RITUALIZED MEMORY AND LANDSCAPE AT PUEBLO SAJAMA, BOLIVIA:
A STUDY OF A SACRED LANDSCAPE AND
COLONIAL ENCOUNTER
APPROVED BY SUPERVISING COMMITTEE:
________________________________________
Sonia Alconini, Ph.D., Chair
________________________________________
Michael L. Cepek, Ph.D.
________________________________________
Jason Yaeger, Ph.D.
Accepted: _________________________________________
Dean, Graduate School
Copyright 2016 Adam Birge
All Rights Reserved
DEDICATION
This thesis is dedicated to my family and the countless museum trips we went on together.
Without their support and encouragement, this work would never have happened.
RITUALIZED MEMORY AND LANDSCAPE AT PUEBLO SAJAMA, BOLIVIA:
A STUDY OF A SACRED LANDSCAPE AND
COLONIAL ENCOUNTER
by
ADAM BIRGE, B.A.
THESIS
Presented to the Graduate Faculty of
The University of Texas at San Antonio
in Partial Fulfillment
of the Requirements
for the Degree of
MASTER OF ARTS IN ANTHROPOLOGY
THE UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS AT SAN ANTONIO
College of Liberal and Fine Arts
Department of Anthropology
May 2016
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This thesis was made possible through the help of many. First, I would like to thank my
committee for the conversations we had and the insight they have provided. In particular, I
would like to thank Dr. Sonia Alconini who introduced me first to Nevado Sajama. In addition,
Dr. Alconini’s help in developing this project and comments on this thesis were invaluable.
Without her help, this project would never have happened. I would also like to thank Dr. Jason
Yaeger for his guidance in developing the literature used in this thesis. Finally, I would like to
thank Dr. Michael L. Cepek who encouraged me to consider more ethnographic approaches.
I am also indebted to many others for their assistance and support in this thesis. First, I
would like to thank Ramón Torrez and Claudia Alvarez for accompanying me to the field and for
their help in surveying the pathways. I would also like to thank them for their friendship and
their assistance in developing my Spanish. A special thanks goes out to my close friends that
helped, in one way or the other, during this process: Daniel Nicholson, Jose Barragan, Mark
Luzmoor, and Amanda Martinez. I would also like to thank Dr. Robert J. Hard for his assistance
in developing my thesis proposal and methods for this research. I am also deeply grateful to the
people of Pueblo Sajama for welcoming me into their community. In particular, I would like to
thank Don Gregorio and his family for their dinner time conversations. Finally, I am grateful for
the financial support that was provided by the department of anthropology at UTSA and the
College of Liberal and Fine Arts.
I like to thank my family for their help. From books to trips to museums, they have all
fostered my interest in history and archaeology. My grandparents, Gary and Ann Toms and
Claire and Kerry Schultz for their encouragement to pursue archaeology. My parents, James and
Roberta Martoza and Dean and Bonnie Birge, for their support emotionally and financially in
iv
this long journey from undergraduate to finishing this thesis project. Without their help, I would
not be where I am today.
May 2016
v
RITUALIZED MEMORY AND LANDSCAPE AT PUEBLO SAJAMA, BOLIVIA:
A STUDY OF A SACRED LANDSCAPE AND
COLONIAL ENCOUNTER
Adam Birge, M.A.
The University of Texas at San Antonio, 2016
Supervising Professor: Sonia Alconini, Ph.D.
Near the mountain of Nevado Sajama in the Oruro Department, Bolivia exists a vast
16,000 kilometer network of pre-Hispanic linear pathways that connect villages, chapels,
churches, and hilltop altars. Near Pueblo Sajama at the base of Nevado Sajama, a small sample
of the Sajama lines is represented in nine pathways that connect chapels with elevated altars. The
creation and transformation of these pathways and associated places demonstrate a changing
ritual practice that occasionally reused pre-Hispanic materials and places to combine Catholic
and Andean sacred elements. Through this negotiation of practice, the local Aymara people were
able to mitigate Spanish colonial strategies by incorporating Catholicism into local
understandings of the landscape, space, and ritual. In order to examine the nature of this
transformation, I combine informal ethnographic data along with material remains found along
these pathways. Through these methods, I test a possible model for ritualized landscapes as well
as provide a study of the dynamic social nature of landscapes.
vi
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Acknowledgements ........................................................................................................................ iv
Abstract .......................................................................................................................................... vi
List of Tables ................................................................................................................................ ix
List of Figures ..................................................................................................................................x
Chapter One: Introduction ...............................................................................................................1
1.1. Research Objectives ......................................................................................................2
1.2. Organization of the Thesis ............................................................................................4
Chapter Two: Performing Memory .................................................................................................8
2.1. Types of Social Memory...............................................................................................9
2.2. Materials and Memory ................................................................................................13
2.3. Religion, Ritual, and Ritualization..............................................................................16
2.4. Memory and Ritual .....................................................................................................24
Chapter Three: Ritualized Landscapes in the Andes .....................................................................26
3.1. Archaeological Examples of Ritualized Landscapes ..................................................27
3.2. Ethnographic Examples of Ritualized Landscapes .....................................................39
3.3. Conclusion ..................................................................................................................45
Chapter Four: Research Goals and Methods .................................................................................46
4.1. Research Goals............................................................................................................47
4.2. Research Methods .......................................................................................................48
4.3. A Model for Ritualized Landscapes ...........................................................................51
4.4. Possible Limitations ....................................................................................................54
Chapter Five: The Carangas...........................................................................................................56
vii
5.1. Late Intermediate Period .............................................................................................57
5.2. Late Horizon ...............................................................................................................60
5.3. Colonial and Republican .............................................................................................61
Chapter Six: Archaeological Results .............................................................................................66
6.1. Architecture and Other Features .................................................................................66
6.2. Artifacts.......................................................................................................................77
6.3. Spatial Data .................................................................................................................87
6.4. Boulder Field Site .......................................................................................................92
Chapter Seven: Ethnographic Results ............................................................................................95
7.1. Pilot Project.................................................................................................................96
7.2. Fieldwork ....................................................................................................................98
7.3. Contemporary Ritual Practice at Sajama ..................................................................102
Chapter Eight: Discussion............................................................................................................104
8.1. The Ritualized Landscape of Pueblo Sajama............................................................105
8.2. A Dynamic Social Landscape ...................................................................................112
Chapter Nine: Conclusion ............................................................................................................121
9.1. Directions for Future Research .................................................................................124
9.2. Memory in Colonial Context ....................................................................................124
References ....................................................................................................................................126
Vita
viii
LIST OF TABLES
Table 4-1
The material aspects of ritualized landscapes ........................................................52
Table 6-1
Heights of altars recorded ......................................................................................68
Table 6-2
Altars with crosses or niches..................................................................................70
Table 6-3
Dimensions of stacked rock features .....................................................................76
Table 6-4
Number of diagnostic and non-diagnostic artifacts ...............................................78
Table 6-5
Table for chi square results for painted vs non-painted ceramics found at chapels
and altars ................................................................................................................80
Table 6-6
Count of diagnostic artifact styles..........................................................................81
ix
LIST OF FIGURES
Figure 1-1
Map of Bolivia with the National Park Sajama highlighted ....................................2
Figure 5-1
Map of Late Intermediate Period Aymara señoríos (from Bouysse-Cassagne
1978) ......................................................................................................................57
Figure 6-1
Altar L1 .................................................................................................................67
Figure 6-2
Volume of altars .....................................................................................................69
Figure 6-3
Chapel N2 ..............................................................................................................71
Figure 6-4
Total area of chapels ..............................................................................................71
Figure 6-5
The church of Tomarapi.........................................................................................74
Figure 6-6
Total area of churches ............................................................................................74
Figure 6-7
Artifact distribution at chapels ...............................................................................79
Figure 6-8
Artifact distribution at altars ..................................................................................79
Figure 6-9
Number and proportion of artifact styles found at sites .........................................82
Figure 6-10
Pacajes cuenco sherd..............................................................................................83
Figure 6-11
Inka local sherd ......................................................................................................83
Figure 6-12
Inka aribalo sherd ..................................................................................................83
Figure 6-13
Republican era sherd ..............................................................................................83
Figure 6-14
Republican base sherd............................................................................................84
Figure 6-15
Blue transferware sherd .........................................................................................84
Figure 6-16
Early colonial or Late Horizon sherd found at chapel S1 ......................................85
Figure 6-17
Early colonial or Late Horizon sherd found at chapel N2 .....................................85
Figure 6-18
Republican era rim sherd found at chapel S1 ........................................................85
Figure 6-19
Republican era rim sherd found at the boulder field site .......................................85
x
Figure 6-20
Count of vessel forms ............................................................................................86
Figure 6-21
Modified flake found at boulder field site .............................................................87
Figure 6-22
Obsidian preform found at boulder field site .........................................................87
Figure 6-23
Length of Pueblo Sajama lines ..............................................................................88
Figure 6-24
Viewshed of the Nevado Sajama peak...................................................................90
Figure 6-25
Total area of corrals near chapels ..........................................................................91
Figure 6-26
Map of the boulder field site ..................................................................................93
xi
CHAPTER ONE: INTRODUCTION
In a remote stretch of the Bolivian Altiplano, adjacent to the border with Chile, is a
network of linear pathways or lines that cover an area of approximately 22,000 square kilometers
(Tierra Sajama 2008). Called the Sajama lines, this network connects currently inhabited towns
with early colonial and even pre-Hispanic places. In the northern portion of this network is
Bolivia’s tallest mountain, Nevado Sajama. This mountain is still considered a sacred mountain
or apu and still orients ritual practices as it did in the past (Medinaceli 2012). On the western
flank of this mountain is the small town of Pueblo Sajama that is used by tourists to access the
national park around the mountain (see figure 1-1). More importantly, surrounding this town is a
group of ritual pathways that connect chapels and a church with altars placed on or near foothills
of Sajama. In this thesis, I examine these pathways near the town of Pueblo Sajama in order to
better understand the Sajama lines but also colonial entanglement of materials, ontologies, and
memory.
The idea for this thesis emerged in August 2014 when Ramón Torrez, Claudia Alvarez,
and I traveled to Pueblo Sajama to examine the nearby pathways. During this brief
reconnaissance, we walked two lines in order to understand both features and portable materials
found along these ritual trails. By walking these lines, we noted the common layout of pathways:
chapels or the church in the west linked by a pathway to altars in the east. We also noted the
presence of colonial artifacts and even pre-Hispanic ceramic sherds. In addition to preliminary
archaeological investigations, we talked to a few of the locals about the use of the pathways.
These conversations suggested that the pathways were still used. Moreover, they established the
possibility for some ethnographic research. Data collection around Sajama occurred over three
weeks in July and August 2015. In total, we surveyed nine pathways, nine altars, four chapels,
1
one church, and one possible prehistoric site. We also recorded 125 diagnostic artifacts and noted
651 non-diagnostic artifacts. Besides this archaeological fieldwork, we talked to a number of
locals that confirmed the pathways were still being used. However, these uses may be changing
from the influence of tourism and current national trends in Bolivia.
