In July 2015, my spouce and I had been crammed right into a stuffy minivan with 12 other people, climbing away from Lima’s seaside mist in to the sun-filled hills a large number of foot above. After hours of dirt clouds and hairpin that is dizzying, our location showed up below—the remote Andean town of San Juan de Collata, Peru. It had been a scattering of adobe homes without any water that is running no sewage, and electricity just for a few homes. The number of hundred inhabitants of the grouped community talk a type of Spanish greatly impacted by their ancestors’ Quechua. Coming to the town felt like stepping into another globe.
My spouce and I invested our first couple of hours in Collata making formal presentations to your town officers, asking for authorization to review two uncommon and valuable things that the city has guarded for centuries—bunches of twisted and colored cords known as khipus. After supper, the person in control of town treasures, a middle-aged herder known as Huber Braсes Mateo, brought more than a colonial chest containing the khipus, along with goat-hide packets of seventeenth- and 18th-century manuscripts—the key patrimony of this town. We had the tremendous honor to be the initial outsiders ever permitted to see them.
Each of which is just over 2 feet long, were narrative epistles created by local chiefs during a time of war in the 18th century over the next couple days, we would learn that these multicolored khipus. But that night, exhausted yet elated, my hubby Bill and i merely marveled during the colors associated with the animal that is delicate, gold, indigo, green, cream, red, and tones of brown from fawn to chocolate.