"Instant Thesis" - Teaching Method Video now available for free!

Well, it's only about 2 minutes long anyway!

I recorded this video early in 2014 to explain a classroom method I used for teaching students content and communication skills (in this case writing). The video was recorded after I presented the method live for the UChicago Center for College Teaching (formerly Center for Teaching and Learning) Eat, Teach, Talk, Run pedagogy training series. In a secret ballot, my peers awarded me the best presentation for "Instant Thesis!" Here you can see me explain it.

It's my first time before the camera, so I apologize for any shyness in my delivery!

Announcement: New Public Appearance

I'm thrilled to announce that I'll be giving an invited lecture with the University of Toronto Archaeology Centre on Friday, 21 November, 2014.

I'll be talking about the nexus of my past and present research in a talk titled, "Community, Neighborhood, and Habitat: An ‘Anti-Disciplinary’ Approach for Understanding Urbanism in the Long Term."

I've pasted the full announcement below. This talk integrates two lines of research and analysis that I'm currently developing.

On the one hand I'm expanding my research to examine the relationships between communities, their social institutions, and the natural environment during urbanization processes. My aim is to develop long-term perspectives and locally-practical solutions to the social and environmental issues of urbanism. I'm also, of course, continuing to advance our knowledge of the late prehispanic period in Peru (e.g., 13th and 14th centuries AD) and the Casma Polity.

 On the other hand, I've been exploring 'anarchistic' theories of knowledge production and research praxis. An 'anti-disciplinary' approach suggests reconfiguring the way we start our research. Instead of working from disciplinary expectations and boundaries, we might found our research on the assumption that reality (e.g., the problems and data that we address) has no obligation to meet our disciplinary expectations, as Marshall Sahlins would say.

Community, Neighborhood, and Habitat:

An ‘Anti-Disciplinary’ Approach

for Understanding Urbanism in the Long Term

by

David Pacifico, PhD

for

The University of Toronto Archaeology Centre

Friday, 21 November 2014

            What is the long term effect of urbanism on the social and ‘natural’ environment? David Pacifico explores this question with respect to his previous archaeological research at El Purgatorio and with respect to his newly-formed research project, The Casma Hinterland Archaeological Project (aka PAIC-CHAP, for its bilingual name). El Purgatorio was the capital city of the Casma Polity from ca. AD 700-1400. Pacifico reports on domestic practices, the political economy, and identity politics in El Purgatorio’s commoner residential neighborhood. He presents his subsequent research, which expands the analytical gaze to examine how the urbanization of El Purgatorio affected hinterland communities and their ‘natural environments’ in the periods before, during, and after the occupation of El Purgatorio. PAIC-CHAP integrates archaeological, ethnographic, ethnohistorical, and ecological research to understand urbanism as a socio-environmental process with broad and transhistorical effects.

Neighborhood Politics: Diversity, Community, and Authority at El Purgatorio, Peru (my dissertation) published online for free download

Estoy muy grato de decir que, atreves de algunos meses en proceso de publicación digital, ahora está disponible mi tesis doctoral Neighborhood Politics: Diversity, Community, and Authority at El Purgatorio, Peru. El tesis está disponible en completo por acceso libre atreves del enlace siguiente - http://gradworks.umi.com/36/27/3627869.html Neighborhood Politics resultó de algunos cuatro años de investigaciones arqueológicos en el sitio arqueológico de El Purgatorio, que se ubica en la Valle Casma, Ancash, Perú. Muchísimas gracias con mis asesores académicos, instituciones de fondos, obreros, colegas, alumnos, y familiares sin quienes no hubiera sido posible cumplir ni a las investigaciones ni a la obra literaria. ¡Gracias!

I'm glad to say that, after a few months in the process of digital publication, my doctoral dissertation, Neighborhood Politics: Diversity Community, and Authority at El Purgatorio Peru is now available. It's available via open access, and can be downloaded in its entirety through the following link: http://gradworks.umi.com/36/27/3627869.html Neighborhood Politics is the result of four years of field research at the El Purgatorio archaeological site, located in Casma, Ancash, Peru. Many thanks to my advisers, funding agencies, workers, colleagues, students, and friends without whom neither the fieldwork nor the dissertation would have been possible. Thank you!

Casma Hinterland Archaeological Project (PAIC-CHAP) 2014 Field Season Concludes

[4 September 2014: crossposted from www.PAIC-CHAP.com and PAIC-CHAP.blogspot.com]

The 2014 Field Season of the Proyecto Arqueologico del Interior de Casma - Casma Hinterland Archaeological Project came to a close in mid-August of 2014. It was a smashing success. 

In brief, I explored - without using any invasive techniques - over 30 archaeological sites in the Casma Valley that are hypothetically related to El Purgatorio and the Casma Polity. Accordingly, it is clear that there is great potential for the next phase of the project, which will include detailed mapping, excavation, architectural, and artifact analysis. 

Those analyses will help answer questions like the following. Who was living in the Casma Valley just before the settlement of El Purgatorio (ca. AD 700-1400)? How did their settlements change - demographically, occupationally, institutionally - during the occupation of El Purgatorio? More broadly, why did people move into (or avoid) and later move out of El Purgatorio? What can the case of El Purgatorio and its hinterlands tell us more generally about urbanism in the late prehispanic period?

A summary field report will be made available to the public as soon as possible. Following a summary analysis of observations made in the field, the next step is to design a multi-component archaeological and ethnographic project and seek funding for the 2015 field season that will address the previously-presented and additional questions about the Casma Polity, communities, and cities from a global and trans-historical perspective.

Dave in a quebrada on the Sechin Branch of the Casma River

I don't always eat at vegetarian restaurants; but when I do, I prefer El Vegetariano

It's funny being a vegetarian in a foreign country, and all countries are foreign countries because being a vegetarian is a weird thing.There's a certain level of intimacy to explaining the details of what you will and won't allow to enter your body. And at the same time there's a risk because many people feel that dietary restrictions are a matter of attention-grabbing or some other behavioral failure. As my experience with the cuy and pato show, it's not a failure. There are just limitations to what one can shove in their mouth, chew, and swallow.

I've had some time to mull this issue over because I haven't had a good crossing of Internet access and time lately. I've recently returned home from Peru where, for the last few weeks of my trip, I had limited access to the Internet. I have a theory about that. I think that the Internet in Peru cycles every 90 seconds. It's as if Peru has DC electricity and AC Internet. I hypothesize that the AC Internet allows new users an opportunity to 'tap into the stream' of bandwidth. It also means that continuous connections, like those required for talking to you wife on Skype for more than 89 seconds, get cut off and your call is automatically dropped. But, this is 'folk-science' if you will. I really don't know and there are experts out there who could set me straight. For me, this theory, however, works fine in planning my communications in Peru. I can no longer rely on Skype for calls out to the US. All cultural logics are functional logics and all logics are cultural logics.