Figure 1-1: Map of Bolivia with the National Park Sajama. The pathways surveyed are in red in
the insert map.
1.1. Research Objectives
This thesis has three goals. The first goal was to document the qualities of the rituals
conducted along the Pueblo Sajama lines. This region is not fully understood archaeologically
and I hope to contribute to current research on the Carangas as previous archaeological research
2
has focused on prehistoric sites. My second goal was to create a model for investigating ritual
pathways that could be applied to other sites. I plan to use this model to investigate other cases of
the Sajama lines located to the south of Nevado Sajama. Finally, I wanted to study an example of
colonial negotiation where precontact ontologies and cultural logics are used in the colonial
period. Although this could be conceptualized as hybrids or change and continuity, these new
practices that emerged during the colonial era are unique with elements that may be seen
elsewhere in the Andes and Europe. By studying these entanglements of sacred mountains, living
stone, and Catholic symbols, I seek to challenge colonial narratives and provide an example of
indigenous agency.
In order to achieve these goals, I gathered information through fieldwork to assess: (a)
what materials are associated with the chapel-altar pathways and (b) whether concepts of space
impact the behavior or material patterns along these pathways. To do this, I primarily used
pedestrian survey to record and identify material patterns in architecture and artifacts. During the
pilot project, locals reported that they still used at least one of the pathways. Because of this, I
utilized informal interviews to assess past and present uses of this system in order to better
understand material deposition. By using these methods, I argue that the Pueblo Sajama
pathways show ranking and different types of ritual practices. These pathways were also created
under the influence of pre-Hispanic ideas of mountains, stones, and space. This was modified
with Catholic practices and images into a completely new ritual system that is still used today
under a backdrop of tourism and indigenous pride.
3
1.2. Organization of the Thesis
This thesis is organized into nine chapters followed by a reference section. Chapter one
includes an introduction to the study including information on the field site, research objectives,
and the layout of the thesis.
Chapter two is a literature review covering anthropological and archaeological
approaches to memory and ritual, which were some of the main influences in creating and
maintaining the Sajama lines. The chapter starts by looking at how memory has been
conceptualized and used in archaeological studies. In the past, memory was seen as different
types including personal, social, inscribed, and embodied. More recently, critiques centered on
the non-human agency of materials challenged these typologies of memory by claiming that
memory should be studied with the relationship it forms between humans and materials. Memory
then is political, generative, and naturalizing. Next, I briefly discuss religion, ritual, and
ideology. Although providing simple definitions of these terms is difficult, I mainly focus on
analyzing the process of how actions becoming ritual or, in other terms, ritualization. This
process can be studied to see how human agents navigate their worlds by creating formal
practices that can naturalize, transform, or otherwise challenge relationships. I conclude this
chapter by summarizing how ritual and memory reinforce one another and how their utility as
scholarly concepts may be applied to archaeological cases.
In chapter three, I present a number of case studies of ritualized landscapes from the
prehistoric and historic Andes. I start by reviewing landscapes from the Paracas, Nasca, and the
Inka. These archaeological cases demonstrate how the ritualization of pathways and architecture
in the landscape aid in the creation of political authority and social organization. Most
importantly, these cases establish the fact that ritualized landscapes have a long tradition in the
4
Andes. Moving to ethnographic cases, I first examine cases of physical ritualized landscapes that
are often expressed in pilgrimage trails. I then move on to conceptual or mental ritualized
landscapes. These mental landscapes are found in how people toasts coca and drinks by naming
nearby places or things before moving outward to important landscape features. Not only do
ethnographic cases establish the current ritualization of landscape, it also demonstrates how
information, identity, and power are expressed in perceived linear journeys. These case studies
are important for comparing the Pueblo Sajama lines but also creating a model for investigating
ritualized landscapes.
Chapter four covers the research goals and methods used in this research. I start by
discussing in more detail the research goals that were introduced earlier in this chapter. In order
to accomplish these goals, I used two research questions that directed fieldwork in July and
August 2015. I then present these research questions followed by details on pedestrian survey,
field recording, and interviews. Next, I review a model for investigating ritualized landscapes.
This is done by examining the physical aspects of the landscape: the pathways, stations, and
portable materials. I conclude this chapter by looking at limitations and how the methods
addressed research goals and questions.
In the fifth chapter, I discuss the Carangas people of the southern Andes and the creation
of the Sajama lines. I first review current understandings of how this group formed and survived
during the Late Intermediate Period (c. 1000 AD - 1476 AC). This includes agropastoral and
exchange practices with neighboring and distant valleys. It was also during this period that most
scholars believe that the Sajama lines were created. I then review how Inka colonialism impacted
the region through the creation of new residential and ritual sites. Finally, I examine the Colonial
5
and Republican period when Spanish colonialism relocated many villages and people, as well as
created new sacred places and practices through Catholic conversion.
In chapter six, I report on the results of archaeological fieldwork. First, I cover
architecture recorded such as altars and chapels. Next, I examine the artifacts that we recorded.
In particular, I argue that the distribution of artifacts suggests that only ceremonial ritual practice
was done at the altars while a variety of activities were conducted at the chapels. Spatial data is
considered next with views of Nevado Sajama and measurements of corrals near chapels.
Finally, I conclude with information about a prehistoric site found nearby chapel N1 termed the
boulder field site. This site is significant because of the high number of artifacts found, current
ritual associations, and a few cases of prehistoric ceramic sherds and lithic preforms.
The seventh chapter addresses the ethnographic results. This starts with the pilot project
when Ramón Torrez, Claudia Alvarez, and I encountered a woman with a white llama that she
wanted to sacrifice. Based on this pilot project, I discuss how I attempted to find informants from
Pueblo Sajama and the kinds of information I gathered. Although this work did not immediately
address research questions, it did determine that the pathways are still used today for a variety of
practices. Moreover, interviews suggest that tourism and identity have a significant impact on
how the lines are currently used.
Chapter eight covers a discussion about the results. First, I consider the Pueblo Sajama
pathways in terms of the model for investigating ritualized landscapes. Through this model, I
argue that the lines show ranking and a difference in practice. Furthermore, by examining
placement of altars, I claim that Andean ontologies of living mountains and stones were used in
creation of sacred space, and for Catholic practices. In the second section of this chapter, I
examine the dynamic social nature of the Sajama landscape. I take a look at how memory is
6
recreated and negotiated in the use of the landscape. Following this, I argue that the Pueblo
Sajama landscape is like previous case studies; the space becomes the stage for ritual
performances that allow for group formation. Last, I discuss how this may have allowed the
colonial Carangas to navigate colonial encounters by incorporating Catholicism into their own
understandings of the sacred.
In the final chapter, I conclude this thesis by briefly summarize how the research
questions and goals were answered. I then look at directions for future research based on this
project. Finally, I relate this study to broader issues in archaeology of conceptualizing colonial
encounters.
7
CHAPTER TWO: PERFORMING MEMORY
Memory is important to the execution of nearly any social action but perhaps it is most
crucial to sacred ritual. Ritual requires a frame of reference, often set in the past, in order to
provide a repertoire of appropriate actions, responses, and materials. Moreover, responses and
acceptance to ritual can be based in memories. It is because of this that I will examine some
trends in anthropological and archaeological concepts of social memory and then ritual. By
understanding how these two concepts articulate with one another, we can better understand how
colonial entanglements occurred around a set of ritual pathways around Nevado Sajama.
In recent scholarship on social memory, the material object is considered to play a crucial
role in the functioning of memory and remembrance. Perceptions of the past can become
associated with these objects or cited through the use or presence of objects. In this capacity,
materials can aid in place making, identity, and even separating ritual action from the everyday.
First, I broadly define social memory by examining how scholars have parceled out memory into
different types such as inscribed, embodied, and personal. Next, the interaction of materials and
memory will be considered. This is not a simple relationship where memory is stored in
materials. Rather, this is a complex field of interactions where the body, the mind, memory,
materials, and the world come to form complex interrelationships with one another.
After social memory, I review what ritual is and the qualities it tends to have. Ritual has
been a popular topic within anthropology as it is generally seen as a way to make ideas or social
structures real. In archaeology, research has emphasized social implications for ritual as well as
how past ontologies are represented in the archaeological record. Instead of seeking a succinct
definition of ritual, I examine the qualities that rituals often embody such as formalism,
traditionalism, and performativity. These qualities have been applied to archaeological
8
approaches to ritual, most notably, in approaches that seek to understand how these qualities
come into being or ritualization. By studying ritualization, archaeologists can better understand
the sociopolitical contexts for why rituals start, change and end.
2.1. Types of Social Memory
Social memory within recent anthropological and archaeological literature starts with
Connerton (1989) which examined how societies engaged their perceived past. This past is not
purely objective, but rather, shared within the group and manipulated for individual and group
needs. Connerton explains that this shared memory is important for any consideration of
societies or culture because memory acts as a way to normalize relationships and expectations.
This highly political nature of memory can and does support exploitation by elites, power
relations, and labor within any society. Thus, controlling and manipulating memories is
advantageous for actors within a society. Besides these political functions, Connerton also notes
that social memory functions by establishing expectations for permissible actions as well as
future actions. In this way, social memory provides individuals with ways to respond or react to
experiences which they may never have encountered before.
Besides reaffirming the importance of remembering and social memory, Connerton
(1989) provides two types of memory: inscribed and embodied. Inscribed memory, broadly
speaking, is when memories and dispositions become associated with a particular past event. To
Connerton, this is the more active type of remembering where participants are aware that they
are remembering. In his example, Connerton (1989: 7) uses the trial of Louis XVI where
memories of the old feudal era were projected onto the trail. After, the king’s execution was seen
as a somewhat literal death of the old era, and the birth of a new era with the short lived First
9
Republic. By attaching memories of feudalism and the perspective of rebirth to the king’s
execution, memories not directly associated with the king or the execution are inscribed onto this
event. The second type of memory, embodied, is more passive in remembering through the
bodily dispositions and attitudes people take to the world around them. In his example,
Connerton (1989: 10) states that the changing fashion trends in Paris during the Revolution
exemplify this type of remembering. Before the spread of liberté, égalité, and fraternité, Parisian
fashion trends were focused on more restrictive clothing with lots of ornamentation. During the
Republic, this changed to be less restrictive waist coats and corsets with less ornamentation.
With this change in bodily practice, social memory is embodied by participants in ways that they
may not be conscious.
