By Rinda Payne, in “Peru this week”, May 22, 2012
I love the Altiplano. With
its vast blue sky, ever-changing cloud formations, mountains, empty spaces and
a road unfolding into the distance, it reminds me of New Mexico. The immensity
of the landscape makes me feel humble, a speck in nature.
I am crossing the Peruvian
Altiplano on May 3, the principal day of the annual Alasitas Market in Puno.
The fair began on May 1 and will continue until May 10.
Alasitas are miniatures,
which represent the desires and wishes of the people. The selling of alasitas
is an Aymara tradition in Bolivia, which has spread to Peru. They can be found
at the shrine of Senor de Huanca and the festival of Qoyllorit’i.
In Puno, we park near the
Alasitas Market. Stalls selling food, beer and spirits spill down the steps
leading to the market. Men and women are quietly drinking at tables. Before
taking their first sip, both sexes flick drops or sprinkle a little from their
glass or bottle on the ground as an offering to Pachamama (Mother Earth).
This is a common practice
in the Andes known as ch’alla. Many of the imbibers are feeling mellow. Groups
of men are waving their arms or pounding on the tables in time to the blaring
music.
A line of booths border
either side of a long street blocked to traffic but jammed with people. The
Bolivians who cross the border each year for the market sell everything
imaginable in tiny replicas.
There are houses,
apartments, all kinds of vehicles, planes, diplomas from universities to be
filled out with the name of the hopeful graduate and stamped with an official
looking seal, flat screen TV’s, telephones, furniture, appliances, tools,
kitchen utensils, bags of beans and grains, boxes of cereal, fruits and
vegetables and suitcases of money.
I spy a cluster of
motorbikes. One in particular attracts me. It is black with metallic blue trim.
I buy it. Not because I wish for a motorbike, but because I can imagine myself
whizzing through the Andean countryside on it.
It is impossible to
appreciate all the miniatures, because so many people are jostling and elbowing
one another in front of the stands. We decide to return early in the morning on
the day we leave Puno to return to Cusco.
Two mornings after visiting
sites around Puno, we check out of our hotel, enjoy a hearty breakfast and are
again at the market. Early morning is the time to get close to the booths. Few
people are out shopping for miniatures.
I purchase an Ekeko, a good
luck figure of a standing mustached man dressed in Andean clothes. He is the
Bolivian Aymara god of abundance. Small bags of rice, potatoes, bread, pasta,
beans, Andean rubber sandals called ojotas, a house, a mattress and a bus are
slung over his shoulders. A fake bill for 100 Bolivianos and one for 100
dollars are pasted on his front.
The young girl presiding at
the stall whispers in his ear, “You are going to a new home. Be good to her.”
She blesses him by putting him in the rising smoke from a brazier in which palo
santo, used to purify and sanctify, is smoldering. She sprinkles him with
yellow confetti.
As she inserts him in a
plastic bag, she warns, “Be sure and put a cigarette in his open mouth every
Tuesday and Friday and once a year buy one of the items he carries.” It is said
that for an Ekeko to bring good fortune, its owner must be given one, so I hand
my money to my friend who pays for it and presents it to me.
I stop at another stall
selling amulets. Many of the women vendors are wearing the traditional Bolivian
Aymara dress of a bowler hat, long, layered, full skirts and a shawl and
wearing typical rubber sandals. Their hair is braided in two long pigtails,
which hang down their back and are tied at the ends with a black yarn tassel.
This vendor, however, has on a knitted wool hat and an apron with sleeves over
a white sweater.
I select a round amulet. On
the top are a Virgin on a crescent moon, a house, a car, a horseshoe, a hand, a
couple hand in hand, a bank card from the Banco Nacional de Bolivia and a visa
card along with assorted beads. On the back are a fake 10 Boliviano bill and a
fake 10 dollar bill. Pasted over the bills is a prayer invoking God and the Virgin
to increase the owner’s wealth, to protect him from the envious eye and to
shower him with all good things.
The vendor motions for me
to sit on a low stool. She performs the traditional blessing. She waves the
amulet over a brazier of palo santo smoke, covers the amulet with yellow
confetti and wraps it in white paper.
She places it in my lap and
sprinkles floral water over it. She wets my hands with the floral water and
commands, “Frota (rub).” I rub my hands together. The amulet is ready to go. I,
like some customers, could take it, the Ekeko and my motorbike to a priest in
the local church for an additional blessing.
She has packages of
despachos (offerings to Pachamama and the apus, spirits of the mountains) for
sale. She opens one. I nod that I will buy it. She puts the despacho in my lap
after running it through the palo santo smoke. She squirts floral water on the
package. To my delight, she opens a wooden box and takes out a live kirkincho,
a small armadillo.
She holds him in both hands
and places him on the despacho, my heart center, my neck and my two shoulders.
His little claws scratch at my clothing. After she replaces him in his box, she
extends her hand to help me up from the stool.
“Que le vaya bien. (May all go well with you),”
she says bidding me farewell.
Photos:
1. An ekeko from the Alasitas market
2. An
amulet from the Alasitas market
3. Groceries at the Alasitas market
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