Which raises the question: what is the logic of vegetarian cuisine in Peru? At El Vegetariano, my favorite vegetarian restaurant in Peru, the logic is something apart from our logic here in the States. Here, I live not far from one of the most famous veggie joints in the US, The Chicago Diner. Since the early 80s the Chicago Diner has been making greasy, heavy diner food fit for vegans. It's so famous I remember a band from Arizona (called North), after we played a show together in Rhode Island, calculate that they could drive from Providence to Chicago for a meal at the Diner and then return before their next East Coast date. I think they were wrong, but their heart was in the right place. In fact, a lot of tattooed alternative-types find their heart bringing them to the Chicago Diner.

But in Peru, it's not just the punks going vegetarian. It's a lot of older people. In fact, it's more older people than punks. As an illustration, I visited a curandero some years ago during a noche de shamanes behind the Sechin Museum. The curandero was actually a pair of middle-class curanderas with fashionable jackets, not the beponchoed leathery tio I had expected. But they did their job marvelously. They prepared a convincing mesa of swords and chonta-wood staffs, inhaled and sprayed floral water all over, and banged us with swords. I elected not to have my future told. But an older fellow in the group of us clients was told 'you need to eat a more vegetarian diet.' 

As odd as it seems for Latin America, Peru is on a long-term health kick that promotes a lower-fat, higher-vegetable diet. As a result, there are more vegetarian restaurants than ever. And they're filled with older adults who are probably trying to control their cholesterol. As I've always said, Peruvian food is full of vegetables and non-meat items. Usually the meat is a chop or leg or filet piled on top of non-meat stuff (well, besides the lard flavoring the beans). So at good vegetarian restaurants, like El Vegetariano, they've done the logical thing; they make traditional Peruvian dishes - mostly from the coastal criollo genre - with various kinds of soy and wheat meat alternatives.

Ceviche Vegetariano as part of the first course in a typical lunch spread

Carapulcra with rice and sarsa criolla

Take for example this lovely meal. The first course is a ceviche - Peru's most exported dish - made essentially with tofu. Like much Peruvian food, this ceviche demonstrates that there is no limit to how much lime juice you may apply to a dish. However, note the unusual dish of red aji at 11 o'clock. Normally aji is a milled fresh pepper mixture that also includes a good dose of salt. For Peruvian vegetarians, salt might be against doctor's orders. So here, the aji is a bit sub-par, but fitting the wider interest in vegetarianism - health reasons (reasons not much respected at The Chicago Diner, what with the use of fats, sugars, and salts to enhance the 'diner-style' rich foods). Notice the camote, or sweet potato, and large chunk of choclo or Andean corn on the cob that accompanies the ceviche. Glasses of white yogurt, brown refresco de cebada (barley drink), and a tub of masamora (a sweet corn goopy dessert) make their way from course one to course two. Course two consists of carapulcra, which is a highland dish usually made of dried and smashed potatoes (chuño) mixed with spices and pork bits. In this case the pork was some kind of soy product. On the side is sarsa criolla, a spicy and limy red onion salad so common in coastal food. Finally, a molded pile of brown rice rounds out the meal.

Sometimes gringos express confusion over the use of rice in Peru. Shouldn't it all be potatoes? But remember, Peru has been the home of immigrants from all over the world since the 16th century. Huge numbers of Africans and then Chinese came over to work in cane fields and later on railroads. Rice and sugar (neither of which are native) have been fully integrated parts of the Peruvian diet - especially the coastal comida criolla - for centuries. Rice is an everyday part of Peruvian life that fits nicely within the harsh and volatile environment.

I must admit that I miss meals like this one of ceviche, carapulcra, and sarsa criolla. I also miss the obligatory huge bowls of restorative soups that they serve in Peru, which can be very cold and unforgiving in the austral winter. Notice the fresh cut green beans garnishing this pasta and kale soup.

Vegetable soup at El Vegetariano, Miraflores, Lima, Peru

So when I get home, I usually go through a period of culture shock. Or is it cultural amnesia? What is it that I usually eat here in the States? People in Peru ask me that all the time. They usually first ask about our traditional foods, as that is a critical cultural category in Peru. Every village, region, and department (like a state) has its dish or genre. What do we have in the US? We must eat a lot of comida rapida (fast food), they usually suggest.

I usually dodge this embarrassing truth by offering barbecue as a uniquely American (as in estadounidense) cuisine. And indeed it is. I try to explain barbecue, and it usually works. In fact, they have something like barbecue in Peru. There's pachamanca, which is meat and potatoes slow cooked in an underground hearth while covered with earth. There's also caja china (the Chinese box), where a pig is roasted in a metal box full of coals.

So when I come home and don't know what to eat, I just figure 'we must eat a lot of comida rapida.' Then I go eat fast food. There's a limited but consistent range of vegetarian fast food. That is, after all, the goal of fast food: consistency (and speed, though that's changing to meet cultural values of 'carefully prepared food'). Taco Bell has bean burritos that are actually vegan if you don't get the cheese. Every touring punk or hardcore band knows this because that's one of the go-to places for your vegan band mates. Burger King also has veggie burgers that are, admittedly, quite a delicious indulgence. But - like all fast foods - you gotta eat them fast. They're meant to taste extremely good for about 5 minutes while they're piping hot. After that the magic wears off and you have a lot of trouble appreciating the flavor.

I went to Burger King today and ordered a few veggie burgers, some fries, and a drink. Apparently they have new fries now that are meant to satisfy you. They're called 'satisfries.' I went with the old un-satisfries. They were fine because I ate them quickly. The burgers were fine, too, but you need to ask for a lot of pickles and onions and hope that the 'kitchen' actually remembers to supply them.

The thing that confused me most was the cup. I was thirsty and figured I could go for a large drink. It's also been very hot lately and I had walked to Burger King (a pre-emptive flagellation for the planned transgression). I was a bit embarrassed to accept such a large bucket as part of my meal. Honestly, I thought to myself, 'what am I supposed to put in here!' Then I remembered a very American cultural beverage preference: ice. In Peru you get relatively small soft drink bottles served with small glasses and no ice. Ask for ice and - like in Europe - you'll get a few cubes. (I've never had a problem drinking beverages with a couple ice cubes in Peru and the attitude on drinking the water seems to be changing along with Peru's global economic reputation). When handed a truly immense cup in the US at a fast food restaurant, a yawning tub of plastic receptacle, what do you do? Fill it with ice!

I recognize that - as was reported in Fast Food Nation - soft drinks got bigger in order to increase marginal profits for restaurants and beverage providers. But, speaking as an archaeologist now, the enormity of fast food drinking vessels must in part be influenced by the cultural practice of consuming beverages that are as cold as possible because they're completely filled with ice.

In any case, I filled my giant tumbler - a true kero for use in a very-American consumerist ritual - with as much ice as it would hold. I filled the interstices with diet Dr. Pepper (the only thing to drink at Burger King). And then I sat down for my shameful feast as a NASCAR race spun out of control on the dining room TV.