These two types of memory provided a foundation for later archaeological studies as Van
Dyke and Alcock (1993) demonstrate in their edited volume. In order to apply these approaches
to archaeology, they note that materials and performances play a very important role in
remembering such as with monuments or mortuary architecture. Van Dyke and Alcock (1993: 35) argue that inscribed memory is the most easily accessible by archaeology since this deals with
past events being actively remembered through things. For instance, the previously mentioned
monuments or mortuary architecture would be inscribed memories as they were built to
commemorate an event or person. Another example would be adding any sort of text onto a
material that somehow recalls past events. Both examples provide an easy way to get at the act of
remembrance thanks to the objects being remembered. On the other hand, embodied memories
are the performative, temporary aspects of social memory. Because this type of memory is a
short lived practice, it would be very difficult to assess within archaeological contexts despite the
fact that practice plays a crucial role in the functioning of memory. Besides applying inscribed
10
and embodied memory to archaeology, Van Dyke and Alcock (1993) further elaborate the
concept of social memory by noting the multivocality of memory. If memory can be used as a
means of political power, then it serves that multiple groups would create, recreate, and
transform memories in order to benefit their own or their group’s standing.
These uses of inscribed and embodied memory are not without their own problems, as a
more recent critique from Olsen (2010) demonstrates. The largest problem with the division of
these two types of remembering is the fundamental way that materials are separated from
practice. Materials enable human action and in turn influence humans. For instance, bodily
practices and embedded memories are treated as “self-governed and self-sufficient”, instead of
being reinforced or created through the materiality of memory objects (Olsen 2010: 123).
Consider any ceremony or ritualized act of remembering. Materials play a crucial role in not only
the execution of that practice but also in how that practice is understood by participants. It would
also be difficult to argue that any social remembrance is purely inscribed or embodied since both
work together. Olsen then contends that since both operate simultaneously, then this separation
of the material and practice is a false binary and not adequate for scholarly work.
Another approach to types of social memory is to focus on personal versus collective
memories. Much like embodied and inscribed memories, these types of memories are also
heavily influenced by Connerton’s (1989) work--particularly with personal memory claims. As
the name suggests, personal memory claims are individual and thus, more ethereal and
sentimental. As such, personal memory is more difficult to assess archaeologically since this
type of memory frequently does not have a direct relationship with materials. If personal
memories are difficult or even impossible to understand with archaeology, this raises the
question if personal memory claims are even necessary when examining social memory. One
11
view is that personal memory is informed and mediated by collective memories (Jones 2007:
67). With this approach, an understanding of social memory would mean a partial understanding
of personal memory. In archaeology, this approach could be used to understand how social
memories associated with materials shape individual experiences of memory. Another approach
to personal memory is to abandon personal and collective memory to focus on the functioning of
memory. Sebald (2015: 65) questions whether the differences between personal and collective
memory is even important. In his view, memory could be viewed as a sort of “generalization”
that is reinforced or changed based on experience in the everyday (ibid.: 58-63). Instead of
focusing on types of memory, Sebald (ibid.: 64) suggests that scholars examine how memory is
processed and to what ends. Regardless if the memory is stored in the mind, body, or social,
generalizations can then inform a single type of situation or even impact across multiple
situations. In both these views, personal memory is seen as not an important focus for
archaeological research.
Instead of examining types of memories, another approach would be to examine the main
vehicle of social memory--materials. Newer approaches that emphasize material agency and
materiality claim that things evoke memories from prior individual or group engagement. This
memory in materials can recreate or transform identities, dispositions, and expectations, all while
detached from direct human intervention. In this way, materials have agency in directing future
human action through social memories. Moreover, examining the role that materials play in this
process can support other claims about the nature of past societies. The main emphasis of this
approach is not identifying types of memory and remembering, but instead, examining the
dynamic role that memory plays through the interaction of materials, bodies, and minds.
12
2.2. Materials and Memory
More recent materiality and relational archaeological approaches have argued for new
ways in conceiving memory based largely on materials and the relationship humans form with
things. These approaches have argued for collapsing categories of memory and seeing how
practice, materials, social memory, personal memory, and the mind generate both active and
passive memories. Examining this interaction can then help in understanding how past societies
changed and interacted. First, this dynamic form of memory can be observed through the
problems of the often used analogy of materials being storerooms of memory. The main issue of
this analogy is the assumption of fixed, external memory instead of an active, mutable
entanglement of people, objects, and memory. Finally, if memory is inclusive enough to not only
recall events but dispositions and relationships, then memory can stand in for tradition. It is
through this function of memory that culture is transferred across generations through an
engagement of humans with materials.
The relationship between material and memory is not new: materials holding or otherwise
encapsulating memories has been considered central in the development and continuation of
human societies and cultures. Scholars such as Merlin Donald and Colin Renfrew have argued
for stages in the development of human societies with memory as one important stage. In these
views, memory is symbolically represented in objects which act as a sort of pre-writing form of
communication across generations. As Jones (2007: 5-7) points out, these views of memory and
materials are attractive because it gives materials an active place in societies where they are
products of human agency while in turn acting back on societies and individuals. However, this
approach to materials as storerooms of memory is not without problems. The first problem is the
idea that memories are externally bound in materials when the mind and body both
13
simultaneously act on materials and memory (ibid.: 9-11). The mind is the primary consideration
for memory as it is where material representations are processed and culturally mediated.
Moreover, it is through this interaction with the mind where new materials can be related to
previous memories of other objects. Bodily practices are also important for these relationships
since it is through embodied engagement that experiences of materials are made in order for the
mind to culturally mediate. In Jones’ (2007: 10) opinion, the mind and the body must not be seen
as separate, but instead, conceived of as fields of interaction with the world around the
individual. Thus, materials as storerooms of memory are a problem since it implies a lack of
bodily interaction. Instead, memory should be seen as a complete engagement or entanglement
of the mind, body, social, and material.
The second problem with the idea of materials as storerooms of memory is that this does
not consider the materiality or temporality of the object. This is particularly evident in the use of
building materials selected for materials used in remembrance. Jones (2007) observes that since
stone last longer in any environment compared to wood or other biodegradable materials, then
memories would have the opportunity to continue to exert influence on societies thanks to their
association with the more permanent stone structures. One example of this would be with
Stonehenge. Because of how long stone last, the monuments form was replicated by people in
nearby barrows and even in other local henge structures generations after the initial construction
of Stonehenge (Bradley 1998). This is important, as Swenson (2015) argues with the Moche site
of Huaca Colorada. Permanence would allow for materials to continue shaping identities and
practice beyond the initial needs. Besides permanence, the other consideration of material
memory is the maintenance or repair. Maintenance activities reaffirm memory associations
which in turn pass on and modify dispositions, identity, and social order. For example, at
14
Çatalhöyük burials in houses had to be replastered periodically. Hodder and Cessford (2004)
assert that this activity that was carried out at the household level reaffirms social organizations
of the house and established group boundaries because of the conscious decision to continue
veneration of the dead. Considerations of the permanence and temporality of materials may help
in inferring how memory was carried out in practice within communities. This is not to suggest
that the memory is stable, but instead, the materials allow for memories to be continually cited
through human action. Furthermore, previous conceptions of memory failed to account for
materials, and the ways they influence how memory is actively maintained or how it could
continue to influence human communities through changing associations.
By addressing these two problems with social memory, the dynamic nature of memory
could be better understood as something that does not recall past events, but rather, provides the
basis and knowledge for the more subtle intricacies of human life. If social memory can inform
social organization, dispositions, relationships, practices, and beliefs, what makes it different
from tradition? Hodder and Cessford (2004) make this suggestion by stating that memory really
is not too much different from tradition. In fact they argue that memory should stand in for
tradition, as memory implies a certain degree of mutability where actors can influence the
outcome and practice. The fact that any practice or relationship needs to be remembered by the
actor in order to be carried out supports the idea of memory as tradition. Another approach from
Jones (2007) suggests using the term citation instead of tradition or memory. Citation, much like
Derrida’s indexing, can be carried out in practice with materials. Unlike tradition or memory,
citation also implies a degree of multivocality and intentionality that is grounded in the embodied
engagement of people and things (ibid.: 61-2). Materials cite the past but also may influence
future expectations or actions in humans. Considering citation through materials is thus
15
important for archaeologists in helping to determine how communities change and diverge based
on similar practices or use of similar materials. In one of Jones’ (2007: 122-140) case studies, he
examines grooved and beaker pottery from Ireland and Scotland to argue that although these
artifacts may be amalgamated in the same type, they were used to cite different memories in
different contexts and thus established different group boundaries. In Scotland, grooved and
beaker pottery were used in domestic, ritual contexts which were more than likely tied to
identity. In Ireland the same type of pottery was used in burials, showing a shift from practice in
interior of tombs to the exterior. In this example, two different regions cited memory for
different purposes: one for domestic use and the other for burial rituals. Both uses of memory
demonstrate how important memory is to identity and how applying memory in archaeology may
help determine relationships past people had with their materials.
Remembering, particularly through things, then becomes very important for societies but,
taken to the extreme, any reuse of a site, style, form, or the continuation of culture could be
viewed as a social memory. What establishes memory from reuse or continuation would be the
political and social role it plays by legitimating power hierarchies and establishing expectations
for future actions. Archaeology is in a unique place to examine memory as these functions are
enabled by the materials themselves which become bound up in interrelations with the body,
mind, social, and the world.
2.3. Religion, Ritual, and Ritualization
Religion and ritual have been difficult topics to approach archaeologically as opposed to
settlement patterns, production, or social complexity. Exemplifying this older view is the often
cited Hawke’s (1954) ladder of inference where religion and ideology requires the most
16
archaeological inference. Most archaeologists at the time seemed to have agreed with Hawke and
avoided the topic of ritual, religion, and ideology (Bell 1992; Insoll 2004). Instead cultural
anthropologists tended to address the topic of ritual. Bell (1992:19-22) summarizes these
anthropological approaches to ritual as mediating the binary of thought and action. This is the
case for Durkheim’s approach where collective beliefs and ideals are created, experienced, and
affirmed by the community through ritual (Bell 1992: 20). Levi-Strauss took a similar approach
although it was not just beliefs or ideas but myths. Ritual then makes real what was once
conceived of in legends and myths (ibid.: 21). Turner takes a different approach by envisioning
rituals and rites as a sort of “anti-structure” that allowed for negotiation of formal hierarchies and
social organization (ibid.: 22). Generally, these anthropological approaches perceive ritual as
making real the mental. Thus, it is important to study ritual because it is the action that makes
real the more ethereal structure, belief, or religion of human societies.
The importance of religion and ritual are well established but the definitions are more
troublesome especially when applied cross-culturally. First, religion has often been avoided in
favor of ideology. Insoll (2004: 6-7) follows this trend by arguing that religion is not useful or
appropriate for work by archaeologists and his definition shows this. Religion, to Insoll (ibid.), is
a system of rules, beliefs, thoughts, actions, and materials that often deal with the intangibles of
human existence: life, love, good, evil, and death. By using a broad definition of religion, it
could be seen nearly anywhere and since it is so ingrained into life, archaeologists do not need a
separate analytical category. To this end, Insoll suggest that religion should be seen as informing
all other aspects of life. Another approach is using religion comparatively to create typologies.
