rotten testament lies the ruins of an airfield, they used to transport the gold out of Peru. Some modern camps are filled with illegal Chinese miners, who closely guard their staked ground with firearms. The amount of wealth extracted from the Peruvian jungle is so great that the corrupt powerbrokers in Lima have their interests rigged to ensure the continued flow of the yellow metal. In spite of the government’s entire crackdown on illegal mining in the country. The Peruvians mine gold from other regions in Peru, and so did the Incas. So, it was conceivable that they had enough gold to fabricate the legendary Golden Chain of Huayna Capac.

Juliette left the Qoricancha complex and walked up the cobblestone alley. Leading back towards the Plaza de Armas. While all the time wondering how much gold still remained hidden in Cuzco and questioning if one could actually find the golden chain. This idea fascinated her.

The main plaza always had policemen, and policewomen on patrol. They stood on watch at either; the northwest or southeast corners. Both groups that belong to the Peruvian police wore a dark olive-green uniform. And they all always carried a sidearm. Which had Juliette worried about how much crime was around Cuzco. The congested tourist areas in the city were flagged by travel guides as being hot zones for pickpockets.

She walked up to the Bohemian zone saturated with low-cost European operated hotels. Where she favoured one by her countryman. A place called Hostal Pakcha Real. Located along the narrow street of Calle Tanda Pata that runs on contour along the mountainside. She sat at the corner café, sipping at an espresso, and thought about all the drama that must have played out in this mountain city of Cuzco. But most of all, she thought about the legendary golden chain.

How thick was the chain? And how much gold would it take to make it? The legend or tale must have enlarged in the telling by Inca Garcilaso de la Vega. Nevertheless, the Spanish searched, and modern treasure hunters have come looking too according to accounts she read on internet pages while using the lobby guest computer. Most focused on a tale saying that the Chain of Huayna Capac was tossed into a lake. She found this hard to believe. How would they move such a large item far out of Cuzco? Once at the lake bottom they could never retrieve it, so it is likely they hid it someplace else, closer to Cuzco, or right inside Cuzco! This is how life works, one walks around blind to what is really around oneself. She could have walked over the buried chain today in the Plaza de Armas while not having a clue. She would need more information on this mystery otherwise, well, it would interfere with her vibe. If she did pick up the paintbrush anytime soon, she did not need this daydream of Inca gold blocking inspiration. The very next thought that jumped into her head was of her painting, a picture of the golden chain gleaming in the Cuzco plaza. This would not do at all! She climbed the outside cement stairway and walked the balcony that faced the hostel’s interior patio and entered her small room. She then changed into her workout clothes.

With unspent energy, she decided to go for a short run, something that is problematic in Cuzco with the narrow sidewalks, a number of pedestrians, and dangerously fast-moving traffic. Nonetheless, after descending the steep grade of Calle Cuesta San Blas, she turned right at Jack’s Café and started a quick jog running upslope along Choquechaka. This street had a gradually steepening grade, and at this elevation one quickly felt winded. A few blocks up the road made a Tintersection. She went left for a couple blocks, and then joined the curvy route that went past the large San Cristobal church up on the hill. Not a great street to go running along, but now going downhill and staying on the opposite side such that she faced the oncoming traffic, she carefully negotiated her way down to the valley bottom. Once again she ran left, now going along the Calle Saphi, which in turn brought her to the Plaza de Armas. She slowed to a quick walk here while weaving through all the tourists and vendors, then once onto Avenida El Sol she picked up the pace again because the sidewalks were wide and the route was going downslope. She ran past the Qoricancha complex, which only immediately had her thinking about the Inca gold again. Perhaps it was because being twenty-five years old, it was difficult to save money on the low-paying jobs in France. But it was more than that. She was fascinated with the antiquities, and how the Incas could have once crafted such items. Three more long blocks brought her to the crowded artesian market where she did most of her shopping, a place called Artesanias Llancaqmaki. She went left, now going upslope along the busy cobblestone street called Avenida Tullumayo. This street eventually brought her back around to Jacks Café on Choquechaka Street. From here she walked up the steep street and returned to the Hostal Pakcha Real for a shower and change of clothes.

Juliette had a small room located on the second floor. It had a basic window overlooking the street, but there was not much to see out of it because the adobe building on the opposite side of the street blocked the view. She kept the dark green curtain closed all the time. The wooden floors were always cool. She had a little desk with a chair that was not very comfortable to sit in for any length of time. Her bed was child’s sized; her feet almost stuck out of the bottom if she laid down, stretched out to her full length. The mattress sagged a bit in the middle. But most importantly she had a place with a private bathroom. The white and yellow floral designed ceramic tiles in the shower were highly dated, but while taking a shower with the water heated at the shower-head by electricity, one did not worry much about the tiles. It worked, but it scared the heck out of her each time she threw the power switch that was nailed to the wall.

A little later, and much refreshed, Juliette walked a mere two blocks south of her hostel to eat dinner. It was dark outside, and the city of Cuzco was spread below Plaza San Blas in a multitude of yellowish sodium lamps and flickering car headlights running between the buildings roofed in heavy Spanish tiles. She already had a favourite dining spot in town, a place called The Curry House Kourma Sutra. Once you walk through the low door, the kitchen was open on the right side. You can look and see what meals are being prepared by the two ladies cooking. Then on the left a very thick Colonial wall is passed through an archway into the dining room that has the walls all painted in deep burgundy-purple. Several goldframed pictures of India gurus were on display. The low tables had black table clothes with golden fabric accents, and the chairs were all padded and covered in black fabric. There was Bollywood music playing, a hint of burning incense from somewhere farther back in the building, and more importantly, vegan dishes to keep Juliette slim and fit. Plus, the intense variety of flavours helps her keep up with parts of the Ayurveda regime she learnt while being in India.