A few hours later, I'm hungry again.

Don't forget extra pickles and onions

Not 'whether' but 'when' is it extortion...?

They blew the doors off of Pollos Roky ('Roky Chicken,' just in case). I don't mean that Roky's had a bang-up night at the cash register. Actually, the problem was that the cash register was too tight, stayed closed, didn't open up when it shoulda.

See, I was having an afternoon rest in my hotel room when a BOOM so loud almost shook me off the bed. I'm used to BOOMs and BANGs all the time in Casma. They're shooting off fireworks (cuetes 'full golpe') all the time here. They wake you up in the morning and they keep you up at night. Sometimes it's clear why they're blowing off the fireworks. For example, at 12:01AM on the feast of the Virgin del Carmen, you blow off some fireworks to let people know it's time to celebrate, venerate, and party.

But that one boom. That really was odd. And the next day I found out why. They blew the doors off Pollos Roky. That's to say, they threw dynamite at the doors and blew them right off. It was after hours and, by morning, the scene didn't look so bad. There just weren't any doors anymore. Roky's was a big gaping garage of a chicken shack.

Pollos Roky, ex post facto

Roky's is one of the lesser chicken chains here in Peru; but even so, I was surprised to see one in Casma. Casma is a provincial city known for it's continual sunshine, it's many schools, and its 'authenticity' as an agricultural province. It's not backwards by any means, if that's what you're thinking. It's just that country kitchens, where they stew poultry over the candela (a wood and cane-fueled open fire), are local favorites. Chains from Lima don't seem like they'd get much business.

Apparently, the local extortionists aren't getting much business either. Roky's refused to pay up on their protection money, and so they found out what they woulda been protected from.

Extortion is an interesting thing. On the surface, it's wrong. On the books, it's illegal. But as a close and brilliant friend once told me, the question isn't whether it's illegal, it's when is it illegal? In other words, there are no hard and fast lines of legality/illegality or right/wrong. These values get adjusted locally and regularly. For example, on the highway between district towns.

The highway police here are colloquially called tragamonedas. Literally, that means 'coin swallower.' Technically, tragamonedas means 'slot machine.' The highway police are always stationed somewhere or other on the roads into or out of Casma. While I have been stopped several times without incident, the same isn't so for the colectivo drivers who provide intra-district transportation up and down the coastal river valleys. Colectivo drivers regularly have their licenses, insurance, and identity cards checked. It's customary to put a 2 or 5 nuevo sol (PEN) coin under the documents when handing them to the police. 

And why not? Usually the colectivos carry more people than they're supposed to. Standard passage is 6 soles. If you fit four passengers in the vehicle, like you're supposed to, that's 24 soles in gross income. If you fit five passengers in the vehicle, then the fare is only 5 soles, but the gross is 25 soles. Everyone wins. They're just not supposed to.

Occasionally, the highway police will run a multi-day operativo, where they really crack down on transport informalities (and profit). By the time you show up to ride the colectivo, though, everyone already knows about the operativo. So the colectivos go the dusty, garbage-piled back roads that parallel the highway to avoid the police. But since everybody knows, the police are already there collecting documents and coins. Like many processes in Peru, it's a low-stakes cat and mouse game that ends up benefiting everyone a little bit in an informal economy where even the unbridled profiteering is pretty small-scale.

A similar sort of 'coin swallowing' takes on quasi-formal appearances at the entrances to several districts. Neighborhood associations and 'rondas campesinas' often set up light barricades in front of some of the rural valleys. Upon entry, vehicles pay a toll of one or two soles. In some cases you get a receipt. You might argue that you're always supposed to get a receipt. But no one always gets a receipt for anything. Anywhere. Sometimes the peajes (or tolls) are staffed by people wearing uniform vests, which are the universal sign of authority in provincial Peru.

Ostensibly tolls support the rondas, which are basically neighborhood watch 'rounds.' Alternatively, some people believe that the tolls might be used to maintain country roads beyond state support (which is extremely limited). However, you only hear that the peaje might go to road maintenance in the context of complaints that they are not at all being used for road maintenance.

Peajes are an archetypal phenomenon of Peruvian informalism. I knew one such peaje well, as I paid it every day while conducting archaeological fieldwork for my doctoral dissertation. I paid one sol each day as I entered the middle Casma Valley on the dirt road that crosses Pampa Allegre. I got a little 3cm x 3cm receipt each time. On the way out, no toll. The explanation was that there had been livestock russlin' in the area and that the toll helped monitor who went into and out of the valley.

However, what was really going - as far as I could tell - was that a fella decided to put a little shack and a gate on the entrance to the valley. He made himself a home and a job, all at the same time. The service appeared necessary enough, the rate seemed reasonable enough, and there were occasional public discussions about his work, so as to keep up appearances. All told, an informal consensus was met to let the guy live there and charge the toll. And you had to hand it to him; he rigged up the gate so he could operate it without getting out of bed.

Four years later his shack is bigger. He has some animal pens, and the toll has doubled. But he can still operate it from bed.

Extortion for protection money is a crime under the conditions that some alternative has been proposed and that people believe the alternative is superior. The alternative might be seen as more effective, more ethical, or morally proper. In a civil society, they say, the police should protect businesses. But in reality, a guy who can blow the doors off of your chicken shack is also someone who might legitimately be able to protect you against other kinds of dangers (and extortionists). Similarly, a phalanx of cops who can beat the teeth out of your head with their nightsticks during a protest are also exceptionally capable of parting the crowd when your ambulance needs to get to the ER.

It sucks that Roky's had its doors blown off. It's sort of annoying to pay peajes when you're not at all sure why you're paying. It's maddening when the police commit violence against the very people they're sworn to protect.

But in all these cases, there's some kind of tacit agreement being made somewhere. And that's the common thread that runs from mafia extortion to involuntary 'donations' for rondas campesinas to giving police officers the authority to plug you full of bullets under certain conditions. They're all interactions that have been subject to interpersonal agreements, though of varying natures and inclusivity. They all follow certain logics, even though some of those logics are believed to be valid and others are labeled as chaos. But the mafiosos will always point out that there is a logic behind organized crime, even when it's only loosely organized. On the other hand, 'legitimate' politicians across the globe will argue that - outside of civil society - there are no rules and that irrationality reigns. I'm not saying that I do or would prefer uncivil society. Not at all. Nor am I suggesting that blowing doors up is OK. I fear violence. But I also recognize that most societies are composed of multiple forms of logic and negotiation that are vying for recognition. Maybe I'm suggesting it would be better if we acknowledged those competing logics and handled them accordingly. 

In any case, for Pollos Roky (which, I might add, is located directly across from a cockfight pit), one wonders if the extortion and retribution wasn't also part of an inverted cargo system. In cargo systems, when you start getting real rich, it becomes your turn to be mayordomo of the village feast. That's your big chance to build social capital by diminishing your financial capital; it's the potlatch. Maybe Roky's was in bringing britches from Lima that were just too big for Casma. So they got blown right off.