Bowie’s (2000: 26) typology of religion ultimately creates a binary of world religions and
traditional religions. World religions are considered the written religions that most contemporary
17
people adhere such as Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism. Other aspects of these
religions are the fact they often create separate spheres of life and generally having a message of
salvation. Traditional religions on the other hand, are non-written and are deeply ingrained into
everyday life. Although this may have utility for some, this type of categorization may be
unappealing for anthropologists since it recreates divide between modern and the other, but also
evolutionary ideas where traditional religions simply have not developed into world religions.
Alternatively, religion could be seen more broadly as a type of ideology. To this end,
Insoll (2004: 22-23) advocates that archaeology should consider all past life as informed by
religious ideology. Echoing this idea, Rowan (2012: 2-3) argues that archaeologists do the past
disjustice by treating religion as a separate analytical category. Life for most people, living and
dead, has been bound so tightly with religion that it would be impossible to separate the two. In
this view, religion is the logic of why actions in the past were carried out and not just at temples
or holy sites, but for other aspects of life such as agriculture, production, and social order.
Furthermore, it is very difficult to separate activities and rituals of religion from utilitarian ones,
as religion often informs non-sacred actions (Rowan 2012: 3). Because of these issues, religion
should be consider as an ideology that informs materials and depositional processes that we
observe in the archaeological record. Although Insoll and Rowan are examples of scholars
working with religion, other scholars (see Bell 1992, 1997, 2007; Kyriakidis 2007a) are happy to
avoid religion, and instead, focus their efforts on the actions of religion or ideology: ritual.
Although more tangible, ritual is nearly as problematic to define despite more attempts by
archaeologists to provide a definition. In his edited volume on the archaeology of ritual,
Kyriakidis (2007b: 10) suggest that ritual is “an etic category that refers to set activities with a
special (non-normal) intention-in-action, which are specific to a group of people”. Although this
18
may work for some scholars, leaving what is and is not ritual up to etic interpretation may be a
problem by further entrenching boundaries between the West and the culture being studied.
Furthermore, by leaving it up to etic understandings of what is normal, or rather non-special,
creates the classic archaeological problem where anything found in archaeological contexts
without a clear purpose is claimed as ritual (Insoll 2004: 11). Rapport (1999: 24) takes a different
stance on ritual by suggesting it is “the performance of more or less invariant sequences of
formal acts and utterances not entirely encoded by the performers.” In this view of ritual, the
emphasis is not placed on beliefs or intention, but rather, on the more performative and formal
qualities of the act. This emphasis on performance is attractive for archaeologists as
performances are also easier to assess in the material record. Olsen (2010) points out that any
performance, like nearly any human activity, requires materials since the right materials aid in
the interpretation by the audience and the success of the ritual within the cultural system. In these
definitions, ritual tends to be viewed as an action that engages in logic or ideology that is outside
of the actors.
Besides being manifestations of ideology, ritual provides one way to get at past
ontologies. Relational archaeological approaches (see Watts 2013) have attempted just this by
examining the material remains of past rituals to see how animals and the dead were empowered
through ritual. For instance, depictions of predators at Göbekli Tepe suggest that builders may
have wanted to channel the power or aspects of predators (Borić 2013: 60-61). This is in contrast
from prey animals such as deer that have been found in middens nearby but are not represented
in the artwork at the site. Any experience in the temple would reaffirm this predator-prey
ontology. Ontologies can also be observed in burial rituals at the Shamanka II cemetery near
Lake Baikal, Siberia. Excavations of these burials discovered bear crania and baculums placed
19
with human remains (Losey et al. 2013: 67-69). In some cases, bear remains were found buried
by themselves near human burials. These burials suggest that bears occupied a position that was
considered near human or perhaps as a sort of totem for the group that used this cemetery (ibid.:
92-93). Finally, sacrifice rituals in the Andes may be one way to see how landscape features such
as mountains, rock outcrops, and springs were empowered with agency (Bessom 2009; Bray
2009). In the case of worship at mountains, regular rituals at shrines would have been one way to
establish the power of mountains, ancestors, or spirits as acting within communities and social
groups. Through examining evidence of archaeological ritual or sacred space, ideology can
become represented at least partially in the material record. Investigations can then lead to
providing insights into ontologies where mountains are alive and acting within communities or
where bears are seen as non-human persons.
Defining ritual as expressions of ideology would not be an adequate definition as this
would encompass nearly all actions. Instead, a definition of ritual should take into account the
qualities of ritual that separate it from other actions. For Bell (1997: 138-69), rituals tend to have
at most six qualities: formality, traditionalism, disciplined invariance, rule-governance, sacral
symbolism, and performance. First, formality is one of the most important aspects as this implies
the need for many other qualities such as sacral symbolism, rule governance, and traditionalism.
Formality is also needed in order for rituals to be established as different from other activities.
Next, traditionalism are the references back to social memory so that older places, materials, or
practices are used. Invariance and rule-governance are very similar to one another as they both
deal with the fact that rituals often recall previous rituals so that similar logic is used in future
rituals. For example, funerals would recall the rules and rituals of previous funerals so that they
would stick to a certain format. Sacral symbolism is the quality of rituals where concepts such as
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life, death, and the cosmos are referred in the use of certain symbols. By engaging these topics,
symbols not used in everyday life may be utilized. Finally and perhaps most importantly, rituals
are a performance. Rituals are often done with audiences in mind where participants can take on
different roles in relation to one another or even non-humans. Performance also reinforces other
aspects of ritual such as rule governance since performance can succeed or fail based on these
rules. Like formality, performance demonstrates that these qualities often overlap one another.
One final point by Bell is that these qualities are found in most rituals but not all of them have
them.
Some archaeologists (Insoll 2004; Hastorf 2007; Kyriakidis 2007a, 2007b; Moore 2005)
have found these qualities to be useful in their own work, in particular performance and the
material basis for many of these qualities. Hastorf (2007) examines the performance of ritual in
the Andes to argue that rituals would have played a crucial role in the social life of past Andean
societies but most notably the Chiripa. The materialization of these performance can be found in
the large mounds, burials, and sunken courts of the highlands and coastal regions (ibid.: 97-100).
In these cases, the materialization of performance allows for conclusions to be reached about the
social life of these societies. A different take on the performance of ritual, Insoll (2004: 293-294)
explores how action creates not just space but also time. The creation of ritual time through
performance is not stable but instead highly mutable much like social memory. Insoll (ibid.: 293298) then examines this concept of ritual materials and architecture creating the spatial-temporal
environment through directing bodies through a Nyoo shrine whether in dance or the Golib
festival. Materialization and performance does not just impact the social life but also perceptions
of place and time. All these recent archaeological approaches to ritual build off the qualities of
21
rituals laid out by Bell (1992, 1997). In particular, the aspects of performance seem the most
useful for archaeological applications.
Moore (2005) takes the performance of Bell (1992) in a different direction by examining
a unique performance: the procession. Processions are not always ritual but ritual processions are
a unique ritual that have their own distinctive qualities that expand on Bell’s qualities of ritual
(Moore 2005: 130-131). The most striking quality of processions is movement in often everyday
space. Because of this, formalized symbols are used for participants and observers to
differentiate ritual activity from the surroundings (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett and McNamara 1985:
2). Not only do symbols need to be formal but many aspects of the processions such as paths,
places, and materials are made formal in the context of the ritual or follow a rule system. In
addition to this formality, processions engage in tradition through the use of memory whether
fictitious, actual, or somewhere in between (Moore 2005: 131). Another important consideration
is that the focus may be on the procession itself or on places along the procession , and it is often
material markers that designate an important station along a procession path (KirshenblattGimblett and McNamara 1985: 3). For archaeology, Moore (2005: 130-137) summarizes several
important points for investigations. First, processions rely on a “technology of events” and
“design logics” in order to be made meaningful with space and for people involved (ibid.: 136).
These are grounded in local knowledge and historical events that are difficult but not impossible
to study archaeologically. This can be done by using comparative studies and analyzing the
material evidence (ibid.: 136-7). Moore’s work shows the utility of Bell’s qualities of rituals as
they could be applied to processions--a unique type of ritual event. Moreover, even processions
rely heavily on the use of materials and place in order to be understood and made meaningful.
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When studying ritual, it is not just identifying these ritual qualities but how and when
actions gained these qualities through the act of ritualization. It is this approach that Bell (2007)
finds this the most productive in ritual studies. Ritualization is the “strategic way of acting” that
could be explored to see “how and why this way of acting differentiates itself from other
practices” (Bell 1992: 7, emphasis in original). An archaeological approach to ritualization
would then seek to find changes in rituals or practices and how social or political influence may
have shaped this change. Any modification, transformation, or change could be expected to
follow the addition of new materials, techniques, or even change in political complexity. In other
words, because ritual is an entanglement of bodies, materials, practices, memory, and space then
any change would possibly be reflected in other aspects of the entanglement. These changes can
be observed in the cases of Incaic Cuzco (Bauer 1998) and Isla del Sol on Lake Titicaca (Bauer
and Stanish 2001). In both cases, the use of the landscape as expressed in architecture and
portable artifacts shows significant elaboration by the Inca Empire. In the case of Isla del Sol,
shrines and sacred space were constructed on top of earlier sites. A change in rituals conducted
in both places is influenced by the elaboration of the Inca state into an empire. An earlier
example could be found in the Chincha Valley, Peru where Paracas’ use of the landscape through
mound construction and ritual along pathways may have influenced the rise of the state (Stanish
et al. 2014). This sort of ritualization is not one directional and acts as a feedback loop to
encourage further elaboration of the state and the ritual. In this way, ritualization is another way
that archaeologists can assess issues of social complexity, identity, or power.
Besides as a way to examine change, ritualization is a way that networks of relationships
are created, maintained, and transformed. In this capacity, examining ritualization can be one
way to find sources of non-human agency, and as Stahl (2015: 54) points out, ritualization is the
23
way that humans and objects are brought into relationships with one another. Whether this is
conceived of as meshworks (Ingold 2000, 2007), actor-networks (Latour 2007), or even
entanglements (Hodder 2012), ritualization is the realization of human and non-human
relationships in entanglements of place and materials.
2.4. Memory and Ritual
To sum up memory and ritual, the interaction of the two often overlaps especially when
qualities of each are considered. Ritual aids the formation of memory but memory aids in the
transmission and execution of ritual. This is made even more complicated when one considers
how bodies, minds, the world, and space factor into these interactions. However, some clear
statements could be made about memory and ritual when it comes to archaeological studies.
First, ritual and associated memory are observable in the archaeological record as
performances. This notion captures the material requirements of both ritual and memory.
Because these acts take into account bodies, the mind, and the world, critical analysis of
archaeology patterns can recreate at least partially the relationship between human and nonhuman agents. This can be seen with how bodies are directed around space in the case of Göbekli
Tepe or even what is placed as offering as in the case of the Siberian cemetery. In conjunction
with other lines of evidence, ritual and memory studies in archaeological contexts can support
conclusions about perceptions on non-human agents, identity, and political economies.
Secondly, the best approach to these studies is to examine ritualization. By taking this
approach, change is emphasized over continuity. This can take the form of the change that
imperial control brought to Cusco or Isla del Sol, or even how memory citations in materials
took on different functions with the grooved and beaker pottery in Ireland and Scotland.