She wondered if Hanna and Elsa were in Lima right now, or maybe they were in the airport waiting for the return trip to overcrowded Europe. She already missed their company. Juliette planned to stretch her stay here in Cuzco; she had two months left on her tourist visa. Right now she could not imagine a more perfect place for her to be in. She would find new friends soon enough. It seemed there were people here from nearly every country in the world. The international scene appealed to her. She finished her plate of tarka dhal lentils, paid, and then decided to take a night stroll around the plaza and then maybe get a beer. The mysteries of Cuzco seemed only to deepen at night, from the throngs of people along the avenues around dinner time, to even when late at night the streets were empty, quiet, and strangely haunted. She could imagine turning the corner to find a Spaniard riding a horse, or an Inca message runner called Chaski, hurrying past into the night on an urgent mission.

“No, gracias” to the tour agent offering guides to a long list topped by a picture with Machu Picchu. Poor man, that photograph was rather low quality. Hard to make a convincing sell that way. A moneychanger spotted her and said “Dolares, Euros?” She shook her head no, and then sharply turned left to go through the square stone pillar outlined cave-like entrance. A set of dark stone steps headed up. At the top of the flight a hard turn to the right, up three more steps, and through the tall glass-paned double swinging doors to enter the Nuevo Mundo draft house. She had been here before with her German girlfriends, of course, drinking too much. When she walked through the door, the young Latino behind the bar, a Venezuelan named Jose, greeted her in recognition. He had stunning hazel eyes that were uncommon for Peruvians. His face was framed nicely by his medium length, almost curly, but definitely unruly hair. He had a wildness to his smile that made Juliette’s knees weak.

“Hola Jose” she called back, “Como estas?” The guy was smiling, saying, “You want the coca sour?” She did, at first, then a beer. But she wanted Jose, too! But not now. She wanted things simple. She needed time to think about life, what she wanted to do next, and soak in the Cuzco experience to a deeper level than the quick flash tourists that attempt seeing everything at a record setting pace. She did not think the wealthy elderly people staying in the posh 5-star hotels would ever find themselves in tune with this reality.

Jose finished mixing the coca sour, poured it into a highball glass, and handed it to her across the tall wooden bar. Then Juliette realized that she had been standing there unmoving in thought, sort of zoned out while thinking, and had lost track of time. She startled, then said, “Gracias Jose.” She took the chilly glass with her to sit at the table with a window overlooking the plaza. The bar here had several tall heavy bar stools with circular seats covered in dark-brown leather, which had the edges abraded from wear marking years of use. It was still early in that the bar was empty because people were out dining, but the bar would get crowded later. She sat down, checked her emails on her cell phone, not finding any news from the girls, and then took to sipping the cocktail and watching the people standing in the plaza to have their pictures taken either as singles, couples, or groups. Most gathered around the central fountain to be photographed with the statue of the Inca King named Pachacuti. She thought Cuzco must surely match the highly visited and photographed sights in Europe.

She sipped her coca sour, thinking about the single coca leaf that Jose had placed on top of the whitish frothy beverage as an accent. The Coca, sacred to the Andean people, was the cause of so much pain from its drug derivative. The campesinos chew the coca leaves, working them into a big ball that distends the cheek outward. Chewing the leaves work as a painkiller. They take tea with it called Mate de Coca, which is supposed to help with the feeling of altitude sickness. While hiking the Inca trail, her guide had explained one night the mysteries of Pachamama, and how the coca leaf was used in routine ceremonies showing respect to Mother Earth. Peru had numerous symbolic things, like coca, Pisco, alpacas, cacao, textiles, ancient ruins, and more to discover. It was good being out of stifling France with the nonstop political banter and class struggles. Juliette could lose herself in Peru, or make herself anew.

Outside the window it had started to rain. Five minutes later there was a heavy downpour and all the people had left the open plaza for the shelter of the arches, cafes, restaurants, and bars. Nuevo Mundo suddenly seemed crowded. Jose appeared at her elbow, asking if she would like something else to drink. Juliette handed him the empty glass and smiled, “Si, I will have a pint of your Independencia IPA por favor.”

“Bueno,” said Jose as he turnabout and dashed off to fetch the drink. He would be busy for the rest of the night. She watched him go past the old set of rickety wooden stairs on the left that led up to a loft. The ceiling above had darkstained wood beams with the space between them filled with white plaster. Near the top of the stairs was a massive semichandelier in faux gold with frosted-glass lampshades. Nobody ever seemed to go upstairs, and it appeared the pub was using it for storage.

Each night in Cuzco is like a Friday night. There were crazy amounts of tourists here on vacation meaning that the day of the week did not matter. People were out to experience the place, to try new foods, to drink amongst friends. Her pint arrived. She thanked Jose, took a long drink, and then watched the rain outside. They said the Golden Chain of Huayna Capac would wrap around the plaza. That would have been a lot of gold. She stared at the arches facing the now empty wet plaza and thought about how long the plaza was along each side. What would that add up to and how much gold would that be? She would have to figure that out. Simple enough, but tomorrow when it was dry.