However, in an ironic twist perfectly representative of Peruvian informality, the local Pollos Roky's is a fraud. It's not a real franchise of Roky's. They've just stolen the image, name, and theme in order to draw people away from the other myriad broasters in town. Apparently they also drew dynamite to their door.

Receipt for peaje to enter Comandante Noel district, Casma

"Noelino neighbor, friendly visitor help out with your donation for better security from the District Neighborhood Associations and national Police working together against insecurity [sic]."

Call for Papers - Theorizing and Excavating Neighborhoods - SAA 2015

My colleague, Lise Truex (University of Chicago) and I are organizing a session for the 80th Annual Meeting of the Society for American Archaeology in San Francisco, April 15-19, 2015. Our session is entitled "Theorizing and Excavating Neighborhoods." We've confirmed our esteemed discussants Steve Wernke (Vanderbilt) and Elizabeth C. Stone (SUNY Stony Brook). We're still seeking abstracts! The original due date for abstracts was to be August 11th, 2014, but we can be a little flexible. Don't hesitate to be in touch or to circulate the CFP.

email Dave - DavidPacificoPhD (@) gmail.com

email Lise - liset437 (@) uchicago.edu

Call for Papers - "Theorizing and Excavating Neighborhoods"

-----

CALL FOR PAPERS

for

Theorizing and Excavating Neighborhoods

A Session Proposal

Submitted to the Society for American Archaeology

For the 2015 Annual Meeting in San Francisco

Organized by

 David Pacifico, Ph.D. and Lise Truex, Ph.D. candidate (University of Chicago)

           

The ‘neighborhood’ encompasses complex social and analytical phenomena linking households, settlements, and regions. This session investigates the ‘neighborhood’ as a concept, a heuristic, and a social formation as well as the relationship between those dimensions.

On a theoretical level, what anthropological concepts does the ‘neighborhood’ imply or highlight (e.g., kinship, space, economy)? How might we conceive of ‘neighborhood’ when planning, conducting, and reporting research?

As anthropologists, we aim to examine and compare how neighborhoods are configured, produced, and supported at different times and places in human (pre)history. What emic forms of neighborhoods existed (e.g., the Aztec calpulli, Andean ayllu, and Old Babylonian babtum)? How can archaeologists study neighborhoods as imagined as well as physically constructed or culturally practiced?

            Methodologically, we wish to examine how archaeologists can address neighborhoods in all the many formations and configurations that may exist. Of course, we also would like to examine the limitations of ‘neighborhood’ as a heuristic and to discover what directions might move us through and beyond the neighborhood.

Contributors are encouraged to place the study of neighborhoods within broader analyses of urbanization, early towns, rural settlements, and the production of regional landscapes.

Discussants: Steve Wernke, Ph.D. (Vanderbilt) and Elizabeth C. Stone, PhD (SUNY Stony Brook)

Please send presentation abstracts of 200 words or less to both:

davidpacificophd@gmail.com and liset437@uchicago.edu

Deadline for paper abstract submission to Dave and Lise is: August 11, 2014.

Deadline for full session lineup: September 11, 2014.

PAIC-CHAP 2014 Field Season: Update from the Field

[crossposted from PAIC-CHAP blog, PAIC-CHAP.blogspot.com, 3 August 2014]

It's been a great field season so far. I arrived in Peru on July 16th and nearly immediately headed to Casma. Casma is about 470 km north of Peru's capital city, Lima. Since Casma, like Lima, is on the coast, it's a foggy desert. The dry conditions mean that the archaeological preservation here is quite good. In previous years I've recovered cloth, whole avocados, seeds, and even a desiccated fish head from archaeological contexts over 700 years old. The fog means that the mornings are cool and damp (as are the evenings sometimes), and the coastal location means that ancient people relied in part on the sea for their subsistence, as do modern people.

This field season is a non-invasive exploratory field season. I've been taking photos and leaving only footprints. In accordance with Peruvian law, I have not been collecting artifacts. Observations and photos provide plenty of information for planning a multi-year excavation project for the near future, ideally beginning next June or July.

In the interest of preserving the archaeological sites, I won't publish their exact locations at this time. But I can explain - in general terms - what I've been up to.

I've largely been exploring the Sechin branch of the Casma River Valley, looking for later-period archaeological sites that will provide fruitful data for advancing our knowledge of the Casma Polity, pre-Hispanic cities and their hinterlands, and how villages, neighborhoods, and other kinds of communities interact and change over time. For some comparative data, I've also been visiting a few sites in the Casma branch of the Casma River Valley.

'Exploring' isn't exactly the best word to use to describe my field research this summer. Exploring sounds like I'm out there fishing for shiny artifacts! Rather, I've been systematically working my way down the valley between two well-known villages. As I make my way, following ancient trails and irrigation canals at the edge of the irrigated valley floor, I look for signs of ancient habitation. Specifically, I'm interested in settlements that might have been occupied before, during, and after the site of El Purgatorio (ca. AD 700-1400 [Vogel 2012; Vogel and Pacifico 2011]) and especially before, during, and after Purgatorio's commoner residential district, Sector B (Pacifico 2014).

There are a couple of key clues that one might find on the surface that tell us the who, what, and when of archaeological sites. First, you're likely to see human-made walls that have survived from long-abandoned buildings. Walls are usually made of piled stone. Sometimes they have mortar, and occasionally they're made of adobe. Walls don't have to stick up out of the ground, either. A lot of the walls in this area are retaining walls that supported large settlements climbing way up the foothills of the Cordillera Negra here. If you can imagine what a Brazilian favela might look like, you start to get an idea of what a lot of the late-period (ca. AD 1000-1400) settlements looked like in this area. Now imagine that all the favela's houses have been removed. That's what you might see today.

Horizontal striations on this mountain are likely ancient residential terraces

You're also likely to see two or three kinds of 'portable' artifacts on the surface. The most telling artifacts are decorated ceramic fragments. If you're lucky, you get fragments with really clear 'diagnostic' elements on them. For example, from my experience I know that certain ceramic decorative motifs are typical of 12th-15th century Casma Polity settlements. Incised circles and dots are very diagnostic of Casma Polity settlements. When I find those on the ground, I've got a good clue that the site I'm at was occupied, visited, or in contact with the people at El Purgatorio sometime between the 12th and 15th centuries.

At center-left you can see a ceramic fragment,
probably the shoulder of an olla or cooking pot,
with the incised circle-and-dot characteristic of later-period Casma Polity sites

In addition to ceramic fragments, marine shells and bones (usually human). Marine shells are important indicators of human settlements because the middle sections of the Casma River branches are approximately 30km from the sea. If you find marine shells there, you know that someone hauled them 30km to get to the mid-valley, and then hauled them uphill. That's a pretty intensive effort that indicates a complex and extensive trade network for marine foods. It also indicates that the site you're at was a storage, habitation, or food processing site - or some combination.