24
Ritualization then brings together different actors and objects into new entanglements that are
navigating by the humans creating them. This can be seen in through the ritualization of the
landscape in Sajama but also in other cases in the Andes.
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CHAPTER THREE: RITUALIZED LANDSCAPES IN THE ANDES
By examining how practices, materials, and space become interrelated in ritual
entanglements, archaeologists have another way to examine the sociopolitical contexts of change
within societies. This is the case with ritualized landscapes in both the prehistoric and historic
Andes. These landscapes were transformed over time through practice into culturally significant
places connected by pathways or geoglyphs that embodied Andean ontologies, social relations,
and social complexity. Not just pathways or geoglyphs were used. These ritualized landscapes
include stations in the form of mounds, chapels, or stacked stones. Other times, culturally
significant points outside the system would be referenced such as sources of water by the Nasca
or mountains by the Inka. All the while, pathways physically connect these places and serve as
one way to infer past relationships. By examining these material remains, archaeologists can gain
insight into past societies that can support other lines of evidence.
In this chapter, I investigate how specific case studies of ritualized landscapes in the
Andes manifest. More importantly, I examine what sort of conclusions scholars have made based
off how these landscapes manifest. First, I examine the prehistoric landscapes of the Paracas,
Nasca, and Inka. In these case studies, archaeologists have highlighted the role that state control
and group formation plays. Ultimately, use of these landscapes allowed for past societies to
maintain social order and complexity. These studies are then compared to the historical examples
of ritualized landscapes in the central Andes that are primarily used for pilgrimage. In both types
of cases, specific physical qualities of these landscapes are highlighted, as they allow for
conclusions about the social and political nature of past and present societies. At the end of the
chapter, I present these physical aspects of ritualized landscapes and how investigating them
26
could serve as a model for future investigations into ritualized landscapes. These aspects will
then be used to examine the pathways around Nevado Sajama in a subsequent chapter.
3.1. Archaeological Examples of Ritualized Landscapes
Landscapes provide a physical space for groups to gather and regular practice provides
the social context for transmission of cultural information. In the Andes, prehistoric landscapes
demonstrate how space and practice are mediated by societal and cultural factors. These factors
could include identity and group formation, which in turn facilitate state control. This may be
done in relation to a ceremonial core and in competition with other groups--as was the case with
the Nasca at Cahuachi--or it may be done to bring together the people of an empire like at Cusco.
Another important factor is the logic of selecting space to be made into a sacred place. Perhaps
creating platforms in a line to be used for astronomical observations in the Chincha Valley was
done intentionally to enhance the perceived power of elites or priests. These important factors all
have material traces that could be examined to understand identity, groups, and ontologies of
past societies.
For the archaeological case studies, I will examine an example of ritualized landscapes
from the Paracas, Nasca, and Inka. The geoglyphs in the Chincha Valley, Peru link mounds,
cairns, burials, and circular platforms together in one of the oldest preserved ritualized
landscapes in the Andes. These physical associations suggest that groups were brought together
for regular practice that may have contributed to state formation. The second case study are the
Nasca lines. By examining the places linked by these geoglyphs, we gain an understanding for
how the Nasca used space for group formation but also how knowledge about water sources may
have been communicated. Furthermore, historically contextualizing these geoglyphs with the
example of Cahuachi demonstrates the active process of ritualization to achieve local results. The
27
final archaeological case study is the Cusco ceque system. This well studied system is different
from the others because of the historical accounts that illuminate the social functions and
practices of this landscape. The ceques were conceptual lines or lines of sight that linked wak’as
to moieties and kin groups together with regular practice. Also unlike the other cases, the ceques
represents the most sophisticated landscape as it was the capital for an imperial state.
3.1.1. The Paracas of the Chincha Valley
The Paracas geoglyphs in the Chincha Valley, Peru were studied by a team of
archaeologists led by Dr. Charles Stanish (Stanish et al. 2014) to determine how ritualized use of
the landscape encouraged state formation. To accomplish this, the team surveyed and recorded
71 linear geoglyphs or segments of geoglyphs plus 353 additional features such as stone cairns,
circles, and rectangular structures. Besides survey, the team also excavated the mound site of
Chococota or ‘Mono’ which is framed by numerous geoglyphs. The Chincha Valley was an ideal
place to study geoglyphs as previous research identified and dated 30 major Paracas period sites
in the valley. Because of the amount of Paracas sites, the authors argue that the Chincha Valley
was one of the main centers for Paracas development (ibid. 1). Dating the geoglyphs was also
made easier as associations with other previously known Late Paracas (c. 400-100 BC) mounds
suggest that this system was used during this period. Carbon dates from Mono support this and
run a range of dates from 405 BC to 225 BC (ibid. 4). The style of ceramics found during
fieldwork also support the Late Paracas date.
Perhaps the most important aspect of this system were the arrangement and orientation of
the geoglyphs. Through these aspects, the team could make inferences on the past importance of
various sites along with uses for the lines. Clustering was particularly significant for this reason.
The team observed four clusters of geoglyphs around five known sites in the Chincha Valley
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(Stanish et al. 2014: 2). In practice, clusters may have been used as a meeting place for groups
where views may have factored into ritual performances. Each cluster has a paired set of lines
that would visually frame the major site in the form of a “V” and draw the observer's attention
towards the mound. Viewing would have been aided by thee roughly circular 4- to 12-m stone
platforms that could serve for viewing or for performances. Besides implying past functions,
frequency of clusters are important for archaeological investigations as it strongly suggests
culturally significant spots on the landscape. Mono was recorded as having at least 14 lines
converging on the site while other nearby sites only have 2 to 7 lines (ibid.). As we will see with
other ritualized landscapes, frequency of geoglyphs is an important line of evidence to infer
about past significance.
Not only were the geoglyphs used for viewing mounds but also solstice events. This was
argued by the authors as aiding in state formation (Stanish et al. 2014: 5). Lines, radiating out
from mounds, frequently align with the June solstice at 294° but so do mounds and walls located
on mounds. At the site of Mono, the team recorded three structures aligning between 291° and
297°. Not all structures match this alignment. One platform even had an alignment with 280° but
walls that oriented to 295° ± 2°. This evidence coupled with the fact that marking solstice events
were significant at Chankillo, Tiwanaku, and many Inka sites suggest that marking the June
solstice was important for many Andean societies including the Paracas in the Chincha Valley.
Observing the June solstice would have been important as it not only marked time but also
provided an opportunity for regular, formalized performances and meetings. In the Chincha
Valley, platforms near the clusters of lines would have provided a venue for these performances
while the successes of marking the solstices would reconfirm the importance of the geoglyphs
and possibly elite control of this system as well. This “materialized ideology” of centralized
29
power was one strategy for bringing together disperse groups of people for interaction (ibid.).
Bringing people together would be essential to the formation of any state and this ritualized
landscape would provide one means for the development of social complexity for the Paracas in
the Chincha Valley.
Examining this geoglyph system, it becomes evident just how important the arrangement
and orientation of lines are to any study of similar landscapes. Clustering of lines demonstrates a
possible culturally significant place and perhaps a venue for ritual performances. Other material
evidence along the lines support similar conclusions about group formation and social
complexity. Orientation of architecture such as the mounds, walls, and platforms with the
pathways may further strengthen conclusions about past sociality. In the case of the Chincha
Valley, architecture was able to add further support for the astronomical observation theory.
Finally, portable material culture plays a role in these ritualized studies. In the Chincha Valley,
this was used to date the lines but also to infer about past practices along these lines.
3.1.2. The Nasca Lines
Another example of a ritualized landscape can be found in the famous Nasca lines. This
landscape demonstrates not only the importance of line arrangements and ritual performance but
as a means of transferring knowledge. The Nasca lines also show just how diverse ritualized
landscape can be as a medium. In total, 227 large geometric geoglyphs cover more than 4 million
square yards or about 29% of the pampa (Ibid.: 40-41). Although most geoglyphs are geometric
in nature such as lines, trapezoids, rectangles, spirals, and zigzags, the most captivating and
popular geoglyphs are the 30 or so biomorphic geoglyphs (Aveni 2000: 30, Silverman and
Proulx 2002: 173-174). These biomorphic figures mostly consist of animals with the most
common being birds. Other animals include foxes, monkeys, spiders, fish, and even an orca
30
(Aveni 2000: 30). Virtually all the biomorphic geoglyphs were constructed on the pampa while
the valley has primarily geometric geoglyphs (Silverman and Proulx 2002: 176-184). In fact, the
biomorphic geoglyphs are concentrated into a 10 square mile area on the southern bank of the
Ingenio River (Aveni 2000: 30). Further supporting this separation of geometric and biomorphic
geoglyphs is the fact these two types rarely intersect one another. This has led some to suggest
that the biomorphic geoglyphs are a local phenomenon (ibid.: 191-193). Because of the
difference in style and physical separation, these two types of geoglyphs may have been
considered distinct from one another or created under different conditions.
Creating the geoglyphs would be fairly easy but required coordination. To make both
geometric and biomorphic geoglyphs, the Nasca people used a subtractive technique where the
dark oxidized stones on the surface were removed to expose the lighter unoxidize stones (Aveni
2000: 28, Silverman and Proulx 2002: 176). Although the technique of making the geoglyphs
was not labor intensive, the scale and complexity of the lines would require a degree of planning
and organization. This would doubtlessly have required models and the organization of labor
under the coordination of a knowledgeable individual or small group. Planning out designs may
have been as simple as sketching details on a starch cloth (Aveni 2000: 38). However, executing
complex images such as spirals would be a little more difficult. Maria Reiche suggested that this
could easily be done using a standard unit of measure--probably based off a bodily proportion-and a length of cord and poles to mark off potential lines (ibid.: 96-101). In Reiche’s opinion,
this standard unit of measurement and planning represented a highly abstract thinking that would
set the Nasca apart from many other cultures in terms of mathematical innovation (ibid.: 140).
Geoglyph construction was not the only activity to occur along these lines. Remains of
stone features and ceramic sherds suggest a range of ritual movement and practice. Structures
31
such as stone circles, semicircles, and even walled enclosures have been recorded and interpreted
as possible shelters from the sun and dust storms (Aveni 2000: 164-5, Silverman and Proulx
2002: 177). Other features include rock piles that may have acted as material markers of
termination places, stations in a procession, boundary markers, visibility markers, or maybe all
of these (Silverman and Proulx 2002: 177). Similarities have been drawn between these rock
piles and apachetas or stone piles often stacked by travelers (Aveni 2000: 165). Other than
features, ceramic sherds found along the lines allow archaeologists to attempt to date the
geoglyphs. Persis Clarkson has suggested that the biomorphic geoglyphs were used around AD
200-600, much earlier that the rest of the lines at AD 660-1000 (Aveni 2000: 193). On the other
hand, Silverman argues that based on ceramic styles, both biomorphic and geometric lines are
contemporary (ibid.). This disagreement with the dates is relatively minor compared to the
differences in explanations for the use of the lines.
