Ingapirca

Luc took a day out of his mechanical adventures in Cuenca to join me and our friend, Steve, for a trip to Ingapirca, about two hours and $2.50 north of Cuenca by bus.  Ingapirca is “Ecuador’s most important Inca ruin.”  It pales, I’m sure, to the vast expanse of Macchu Pichu, but we had a wonderful day on a human scale.  Our guide, Angel, had lived in New York at one time, and he and Steve, who is from Queens, hit it off right away.  Angel did a great job of helping us imagine the marriage of the native Cañari people’s moon goddess to the sun god of the Incas.  We saw their connected temples, one made of river rock and one make of volcanic rock.  Ingapirca is a magical place. 

One of my favorite things was this lunar calendar.

There are twenty-eight little pockets for water, one for each day of the moon cycle, thirteen times a year.  Each little pocket reflects the moon from a different angle, so that on any night with moonshine, you can tell where you are in the lunar cycle.  28 x 13 = 364.  That leaves us one day to celebrate the sun alone, giving us the 365 days of the solar calendar.

Steve’s parents are from Azogues, a bit less than an hour north of Cuenca.  He had just returned from a visit to Peru, and I was sure as a child he had visited Ingapirca plenty with his family.  Happily, he was up for the trip.  First because it was great to see him, but also because he knew that when in Ingapirca, one must eat trout.  So after our tour with Angel, and before a little walk where we saw rock carvings, the Old Inca of the Mountain, and other natural phenomenon best explained with mystery, we had a wonderful lunch.

 On our walk, we also met a woman who sewed beautiful little dolls dressed as many local women dress.  Since I am usually genée (what is this word in English?) to take pictures of people unless I am on the top of a double decker bus and using a telephoto lens, I was happy to buy one of her little dolls.  The woman at the next little hut tried to sell Steve an ancient polished Inca stone phallus, but he was able to resist her charms.

The following week, our friend and conquering hero, Fiona, arrived in Azogues from Colombia, with her bike tied on the top of a 46-hour bus ride.  We were delighted that Steve and Fiona were willing to hop on yet another bus and join us for a visit and lovely dinner at a Cuenca restaurant called Todosantos, tucked into a church and apparently still a working monastery.  We were brought down to the restaurant by a nun, and stopped in the bakery that the nuns run on our way out.  What a lovely evening!

The backdrop to all of this, of course, is the progress that Luc made on the van.  Humberto, the owner of our farm/campground, connected us with genius and mechanic Mauricio Dominguez.  

The three men, along with Humberto’s son, Druba, (when he wasn’t barreling down the side hill on his bicycle) worked their magic to stabilize the flatbed that carries the trailer.  I can now drive with confidence over dead policemen and not worry that I will leave bits of the trailer scattered on the road behind me.