Bones appear on the surface a lot, too. Bleached bones have been sitting on the surface a long time. Human bones tell you that you're at a site that was used as a cemetery. Unfortunately, the reason they're on the surface is that lots of cemeteries have been subject to unauthorized digging, locally called huaqueo. Another word for unauthorized digging is 'looting.' I choose to use the term unauthorized digging, or better huaqueo, for reasons explained elsewhere. 

Wall exposed by unauthorized digging. Ceramic, bone,
and small muscle shell fragments just below center-right.

There are only a few days left here in the field, and I look forward to examining several more sites in the mid-valleys of the Casma and Sechin branches of the Casma River. I expect to log a few more sites, leaving Casma with lots of excellent data for planning and funding a multi-year excavation project. 

Dave exploring a quebrada in the middle Sechin branch of the Casma River Valley

References:

Pacifico, D. (2014). Neighborhood Politics: Diversity, Community, and Authority at El Purgatorio, Peru. Doctoral Dissertation, University of Chicago Department of Anthropology.

Vogel, M. (2012). Frontier Life in Ancient Peru: The Archaeology of Cerro La Cruz. University Press of Florida, Gainesville.

Vogel, M. and D. Pacifico (2011). Arquitectura de El Purgatorio: Capital de la Cultura Casma. In Andes 8: Boletín del Centro de Estudios Precolombinos de la Universidad de Varsovia;  Arqueología de la Costa Ancash edited by I. Ghezzi and M. Gierz (pp. 357-397). University of Warsaw, Warsaw.

Round 3: La Gringa (Part 3 of 3)

[This is a continuation of Cavia porcellus vs Ursa pacificus and Round 2: Dave vs Duck. Read those first]

There are no pictures available for this post. And that's appropriate because you can't take pictures of the stuff I'm going to write about. The theme is darkness: the darkness of the pampa at night, the darkness of the interior of my gut, and the darkness of the place where La Gringa takes you..... DP, 30 July 2014.

-----

3 August 2014.....After Harold, Susana, and I had done a solid round on the feast, we took a break and waited for Harold's friends and in-laws to stop by. Carlos and Lorenzo dropped in not too long after we had finished. As is customary, Susana prepared them heaping plates of delicious duck to eat while we conversed.

Carlos and Lorenzo are motorcycle mechanics who were preparing to take a trip up into the Callejon de Huaylas the next day. They'd head up past Yaután to Huaraz, then continue down the alley - or callejon - between the Cordilleras Negra and Blanca, towards Caraz, Carhuaz, and Yungay. We discussed my fantasy of restoring a Harley-Davidson Panhead (ca. '48-65) or just finding a vintage Honda 250cc here in Casma. While you see those old Hondas around, it turns out they've all been retrofitted with new Chinese-designed engines manufactured in India. Those are the only spare parts available.

Later, Susana's mom and dad came over for some duck and drinks. Altogether we ate and drank some wine Harold had been saving, lots of Pepsi, a few beers, and anisadoI had brought over. Anisado is anisette; I brought it and explained that my father said his parents always had anisette for guests, along with the southern Italian specialty strega ('the witch'), which is manufactured in his natal Benevento.

Susana's parents commented on how, when they were younger, they never missed a party. Living in the chacra (Quechua for 'agricultural field,' but locally slang for the countryside), parties were frequent, but far apart. Every little village in the irrigated river valley will have an occasional party with loud music, food, and often lots of beer. Susana's parents explained that they never drank much, but boy did they love to dance. They told a story of how, one time, they needed to cross the river to get to the party. So, when they approached the river, they took off their pants, waded through, dried off, and put their pants back on at the other side...all before arriving at the dance! Naturally, they had to repeat the process in reverse to get home.

Nostalgic stories of the chacra led to some interesting discussions of teratology. As I discovered during my ethnographic fieldwork of 2007, there are plenty of legends about archaeological sites in the valley. In fact, most of the valley is some kind of archaeological site, depending on how you look at it. A running theme in these stories is the danger loaded into this old and changing landscape.

We began talking, humorously, about piegrande, or Big Foot. Big Foot is not really a legend here, but with cable television and satellite dishes provided by TelMex, the History Channel is no doubt doing a great job circulating bogus stories about mythical beasts. As a stocky, bearded man, I did my best impression of the Patterson-Gimlin Film, the famous image of Big Foot hoofing it around a few boulders near Bluff Creek, California.

Before long the discussion turned a little serious, to a topic I'd never heard of: La Gringa. La Gringa ('the American woman' or 'the white woman') is reportedly an apparition that appears in the dark of the desert pampa, calling to men who pass through at night, enchanting them, and dragging them off to who-knows-where. La Gringa shares some elements of other known archaeological and Latin American legends. Many of the legends I collected in the area in 2007 developed a theme of attraction, loss, and denial. Some of these legends included huaqueros (pot-hunters) who found great stores of gold in glowing pots; but they were suddenly pulled backward, only to turn toward the pot again and find it gone. Other stories featured other-wordly creatures descending from the hilltops to bring havoc to the valley. Latin American folklore also features la llorona, a banshee-like character who enchants as she screams.

As Susana's parents, Carlos, Lorenzo and I contemplated our nighttime commute out of the chacra and back into Casma, we half-joked about La Gringa. She couldn't harm women, because they wouldn't be attracted to her. Alternatively, if we ran into her, I'd explain what was up. I'm a gringo and naturally can reason with la gringa. Of course, I could always just hop out of our mototaxi and make like Big Foot to scare off la gringa if she happened to appear.

After a couple more rounds of beer and soft drinks (note: beer here is consumed in 1-2 oz portions; 3-6 people share a 24oz beer over many rounds) we finally made our move to leave. It's hard to leave Peruvian company. The hospitality is sincere and sustained. There's always another beer, soft drink, or round of duck to share.

But, it was time. Susana's parent's loaded into their mototaxi and Carlos, Lorenzo, and I loaded into ours. We had decided that we would take the direct route out of the chacra. Instead of going down the San Rafael section of the southern branch of the Casma River - past the villages of Santa Matilde, San Francisco, and etc. - we would take a straight shot across the desolate Pampa Allegre. Pampa Allegre is an empty, long, inter-mountain pampa where you find the 3500-year old site of Pampa de las Llamas-Moxeke and the slightly-later sight of Pampa Rosario. It's also a crossroads of mining trails, sand quarries, and informal garbage dumps. None of these paths are mapped, let alone paved or lit. There is simply no light.

No one really knew this route except for me, because it was my morning commute every field season from 2004 to 2010. However, I never drove it at night.