Archaeological interpretations of the Nasca lines vary but most tend to either emphasize
the sociopolitical, aquatic, or astronomical functions of this system. Sociopolitical interpretations
of the geoglyphs focus on the social nature of rituals in bringing together different groups. In this
vein, Clarkson has argued that geoglyphs are areas to sacrifice pottery and consumables
(Silverman and Proulx 2002: 177). Sacrifices would more than likely encourage inter and
intragroup competition and cooperation. Echoing this ritual use, Reinhard (1988) identified
important nearby mountains that may have been the focus of worship at the lines. Linking this
worship with water, ethnographic and historical accounts strongly relate worship of mountains
with water and fertility associations. Thus, lines and triangular geoglyphs may have been one
way to symbolically connect people to the mountains and important aquatic resources (ibid.: 21).
The geoglyphs’ water associations may not have only been for worship but also as a way of
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communicating sources of water. In the valleys, trapezoidal geoglyphs may have been observed
as pointing towards rivers, streams, and other sources of water (Silverman and Proulx 2002: 181184). Work by Josué Lancho Rojas and David Johnson have linked lines and certain styles such
as zigzags to water filtration galleries and water bearing faults (ibid.: 178, 185-186). This would
be one way to physically map where water could be found but could also serve as a way to note
who controlled water resources.
Perhaps the most popular--and maybe even contentious--theory on the Nasca lines is that
they were used for astronomical observations. The geoglyphs functioning as an observatory was
first suggested by Paul Kosok when he noted the alignment of the sun with a line during the June
solstice (Aveni 2000: 90-91). Reiche carried on this work by first identifying alignments between
the sun then the moon and various constellations (ibid.: 94). Other scholars developed similar
theories. Gerald Hawkins and Tony Morrison first became famous with their theories on
Stonehenge as an observatory before applying the same work to the Nasca lines. Hawkins
worked systematically on a few samples of geoglyphs to try and identify important alignments
for both the sun and moon (ibid.: 103-4). However, these approaches have major problems.
Hawkins, for instance, selected stars that would not have been as visible in the southern
hemisphere as they were in the northern hemisphere (ibid.: 105). Other problems included not
factoring in the human experience. Hawkins did not account for where the sun rose and set at
other points besides the solstices. This would have been useful for predicting when streams
would flow once again (ibid.: 105). Reiche, on the other hand, changed local toponyms to
emphasize alignments such as with the pleiades (ibid.: 95). In this way, she may have been
projecting alignments that she wanted to see on top of local toponyms. Part of the difficulty of
proving astronomical alignment is the fact that it requires a high degree of precision and
33
accuracy. Factors such as change in the landscape, earth orbit, magnetic declination, and even
accuracy of maps all can cause identifying of coincidental alignment (Hesse 2013). This is not to
suggest the Nasca lines did not have alignments that were important for past peoples. Instead,
because of the long temporal use and the number of geoglyphs, the lines could have served as
astronomical observatories, ceremonial roads, surface water markers, cult markers, pilgrimage
routes, arenas for performance, and mnemonic markers at different places (Aveni 2000: 107,
Silverman and Proulx 2002: 192).
Because of this dynamic nature of the lines, it may be better to focus on a single sample
such as the geoglyphs found near the ceremonial complex of Cahuachi. This major Nasca site
was primarily occupied in the Early Intermediate period and abandoned around AD 450-500
(Jacinto 2010, Silverman 1993). Nearby, several geoglyphs radiate out across the nearby hills
and pampas surrounding the site. Silverman (1993: 305) compares these lines with the Cusco
ceque system as the Nasca lines may have had similar kin-group associations. Supporting this
claim is the fact that Cahuachi is dominated by numerous large mounds with little in the way of
residential areas. Silverman (ibid.) believes that this is because Cahuachi is a ceremonial center
where kin-groups would converge periodically for ritual at set large mounds. The geoglyphs are
then seen to be an extension of this phenomenon. This is materially represented in four sets of
lines that frame the great temple and great pyramid--much like the geoglyphs in the Chincha
valley (Jacinto 2010: 33). Thus, Cahuachi may have then been important as a place for
concentrating groups of people whether communities or kin-groups. Jacinto (2010: 47) sees this
joining together as representative in the Andean concept of tinkuy. In terms of geography, two
pampas and two rivers converge on the site of Cahuachi. While socially, Cahuachi may have
served as a space to join together groups for ceremony at community or family scales.
34
Besides serving as a symbolic representation, Cahuachi may have functioned as a
projection of power through marking time and controlling water. Marking time through ritual
performances and astronomical alignments may have been one important use of these geoglyphs
(Silverman 1993). Just like the Chincha geoglyphs, marking time would have assisted in
establishing the credibility of whoever was in charge. Signaling time would also be important for
notifying when to gather for exchanges either at Cahuachi or at nearby ray centers (Jacinto 2010:
32). Finally, Cahuachi’s physical and perhaps symbolic associations with water supports claims
as a ceremonial center (Silverman 1993: 305). Proximity of nearby rivers and sources of water
would be crucial for any nearby agriculture but it may also have served as establishing the
symbolic importance of Cahuachi as a ritual center dedicated to the ritual control of water.
Geoglyphs and architecture corroborate this by being oriented around the rivers and the nearby
mountain of Cerro Blanco (Jacinto 2010: 28). Thus, the architecture and geoglyphs of Cahuachi
are a materialization of ritual and the elite control of the site. By examining Cahuachi,
ritualization of the landscape can be seen as one way that power and knowledge is expressed. It
also demonstrates how important contextualizing ritualized landscapes are, such as with
Cahuachi.
3.1.3. The Cusco Ceques
The last archaeological example of a ritualized landscape, the ceque system of Cusco, is
perhaps the most complex. Ceques, or sightlines, are the conceptualized forty-one or forty-two
pathways that radiated out from the navel of the Inka empire, the Coricancha. These lines
connected approximately 328 wak’as or sacred areas with local social groups (Bauer 1998: 1011). Unlike the previous systems, little exists today due to Spanish destruction of the city during
the colonial period (MacCormack 1990). However, Spanish chroniclers such as Bernabe Cobo
35
provide details that previous ritualized landscapes did not have. However, much of the exact
details are still unknown. For instance, Brian Bauer and R. Tom Zuidema differ on the exact
number of ceques and wak’as as well as whether the ceques were literal paths or more cognitive.
Bauer (1998) provides the most in depth archaeological study of the ceques using Cobo’s
account as a guide to locate wak’as. By locating the material evidence first, Bauer was able to
challenge the idea that the ceques were actually straight lines originating from the Coricancha
and connecting all the wak’as. Instead, he claims that they were mentally conceived of as straight
but more than likely walked to using less than straight roads. This is not to say they were not
occasionally walked in a straight line. Spanish chroniclers noted that the Inka would send out
offerings from the Coricancha during the ritual of Capac Cocha to all corners of the empire using
only straight linear paths (Bauer 1998: 26-27, 183).
Studying the wak’as along the ceques also reveals a great deal about how the Inka
conceived of what was sacred around them. Of the 328 wak’as recorded by Cobo, the top three
most common type of sites are springs or sources of water (n = 96, 29%), standing stones (n =
95, 29%), and palaces or temples of the royal Inka (n = 32, 10%) (Bauer 1998: 23). These wak’as
were seen as points of communication with non-human forces and, like other highland groups,
the metaphysical importance of stone and water is represented. Besides frequency of shrines,
other important areas in the ceque system were significant landscape features, places connected
with ancestors, and sacred space dedicated to offerings for controlling natural forces. For
example, the mountain of Huanacauri was established as the second most important wak’a in the
system as this was where the Inka ancestors first viewed Cusco (ibid.: 24). Other shrines were
associated with the health of individuals or Inka rulers. Still others were tied to production such
as one to preserve corn, two to ward off hail, and several shrines dedicated to quarries to ensure
36
that they still produce stone. Another group of shrines were tied to the state’s imperial endeavors
such as several dedicated to victory in war and one shrine in memory of previous wars.
Portable remains from historical and archaeological sources show that the participation at
wak’as could bring in rare or uncommon materials to be used by all levels of society. The most
commonly recorded offerings were coca but other more difficult to come by offerings were
guinea pigs, seashells, and llamas (ibid.: 26-30). These offerings are highly representative of the
typical ritual offerings by the Inka. Coca was especially common for peasants but also for short
rituals when passing by shrines onto a new place (Bessom 2009: 104). Guinea pigs were also a
common sacrifice and an alternative to the more high status llama sacrifices (ibid.: 99-100).
Seashells also were left at the wak’as around Cusco, in particular the ones associated with water
(ibid.: 102). Finally, historical accounts suggest that large numbers of llamas were sacrificed as
part of major festivals at the Coricancha and at Huanacauri (Bessom 2009: 96, MacCormack
1990). These high status offerings were saved for special occasions at the most significant sites.
Wak’as provided a way for Inka emperors, peasants, and everyone in between to maintain and
participate in the system through regular ritual activity. Not only was it a physical expression of
the imperial state and power of the Inka, it was also a ritualized way of reaffirming the
connection between individuals, groups, and the world around them.
Besides spiritual and sacred forces, ceques show how the Inka divided up their social
world. At the grandest scale, the system was divided into three parts (Bauer 1998: 35-37). Three
of the four corners of the Inka empire had three sets of three ceque clusters which were in turn
linked to three social groups: the collana, payan, and cayao. Although it is difficult to define
these terms, these groups were ranked. Collana was conceived as the best followed by payan
then cayao. Although the ceques were linked in a tripartite fashion, there was a binary
37
maintaince structure where royal ayllus and non-royal ayllus were responsible for the various
obligations at the wak’as (ibid.: 39). Even royal panacas are represented in the system in two
groups of five divided by ranking within the social order of Cusco (ibid.: 48). Unlike the
previous examples, this ritualized landscape becomes extremely complicated when considering
how kin ties link back to wak’as and ceques. Inka imperial strategies of social organization and
integration became physically represented through maintenance and obligations to these shrines.
This is similar to the Paracas and Nasca where social divisions and cohesion were enabled
through embodied engagement in the landscape.
All three of these archaeological ritualized landscapes show just how complicated the
integration of space, materials, and practice can be but they do share common material qualities.
In particular with the Chincha Valley and Nasca geoglyphs, groupings and orientation of
pathways can be meaningful. In the Chincha Valley, finding ray clusters allowed for
archaeologists to then identify viewing platforms for the solstice and the mounds. This is similar
to the lines around Cahuachi. Clusters of lines were perhaps more important for past peoples and
may have been the physical space where people were integrated through ritual. Orientation of
lines is especially important when establishing the significance of the pathway but also for
dating. Mounds and pyramids in the Chincha Valley and at Cahuachi provide dates, but also
connected use of the lines with architecture that could also be dated. Finally, the sociopolitical
complexity of the Cusco ceque system shows how these lines could be made to function within
past societies. It is through these functions that space is divided up, maintained, and controlled.
