Sillustani

We take our first guided tour of our trip to Sillustani, an area of ruins some forty-five minutes from Puno.

I love this. I love ruins. The landscape-- it is hilly. There are rolling hills all around save the lake on either side of the Sillustani penninsula. The sky is an overcast gray, and the colors of the earth appear more vibrant, stand out against the monochrome sky. The soil is red, the grasses are a bright green yellow, and the water is dark black blue. The air is crisp and empty, so that the sound of cows and sheep lapping at the lake below echo up.

These ruins are of chullpas, funeral pyres built to store not only bodies, but also assorted belongings for the next world, much like Egyptian tombs. They are tall, round, black, standing out against the serene setting. They are situated on the penninsula, on raised land. Thirty or so chullpas are scattered about, in varying degrees of disrepair. Some have the flat, outside stones still in place. Some have the inner, less precise stonework exposed. Still others are implied only by a circle of rocks sitting on the ground.

I love it. I love the remoteness of the location, the emptiness of the air, the colors of the earth. I love the drum beats and toots that travel upwards from the band-camp in the town below.

At first, our tour guide drones on and on. I love a good tour now and then, don't get me wrong, but a good guide knows to speak only in five minute increments. I wanted to just wander and soak up the the ruins. The most interesting thing Mr. Guide showed us was that the rocks in this area are heavily magnetized. He held a compass next to the stone and it went crazy.

All of a sudden, it began to thunder. Not directly where we were, but close enough to see lightening bolts strike down. Wade is counting the flashes and rumbles and makes the executive decision that where we are (HIGH UP, NEAR WATER, ON ROCK) is unsafe in a lightening sort of way. The two of us split and run down to the dirt below the ruins. We wait until the storm passes.

When we rejoin our group, Mr. Guide has given free time to wander. At the same moment, it begins to rain. Not a lot, but enough to break out the rain gear. We wander amidst the drizzle.



Pulse rates walking up a flight of stairs at eleven thousand feet:
Me: 148
Wade: 120