The decision to let the gringo lead the way must have seemed completely absurd - if not deeply regrettable - almost as soon as we left the light of the village. The landscape had changed since my regular commutes, and  so I had literally lost my bearings. Where I expected to see small dusty hills, I saw pump-irrigated grape vines. When we began to bear left a little bit, I explained, "OK, we've made a turn down towards San Francisco. Not what I had planned, but it will do." This interpretation could not have cultivated confidence in my fellow passengers. Nor did it do so in me. I became increasingly concerned as the San Francisco landmarks failed to appear as they should.

It is incredibly difficult to reckon distance in the barren, monochrome, and lightless desert at night. However, soon our little headlight began to reveal unmistakable features for me. "A ha!" I exclaimed, "That's the Inca road in front of Pampa de las Llamas. Bear right!" A little further on I made out the transverse trail that cuts towards the arm of the pampa we sought. "On our right is Pampa de las Llamas, it's 3500 years old! Keep going and we'll come to the wall with a hole in it; it's also sort of a garbage dump," I hollered over the high-pitched strain of the small engine. "Bear left after the wall and we'll pass in front of Pampa Rosario...there it is! It's an Early Horizon site!"

After crossing the endless stones and empty sands of Pampa Allegre, we started to see the low glow of Casma over the cerros (low bedrock hills) before us. Cane, corn, and maracuya vines began to close in on us, enveloping the dusty path in the reassuring reflection of our own headlight. "Are Susana's parents behind us?" I asked. "Sí, están par' allí," confirmed Carlos. They're right there behind us. 

The path descended into the well-known agricultural fields, the chacras-proper, that funneled us past the extortionate 'guard house' that links the country road to the highway. Once on the highway, we were home-free. Tractor-trailers full of eucalyptus lumber from Huaraz, speeding colectivo station-wagons, and other mototaxis be damned; we had crossed the pampa at night, guided by a gringo, and hadn't had the misfortune of encountering La Gringa.

----

Or had we? I arrived home at my hotel at about 10PM. After the cold, loud, and stressful trip across the pampa it seemed a lot later. I took a shower, got into pajamas, and began relaxing for the night. While checking the Internet, I began to feel cold again. Real cold. Then I started to shiver. My teeth began to chatter. I had escalofrios. 

Escalofrios translates pretty directly to 'chills.' Usually chills are associated with cold temperatures and illness; so are escalofrios. But escalofrios, like chills, can also refer to the tremors one gets when freightened. In my limited understanding of Peruvian folkways, escalofrios go along with susto, a form of deeply-applied fright that can result from bad magic, curses, and other nefarious forms of witchery.

Whatever the case, I sat there on my bed, trembling and - at one point - realized, 'I don't think I can actually control these tremors.' I put on a sweatshirt, wool hat, and wrapped a lliclla (small blanket/wrap used for warmth and carrying things in this part of the Andes) around my head and shoulders. I climbed into bed. It wasn't particularly cold in my room, or really at all that night. But I was freezing terribly and wrapped up far more intensely than would have seemed necessary or appropriate to anyone but me. On top of it all, I felt sick to my stomach. Along with the escalofrio was estomago suelte, or 'loose stomach.'

After four hours in bed, I began to warm up. So much so that I began sweating. I thought I might have slept a little, but I'm not sure. I recognized that I was both hungry and sick to my stomach, a little cold, but also quite sweaty. My skin was pallid, but internally I felt feverish. My guts were out of sort, but I was also hungry.

I went on a late-night quest for crackers and found them up near the 24-hour stalls that service the big rigs ripping down the Panamerican Highway.

Returning home, finally, I realized it was 3am and I was not going to go to the field to climb mountains for several hours. I turned off my alarms and went to sleep again; this time I felt a bit better.

-----

In the pampa we hadn't seen La Gringa, but maybe she got in me somehow. Maybe La Gringa got inside my guts and gave me escalofrios and estomago suelte. We didn't see her, but maybe she heard us joking about her and decided to show el gringo who would have the last laugh. Or maybe I had consumed a menagerie of otherwise innocuous microbes from the country feast that laid siege to my innards. None of the Peruvians seemed unwell, but lots of other - more urban - Peruvians would have thought twice about eating a feast in a village with no running water. 

Whatever the case, something got inside me, and it was Andean. Whether one chooses a folkloric approach (aka. a structuralist approach, if you want to nerd-out like an anthropologist) or a biomedical approach depends on how one wants their engagement with the place to play out. For me, I prefer to live between the worlds of biomedical empiricism - where you only get what you can see - and structuralist explanations based in local cultural logics.

In any case, a 2-day course of Ciprofloxin from the local Chavinfarma seemed to do the trick in bringing the stomach back into order. Within two days I climbed a 900m peak. The mountain made me do it.

Round 2: Dave vs. Duck (Part 2 of 3)

[This is a sequel to 'Cavia porcellus vs. Ursa pacificus.' Read that post first]

Just after my encounter with the cuy in Huaraz, my friend Harold invited me to his house to celebrate his birthday with him and his family. I lived with Harold, his brother, and his mom in 2007. Their taking me in is a testament to the incredible generosity of Peruvians. I recognize that everyone says that about every culture; but it is really hard to imagine inviting someone you've known for three weeks to come live in your house, to cook meals and provide a bed for them, and to take care of them when they (along with everyone else in the household) are quite sick. To do so without asking for anything in return is amazing beyond words. I would like to say that I have the generosity, trust, and would to do the same, but I'm not sure. 

Harold has also known since 2007 that I'm a vegetarian. It's become a running joke that I love tacu tacu, the exquisite Peruvian version of rice and beans. His wife, however, planned to make ceviche de pato. Ceviche de pato is a spicy duck stew. Although it bears the name of the sweet and spicy ceviche made with uncooked fish, ceviche de pato is cooked quite thoroughly. In this case, the ceviche is a reference to the addition of aji peppers in the stew, the very same ones used in fish ceviches. It's also one of the iconic dishes of this area. Like regions of the Southern US with their local barbecue recipes, regions, cities, and even villages in Peru have their own local specialties. People will drive far outside the city to taste local specialties, often served at restaurantes campestres, country restaurants.

Harold had told his wife ahead of time that I don't eat meat, but I had also mentioned that perhaps I would try the pato. Like cuyes, ducks are also typically grown and fed right in someone's yard. The domestic ducks in this part of Peru are usually Muscovy ducks (Cairina moschata), which are native to the region. Harold and his wife Susana raised a bunch of them in their backyard and killed the two largest to feed his friends and family.

I watched happily as Susana cooked the duck, boiling rapidly, over a moderate fire in their backyard candela. Candelas are country stoves made of a pair of adobes, poured concrete, or a metal frame into which long logs and canes are progressively fed. 

When it came time to eat, it was just the three of us, as Harold's suegros (in-laws) would be late. Susana was a most gracious and amazing host (and cook). In addition to ceviche de pato, she prepared zarandejas (a light-colored bean), yucca sancochada (steam/boiled), rice, sarsa criolla, and bought a lovely orange package of aji. In Peru, aji comes in clear tubular bags of varying lengths. It can be various colors and always smells incredibly delicious and fragrant when you approach the aji lady in the market.