In all these examples, space as organized through radial lines that connect different places seems
to be a common trend. Aveni (2000: 207) called this radial organization expressed in these
ritualized landscape an Andean way of focusing and dispersing human energy and resources.
38
Although this might not have always been the case, the use of similar lines and pathways would
continue during the historical period.
3.2. Ethnographic Examples of Ritualized Landscapes
Archaeological investigations provide information about how materials and landscapes
are interrelated but they cannot completely explain the range of practices that people take in
ritualized landscapes. Ethnographic accounts from the modern Andes aid in understanding
ritualized landscapes by providing context for how this process occurs through the relationships
formed between humans, places, and things. More important, it shows how intangible concepts
such as identity, boundary marking, and memory are embedded in the use of materials. Finally,
by examining these modern practices, we can see how Andean and Catholic symbols, practices,
and cultural logics are used in creating contemporary ritualized landscapes.
In this section, I examine contemporary ritualized landscapes that were products of
centuries of colonization. First, I examine pilgrimages and processions from the central Andes.
Processions and pilgrimages are unique types of ritual performances that create landscapes.
Besides these rituals, I also examine apachetas which are common ritual constructions of
historical ritualized landscapes. In the second section, I take a look at how perceived or
conceptualized landscapes create memory and reconnect people back to their homes and
ancestors. Imagined ritualized landscapes are told in stories and toasts throughout the southern
Andes. In these cases, we can see how this conceptualization may be used to inform past
understandings of physical space in transferring knowledge. These cases also demonstrate how
ritualized landscapes may be internalized by participants.
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3.2.1. Physical Ritualized Landscapes
The first example of ethnographic ritualized landscape comes from the Peruvian
community of Chuschi and the ritual of Yarqa Aspiy (Isbell 1978: 138-145). In this yearly ritual
that occurs in September, members of the community gather together to clean out the canals for
the upcoming planting season. Everyone is encouraged to participate by providing labor or food.
For the first day, everyone moves to the sources of water located in adjacent hill and work their
way down the canals cleaning. The focus is solely on the work, so no drinking is allowed and
other more festive activities are curtailed. After three days of cleaning, the participating members
of the community climb to the sources of water with offerings of coca, alcohol, and chicha. The
atmosphere is festive, unlike previous days, as the group descends to the village. Along the way,
the group stops at chapels that mark off the different ecological zones in the area and present
their offerings to the chapels. When they approached the boundary of the village, the group is
met by women who provides a special potato dish usually reserved for weddings. In this
ritualized landscape, chapels and canals serve to mark off not only boundaries but also the areas
that families and other groups control. Participation in the ritual also establishes reciprocal ties
within the community by either feeding or providing labor. In this way, the boundary marking
echoes some of the considerations for the Nasca lines where geoglyphs may have marked
communities and smaller social groups at Cahuachi. It also shows how different roles are carried
out within the community. Some take on the role of organizing while some participate.
Another example of ritualized landscapes come from pilgrimages near the Cusco region.
Pilgrimages are special forms of ritual that seeks to make meaningful places that may be passed
in the everyday. Often this is done by special materials, culturally significant dates, and
important places in the cultural landscape. Near Cusco there are a series of pilgrimage sites
40
associated with Christ that are linked together through a hierarchical system (Sallnow 1981,
1982). One of the more important regional shrines, Christ of Huanca, is a rocky outcrop painted
multiple times throughout its long history. This site was first created when an escaped slave fled
to the outcrop where he saw Jesus in a dream who told him to paint the rock outcrop. Later, a
rich mestizo on the verge of death made the pilgrimage to the then derelict shrine only to be told
to maintain the shrine in exchange for good health (Sallnow 1982: 735-736). This shrine is seen
in contrast to a smaller, local shrine: Christ the Just Judge. This shrine was created when a young
indigenous woman saw Christ in a boulder and was ordered to move the rock into her local
community (ibid.: 738-739). Although Christ the Just Judge has less participants, it attracts more
people from the local area that identify as indigenous. On the other hand, Christ of Huanca
attracts more people that identify as mestizo from a wider geographical region. In this example,
ritualized landscapes can attract different types of participants based on their identity. As was the
case in the archaeological examples, one of the functions for ritualized landscapes is bringing
together different groups and solidifying identity through participation. In all the archaeological
cases, bringing together different people would have served in increasing the power of elites as
well as ensuring the continued functioning of these societies.
The use of ritualized landscapes based on identity not only brings people together but can
also fracture under social stress. In another example of a pilgrimage site near Cusco, Christ of the
Snowy Star, participation along the pilgrimage trail one year broke down over a dispute between
families (Sallnow 1981: 172-4). During the ritual activities, each side of the dispute formed their
own group to walk along the ritual trail towards the shrine. Normally, communities form
procession groups and pass each other along the trail to and from stations along the route. Each
time a procession passes one another, a set ritual greeting and dance must be done as the groups
41
pass one another (ibid.: 169). During the dispute, the two groups from the same community
avoided one another by staggering their arrivals and departures from the shrines or by stepping
off the trail altogether. Although ritualized landscapes may form groups, occasionally a dispute
may disrupt this system. Given enough time and the continuation of a dispute, it may be possible
for new modifications to the ritualized landscape or even abandonment (ibid.: 177-178). Context
is thus important for understanding the process of ritualization including how it ends or
transforms through use.
Apacheta are also important in many modern ritualized landscapes in the Andes. Broadly
defined, apachetas are ritual markers of stone that can take the forms of piles of stones, stacked
rocks, or even more labor intensive built structures. These features are often left as offerings by
travelers and may symbolically represent a mountain (Christie 2008: 42). They have a long
history and are noted by numerous Spanish chroniclers and may be as old as the Late
Intermediate Period or even earlier (ibid.: 41-42). Because of this, these features have multiple
interpretations depending on when they were used. The Inka may have made apachetas an
official part of marking royal roads, settlements, and ceques (ibid.: 61) while in the colonial era
and later they were adopted into Catholic evangelical missions (ibid.: 57-58). For instance,
apachetas may be behind Catholic rock shrines that are considered to be important pilgrimage
points. In this case, rock shrines identified by Michael Sallnow (1981, 1982) may be apachetas
that cite pre-contact ideologies of empowered stones (Christie 2008: 56-57). Besides their sacred
empowerment, apachetas may also signal location of roads, the end of roads, or even where to
conduct rituals. In observing rituals processions and races, Benjamin Orlove (1979) notes that
apachetas mark the end point for these activities. Elsewhere, apachetas are used to mark where
42
k’intus, or prayers, are to be done (Allen 1988). As empowered stones or markers, apachetas are
one of the ways contemporary Andean people construct the space around them.
3.2.2. Mental Ritualized Landscapes
Ritualized mental landscapes can be seen in Abercrombie’s (1998) term “pathways of
memory” where the metaphor of travel is used to represent the sequential ordering of things in
memory. These pathways can be seen in libation sequences, narratives, and fiesta-cargo paths
(ibid.: 321). Perhaps the most powerful pathway of memory is narratives as they can explain and
pattern nearly all aspects of life. For the K’ulta, myth serves as a way to explain the present such
as the case of the Tatala-Chullpa myth (ibid.: 326-332). As the story goes, Tatala seeks to flee
the underground realm of the chullpas, which is known for bad luck and misery. Along the way,
the protagonist passes through various stages of internalizing social processes that are attributed
to becoming fully human. In this memory pathways, ideals of when to bury the dead, planting,
and proper social conduct is instilled upon the listener. Journeys are also used to teach identity.
For the Carangas, stories of the procession of San Pedro and San Pablo link together diverse
places with their different memories across the landscape into one myth. Working from five
different sources on the myth, Uchanier (2012) notes that all the sources relate the saints
traveling from places near Arica, Chile to pre-hispanic sites nearby before the saints finally
arrive at the local city of the storyteller. Some sources even have battlefields and sites from the
War of the Pacific along the saints’ processions. The listener would then be left with a sequential
list of important memory places to associate with. In both cases, travel in each narrative can pass
on important social knowledge. Although these are not literal journeys, travel through ritual
landscapes may follow a similar format by imparting information and memory through the
embodied experience with landscape features.
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The second important way pathways of memory communicate information is through
libation sequences. Libations are a popular accompaniment to ritual and often follow a unique set
of formalized rules or rites. Take for instance the K’ulta’s amt’añ t”akis, which are toasts that
literally translates to memory pathways (Abercrombie 1998: 346). Drinking is not done to forget
but instead held on special occasions and always references something done in the past (ibid.:
346-347). During these ceremonies, both men and women conduct their own versions in closed
groups. Each begin with the highest ranking member flicking liquid on the ground, or the
ch’alla, that is always accompanied with a few words. Next follows a sequence of local deities
such as important hills, condors, or personifications of both natural and manmade features (ibid.:
347-348). In this way, the participants remember their locality by bringing themselves and the
moment into relation with their surroundings. These ceremonies are also many: nearly one for
every occasion or a ch’alla for any daily encounter object, person, or animal (ibid.: 351-354).
Toasting in such a manner is not just a K’ulta tradition but is common to other parts in the Andes
(Allen 1988). Although these toasts are not literal travel itineraries, they are similar to the
experience of traveling as they link together nearby places often moving away from the
participants’ current location. Space, memory, and time are thus structured into linear paths by
the participants.
Ethnographic examples of ritualized landscapes provide an idea of the type of practices
that create and structure the environment. These practices do not always have to be embodied
within the landscape. Travel as a narrative device can serve to create mental places that link
together people and things with space. Most importantly, it also shows how in the Andes
activities and memories are deeply influenced by mobility. With the pilgrimage pathways of the
44
central Andes, membership in communities or personal identity may influence where individuals
participate at and with whom.
3.3 Conclusion
By its very nature, ritualized landscapes provide a complex medium that entangles
people, things, and their environment. In Cusco, ceques brought together royalty, elites, and
commoners through regular practice at sacred spaced such as rock outcrops, springs, and built
sacred places. The Nasca lines show an entanglement of people with water features. These
linkages also show what past peoples considered significant, such as stone, water, and perhaps
even astronomical observation. Landscapes also provide a venue for regular ritual performances
and this may have been one of the main social functions for ritualized landscapes. This may have
aided in the development of political and social complexity. Paracas geoglyphs may have aided
in state formation while Cusco ceques aided the empire in organizing and maintaining space and
people. Because of these qualities of ritualized landscapes, studying them can aid in
understanding how past peoples formed relationships with others and their environment. In the
next chapter, I present not only research goals and methods, but also a framework for studying
ritualized landscapes that will be applied to the Pueblo Sajama lines in chapter eight.