Dutifully, Susana piled us each a huge plate of pato, rice, and beans. She cut me some sarsa, flooded it with lime juice (key lime, remember), and anointed it with a roughly cut ring of fiery aji.

"He's not gonna eat it," said Harold.

"I'm gonna try it. I told you I would," I said.

Susana's lovely plating and place-settings for Harold's birthday meal

It was a lot easier to eat the duck. I had a lovely and large breast portion, stewed to obvious perfection with sweet onions in spicy red juices. Susana had done an excellent job and, while Harold was both amused and concerned that I might challenge my philosophy, I was determined at least to do all parties dignity by cutting off as much as I could, placing it in my mouth, chewing thoughtfully, and swallowing. That is a form of eating that I probably never do. Now was the time.

I ate a few bites indeed. A good cubic centimeter or two, which is exponentially more food than the centimeters squared of cuy I had eaten earlier in the week. Yet, I could not eat very much. There's something in the juices and fats, the flavors and textures of meat that doesn't yet agree with me. I can chew and swallow it, but then my body - or mind or both - begins to tell me that something isn't right. 

I explained to Susana and Harold that I was grateful for the delicious duck that they had raised, killed, and cooked not 10 meters away in their yard, next to the cuyes, in the shade of the quincha cane walls, and in the shadow of their recently-planted garden of maracuya (Passiflora edulis or "passion fruit") vines, banana (Musa sp.) and guayaba trees (Psidium sp.).  

I had eaten all I physically could. I didn't think I would 'get sick' so to speak, but I also didn't want to risk it. Which is worse? Eating just a little of a cut - enough so that it can be salvaged and saved - or eating a lot more and then potentially vomiting in front of your guest, not because the food is bad, but because my body is bad?

Susana and Harold took it in stride. Harold already knew I wouldn't eat any of it, and I suppose that I did more than expected of me from his perspective. Susana may have remained somewhat unsure of the whole event; but she nevertheless smiled a big, honest, and kind smile, "I don't mind at all, it's barely touched, I'll save it for later."

No matter how far I am willing to push myself outside my boundaries of comfort, it turns out that there are deeper structures in me that set certain limits. There are probably lots of ways of explaining this with respect to brain areas, psychological structures, and biological reflexes. I'm not much interested in those explanations. For me and the duck, it's enough to know that I simply cannot eat very much meat, even if I were to want to do so.

And I wanted to eat that entire duck breast, not because I like or desire meat, but because I believe(d) there was something valuable to be experienced there between me, Harold and Susana, and the duck.

[Continue to Part 3 of 3 - Round 3: La Gringa]

Cavia porcellus vs. Ursa pacificus (Part 1 of 3)

So, I tried to eat this cuy (Cavia porcellus or "guinea pig"). Let me explain...

Cavia porcellus, "cuy" or "guinea pig," served in the popular picante de cuy style

I became a vegetarian when I was 15 and I've really been very successful in practicing my philosophy since then, even when abroad. People always ask my whether it's hard to be vegetarian in Peru. Really, it isn't. Most of Peru is very agriculturally productive and produce-centric. Using a combination of knowledge about the cuisine, careful questions about dishes, and a bit of willful (and necessary) ignorance about what is being served, I've found that Peru is very vegetarian-friendly. This is to mention nothing of the specifically-vegetarian restaurants that are popping up around the country, including provincial Casma.

Some months ago, when my friend and colleague Jorge invited me to speak at his university in Huaraz, he also said that they would prepare me a traditional cuy. Cuyes have been raised in Peru for at least seven hundred years, as indicated by my own archaeological research. Other archaeologists no doubt have found even older remains. Cuyes are both ritual beings and foods for special events. Curanderos ("curers" or shamans) use cuyes to this day in cleansing rituals. I have found cuyes as ritual offerings in special buildings dating back to the 13th or 14th century.

Cuyes are also special for food because they're usually raised right in the back 'yard.' If there's a single food that you know has eaten clean, healthy food, it's the cuy. That's because you gave it to him. And what you gave him was green pasto, which seems to me to be weeds, or panca de maiz, which is to say, green corn stalks.

When Jorge said he planned for us to eat cuy, I thought about doing "the right thing." As a vegetarian traveling to another country (or another person's house), the right thing is to let everyone know way ahead of time that you're a vegetarian. For example, when I lived in the village of Mojeque in 2007, I spent a lot of time hanging around and meeting people ahead of time. By the time I stayed in town, it was old news that I was veg. And why not? Everyone always wonders what gringos eat ('everything's canned, right?'). So showing up as a vegetarian gringo probably didn't seem that unusual; because gringos are by nature unusual.

I thought about doing "the right thing." Then I thought about doing another thing: eating the cuy. I became a vegetarian as a sort of one-boy protest, as a boycott against the totally unnecessary consumption of meat in late 20th, early 21st century America. Over the years my engagement with the philosophy has shifted in depth, scope, and commitment. However, my practice has essentially never wavered.

I thought about eating the cuy because I am no longer sure that my vegetarian philosophy transcends the context in which it was first applied. In the Northeastern US today, there's really no reason for me to eat meat, and it's completely possible to live well while avoiding it. But in the Andes, maybe eating cuy isn't the same as eating commercial meat in the US.

Joseph Bastien, a missionary-turned-anthropologist wrote in Mountain of the Condor that lives on the mountain were eternally tied to the mountain itself. Bodies and beings (the latter being, perhaps, souls) were continually recycled by the river that ran down the mountain, and the mountain itself was a being with a head, torso, and feet. To die on the mountain was not only the best, but the only way to die; because only on the mountain could the being be returned to life by the river. When residents of the mountain die away from the mountain, they must be brought back for burial, so their 'souls' can be recycled by the river.

Accordingly, animals hunted on the mountain die only in a certain sense. Their body is damaged, but their inner being is recycled. Mountain of the Condor shows that the context in which death and the consumption of meat are intimately related to the philosophy and ethics of meat consumption.

In the context of Huaraz, maybe vegetarianism doesn't make sense - is literally absurd - compared to the context of the Northeastern US.

So, I tried to eat the cuy. I had prepared myself for this for months, and so I found it not particularly difficult to pick up the rodent and put it to my mouth. However, I found it quite difficult to actually eat. The difficulty arose from the fact that this was a rodent - an old rodent as it were - that was deep-fried. I poked the center of the belly area with a fork and then with my very sharp Opinel #8 pocket knife. Both rebounded like I was poking a wiffle ball. I asked Jorge where the meat was. He said it was there, everywhere. It's all meat. I just had to dig right in, bite right in there.

I gave it another shot. I picked up the stiff little guy, opened my mouth, and took a big bite. Well, a little bite. I got a little bit of crunchy skin. I'd say about one-half square centimeter. I repeated the process. It was...OK. Having removed a square centimeter of the hard skin, I dug into the 'meat' below it. Mostly rib meat, I was able to pull off about another square centimeter of the softer flesh below the crunchy skin. It took me a couple of tries to get this much off; but chewing and swallowing wasn't too hard.

Cuy sort of reminded me of tender, juicy, and dark poultry meat; though I haven't had any of that for over 18 years. The chewing and swallowing - once I got the meat free - wasn't as hard as I thought. In your mouth, with the jaw masticating away, it all becomes mush. I didn't particularly like the texture or the flavor, but the eating wasn't as much of a challenge as I had thought. I'm surprised by this, as - after some years - I had thought that I might be missing something by not eating meat. It turns out 'tastes' can be acquired and lost. Apparently I've lost my taste for meat, its textures and its flavors.

Nevertheless, I was keen to soldier on with the cuy, but my stomach couldn't handle it. It turns out that the influx of proteins, oils, and connective tissue really does have an effect on the un-familiar stomach. I began to feel a little nauseous. I did not want to feel that way, I wanted to eat this cuy. I wanted to be fully immersed in the authentically ancient and widely revered meat of the Andes. I simply could not.

I explained this to Jorge and he was incredibly gracious as a host. We ordered a big plate of yucca frita and some ensalada criolla (which is basically a lime-washed red onion salad) and he took over with the cuy.

Admittedly, he found it a bit difficult to eat, too. I had regrettably let it get a bit cold. But even so, this cuy was tough. A proclaimed lover of cuy, Jorge dug in like a champion and finished that beast. However, he noted that it was maybe a dinosaur of a cuy, or perhaps just died of old age. My first cuy was not the tender delicacy that I had hoped would help me experience the Andes more fully and challenge my own deep-seated philosophy. It was a methusalen sage, and I had failed to acquire its wisdom.

All that was for Jorge.

[Continue to Part 2 of 3 - Round 2: Dave vs. Duck]

With lungs full of thin air...

I gave a talk yesterday at Universidad Nacional Santiago Antunez de Mayolo in Huaraz. It was a really excellent experience. I had originally planned on doing some exploring during the day before the bus trip, I realized that it would be better to travel to Huaraz during the daytime. For one, it feels like it would be safer. And, as I had remembered from 2007, the views ascending the Cordillera Negra are amazing.

The Cordillera Negra is a patchwork of greens, browns, and tans that represent myriad small agricultural fields that are quilted into the countryside. It seems that wherever people have found a sowable area on the steep mountainsides they've carved out a little rectangle for potatoes, wheat, or hearty-looking leafy greens. 

Patches of fields, eucalyptus trees, and aloe plants
of the Cordillera Negra

I spent a brief period in Huaraz in 2007 and I still remember the moment of crossing the Cordillera Negra into the Callejon de Huaylas as one of the most amazing views I'd seen in my life. As you begin to descend into the Callejon de Huaylas, you first see the Cordillera Blanca, with its snowy peaks, on the other side of the Callejon. The Cordillera Blanca is Peru's highest mountain range, home to Huascaran, the highest point in Peru and the highest mountain in all of the Tropics. At 6768m (22,205') Huascaran is the fourth highest mountain in the Western Hemisphere. Alongside Huascaran are the peaks of Huandoy and Alpomayo. ... Huaraz itself is no slouch, at 3000m (10,000') it's about twice as high as Denver, CO.

With the Cordillera Negra in foreground and
Huaraz city in shadow at center right,
the Cordillera Negra is bathed in clouds in the background.

The talk at UNASAM was really quite successful. It's always a little scary to give an academic talk at a new institution. Even more so when the institution is in a foreign country, and in a part of the foreign country that is self-styled as being very different culturally. Huaraz is a largely Quechua-speaking area, and many of the students at UNASAM are bilingual in Quechua and Spanish; many of them are primarily Quechua speakers. On top of all that, who am I - a gringo - to tell learned Peruvians about the archaeology of Peru and what it might mean to local Peruvians?!

By all accounts, though, it was a successful presentation. I explained that, in my experience, the past and present are inextricably intertwined; accordingly, archaeology and ethnography are inextricable elements of my archaeological practice. In my research at El Purgatorio, I found that "the past" - as manifested in archaeological materials - was ever-present for the people living nearby, for the archaeological remains provided both a source of meaning and a potential barrier to permanent residence in their village. As both an ethnographer and an archaeologist, I worked as best as I could to discern and attend to the needs of the people living near El Purgatorio while also completing a serious and successful archaeological excavation. As an archaeologist - a practitioner of archaeology in the present - I did my best to use my expertise in knowledge to provide those living near El Purgatorio with the information they needed to manage the issues surrounding their proximity to an archaeological site (as a foreigner, I could not physically help them with many of these issues). This explanation seemed to be well-received by the audience, which included students and professors.

The students were particularly impressive in their engagement with the issues. They agreed that archaeological projects are more than excavation; rather, they should have a social development side to them as well. After all, archaeology is one of the social sciences. Why shouldn't it have a direct-impact social dimension? This question - and an affirmative response to it - has guided much of my research and publication (see for example, "Archaeology is More Than Stones and Bones"), research influenced by both Dr. Melissa Vogel and Dr. Alan Kolata.

My friend and colleague, Lic. Jorge Gamboa, accompanied me for the entire day, right up until the bus left for Casma. Jorge is writing a really interesting book on the uncontrolled and rapid urban expansion of Trujillo, Peru. As we waited together for my bus to leave, Jorge thanked me for coming. I could only respond by explaining that it was for me to thank him. "How many people have the opportunity to come and give a talk, by invitation, to the unique and beautiful city of Huaraz, Peru?" I asked. In this case, I recognize that I'm exoticizing Huaraz a little. It's a very different place than most of the places that I haunt. But that's also what makes it so special and it's what makes the opportunity to exchange ideas with the students and faculty of UNASAM so rich. 

Jorge explained that most of the students at UNASAM are from the 'popular class.' Many are native Quechua speakers, and I imagine most are first-generation college students. It was also explained that when most think 'archaeologist' they think 'gringo.' I believe that the audience yesterday, with their enthusiasm and engagement, will quickly change those standards, and bring a new and vibrant generation to archaeology.

As I rode the bus back down the Cordillera Negra toward Casma, I snapped a picture of the sunset over the distant desert plains. The Cordillera Negra is just as beautiful at night as it is in the daytime.

With sincere thanks and enthusiastic encouragement to the students and faculty at UNASAM including Lic. Jorge Gamboa, Dr. Germán Yenque, Dr. César Serna Lamas, y Dra. Sonia Huemura.

Gracias!

Attachments:

Pacifico c Gamboa V. - 2014 - Investigaciones Antropologicas en Casma: Arqueologia, Etnografia, Comunidad y Desarollo

Pacifico - 2008 - Archaeology is More Than Stones and Bones