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CHAPTER FOUR: RESEARCH GOALS AND METHODS
The idea for this thesis emerged during a visit to Pueblo Sajama in August 2015 with
Ramón Torrez and Claudia Alvarez. I was initially interested in studying colonial encounters and
the colonial or republican pathways that Torrez pointed out provided this opportunity. Moreover,
these paths were not extensively studied. Marcos Michel (2000) and Torrez (2014) both wrote
about them but did not look at the materials associated with these lines in detail. Besides these
considerations, the Pueblo Sajama lines may represent the larger Sajama lines. Thus, studying
the pathways around Pueblo Sajama would allow me to examine a colonial encounter, add onto
current archaeological research in the region, and provide a potential pilot project for studying
the Sajama lines in greater detail.
In this chapter, I present the goals and methods used in examining the Pueblo Sajama
lines. First, I discuss the broad research goals of this thesis. These goals were briefly addressed
in the introduction, but here I will expand on them and how I hope to address them in this study.
Second, I present research methods and two questions that guided date collection. In addressing
research goals and questions, I employed a variety of methods, and here I discuss these methods
in detail. Next, I look at a model for studying ritualized landscapes based off observations of
previous studies outlined in chapter three. By focusing on the material qualities of ritualized
pathways, ritualized landscapes may be compared and conclusions may be reached about past
use. I will apply this model later to the Pueblo Sajama lines in chapter eight. Finally, I briefly
consider the limitations of this study before considering how methods allow for me to address
goals.
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4.1. Research Goals
As previously mentioned, this research was guided by three goals: (1) gain an
understanding for how a set of ritual pathways were used, (2) create a model for exploring other
pathways in the region, and (3) provide an example of colonial negotiation of ritual and sacred
ontologies. Each one of these goals was able to be addressed using methods that will be outlined
later in this chapter.
The first goal was to document and record the pathways. Previous work at these nine
lines was not extensive and only noted their presence and the altar architecture. Fieldwork was
needed to learn about what styles and forms of artifacts were deposited at altars, chapels, or
pathways. In addition, it was unsure exactly what practices were done in the past at these altars.
Moreover, it was unsure if ritual was still being conducted along these pathways (Bauer 1998,
Morison 1978). Learning about material patterns in features and portable materials would help
with these issues. It was also not known whether space and place, as represented in Nevado
Sajama and the hilltop altars, impacted past practice as inferred through the deposition of
artifacts.
My second goal was to create a model for investigating ritual pathways that could be
applied to other sites and be able to compare ritualized landscapes. This model could be created
by examining previous archaeological works on similar landscapes such as the Paracas in the
Chincha Valley, the Nasca lines, and the ceques of Cusco. Examining these case studies
demonstrates that archaeological inferences into past societies that used these lines relied on
three main lines of evidence: the pathways, constructions on the pathways, and portable
materials. By further examining these lines of evidence, I created a model for exploring other
ritualized landscapes based on a number of physical aspects that could be assessed in
47
archaeology. The Pueblo Sajama lines allow for a test of this model in order to demonstrate how
it can be able used to assess past group formation, political economies, and even sacred
ontologies.
My third and last goal was to investigate an example of colonial negotiation where
precontact ontologies and cultural logics are used in the colonial period. Although colonial
encounters have been conceptualized as hybrids or change and continuity, these new practices
that emerged during the colonial era are unique with elements that may be seen in elsewhere in
the Andes and Europe. As such, I sought to understand the Pueblo Sajama lines as a new practice
that has elements that may resemble practices, ontologies, materials, and symbols that may be
seen in Europe or in the Andes prior to contact. By studying these entanglements of sacred
mountains, living stone, and Catholic symbols, I seek to challenge colonial narratives and
provide an example of indigenous agency.
In order to achieve these goals, in the field I gathered information to assess: (a) what
materials are associated with the chapel-altar pathways and (b) whether concepts of space impact
the behavior or material patterns at these chapel-altar pathways. To do this, I primarily used
pedestrian survey to record and identify material patterns on the architecture and artifacts. This
was supplemented with some interviews to gather information on the actual use of the lines.
4.2. Research Methods
In the field, I was interested in assessing the kinds of materials associated with the
pathways, and whether space impacted material deposition or behavior. They guided my data
collection in the field, and later, this information was used to address my broader research goals.
To answer the first question, I sought to examine what materials are associated with the
48
pathways. By recording artifacts and features, this would directly relate to research goal. It also
provided information for the other two goals aimed at testing my model on ritualized landscapes,
and for assessing colonial encounters.
The second research question—determining if space impacted materials and behaviors—
would help in inferring about scale and size of past ritual. Initial field work during the pilot
project suggested that there was a difference between altars and chapels. This may have been
partially caused by differences in space between domestic space near chapels and the elevated,
less used space near the altars. Examining the differences between these two spaces would allow
me to look at how space may have been used and negotiated over time. Furthermore, differences
caused by space may be examined using the model for ritualized landscapes.
In order to answering these research questions, I primarily used pedestrian survey to
record artifacts and features. In this section, I discuss our methodology for pedestrian survey
including size of survey areas for pathways, structures, and other features encountered during
survey. Also in this section, I review protocol for field recording artifacts and features. This
decision to field record artifacts instead of collection, was made during the pilot project when we
noticed a limited number of artifacts around the pathways. Last, one major question about the
Pueblo Sajama lines was if they were still used (see Bauer 1998, Morrison 1978). In order to
answer this and to examine how people use these spaces, we conducted a small number of
informal interviews and I review how these were conducted in this section.
4.3.1. Pedestrian Survey
After the pilot project, I decided to survey only the pathways and an area around the
associated architecture. This decision was made in order to focus on the historical component of
49
Sajama but also other fieldwork by Claudia Alvarez already surveyed large block units in the
hills, pampas, and bofedales around Pueblo Sajama. For the lines, we surveyed at least a 10
meter area over the pathways. During the first week with Ramón Torrez, Claudia Alvarez, and
myself, we surveyed a larger area of about 15 meters along lines 1, 2, and 4. Survey was set up
so that transects would parallel the paths in order for us to catch any materials on or near the
path. For architecture and features, we surveyed a circular area with the architecture forming the
center point. Each transect was circular and conducted approximately 10 meters apart. Survey
was carried out to a maximum radius of about 50 meters although in some cases steep hills were
a hazard so the survey area was smaller. For survey, diagnostic artifacts were identified and set
aside for field recording after the survey. Non-diagnostic artifacts were counted based on type.
4.3.2. Field Recording Artifacts and Features
Field recording was only done for diagnostic artifacts and features. Diagnostic artifacts
were considered decorated and/or a rim, base, or large sherd that it was possible to identify the
form of the vessel. In taking detail field notes, we made a written description, which varied based
on the type of artifact, followed by taking photos and making a rough drawing. Ceramics were
the most frequently found objects and allowed for the most detailed notes. Slip, paste, visible
inclusions, color of clay, vessel form, style, and relative location to features were all recorded
when possible. By examining these qualities, it was possible to determine a style and thus a
relative date. Any other found type of artifact followed a similar recording process. Lithics, for
instance, would have material recorded as well as type such as worked flake or preform.
For features, we followed a similar procedure of detailed notes. We took measurements,
recorded location with a handheld GPS, took notes about the surrounding area, and photographed
the architecture and adjacent area. This process differed slightly for altars where each tier was
50
measured along with the size of the niches. Furthermore, we recorded the presence of crosses on
the altars and which mountains were visible. As for the chapels, we noted the materials used in
construction, any outlying architecture such as walls or small shrines, and orientation of the
chapel with associated pathways. Unfortunately, three of the four chapels were deteriorated and
many details such as presence of plaster or even what objects were inside could not be
determined. In the case of the one well maintained chapel, we recorded the murals inside and the
various statues at the chapel’s altar.
4.3.3. Interviews
Based on the pilot project, residents of Pueblo Sajama suggested or confirmed that
pathways were still used for regular ritual. Most of these conversations occurred while living in
the town: eating meals at the homes of residents or buying supplies from the store. Because of
this, I decided to try and interview residents informally with the goal of identifying one or two
informants for a more extensive interview. In particular, I talked to older residents as this
ritualized landscape may have been used more one or two generations ago (Bauer 1998, Morison
1978). Questions pertained to the use and practice on the pathways either currently or in the
recent past. The most importantly theme was trying to identify dates for fiestas when the
pathways were used in order to potentially observe or participate. A secondary goal was seeing
how Nevado Sajama was conceptualized in current ritual and if dedications or offerings are done
towards the mountain.
4.3. A Model for Ritualized Landscapes
One of the major goals for this thesis is to create and test a model that could be applied to
other ritualized landscapes such as other sections of the Sajama lines. As discussed in the earlier
51
chapter, the case studies explored reveal that pilgrimage routes in a ritualized landscapes are
characterized by pathways, stations, and portable materials (see table 4-1). Although they vary in
scale and intensity, they can be considered reliable archaeological indicators to identify ancient
pilgrimage activities. Out of these three, pathways and stations have multiple aspects that may be
investigated. The main utility of this model is that it considers a list of aspects that can be
examined in order to make inferences about a ritualized landscape, and the people that used it.
Furthermore, an assessment of their variability would allow for some comparisons within and
between landscapes across time and space.
Table 4-1: The material aspects with their qualities. These qualities should be considered as
continuums.
Material Aspects of
Ritualized Landscape
Concentration of
Pathways
Orientation of Pathways
Frequency of Stations
Distribution of Stations
Investment into Stations
Portable Materials
Qualities
1. Radial: Multiple trails radiate out from a set point.
2. Linear: A single trail, although other trails may cross over.
1. External: Trail is oriented to direct towards a point outside
(i.e. mountain, river).
2. Internal: Trail is oriented to connect to other places.
1. Terminal: Stations are only at the end points along a trail.
2. Incorporated: Stations are placed along the trail.
1. Patterned: Stations are always built on hilltops, slopes, etc.
2. Non-patterned: Stations do not have a discernable logic in
placement.
1. Large Investment: Buildings are constructed.
2. Little Investment: Either no architecture or pile of stones.
1. Deposits: Ceramics, bones, or other longer lasting materials
are brought in and deposited.
2. None or Perishable Deposits: Nothing is left or only food,
coca, or drinks.
First, the physical space of the trails, lines, or pathways may be studied in terms of how
they are concentrated and oriented. Concentrations of lines were very important for both studies
in the Chincha Valley and the Nasca lines. In both archaeological examples, ray centers were
argued to be gathering places for the solstice and maybe even for exchange. Studies into
52
ritualized landscapes should focus on ray centers or other concentrations of pathways as
important areas for past activities. The second aspect of pathways is how they are oriented.
Orientation of the pathway, in terms of how it is directed into and out of a settlement and site,
was very important for all the archaeological cases. Framing the mounds and pyramids was one
key feature of both the Paracas and Nasca geoglyphs as it presents a definitive link between the
lines and additional material remains. For the Inka, orienting the ceques was intentional as they
all focused on the Coricancha. Orientation also linked sites outside the capital to this sacred
center. Thus, orientation serves as another marker for important or significant landscape features
or places.
Analysis of stations in a ritualized landscape should examine the frequency, distribution,
and investment of any architecture. First, frequency of stations, like concentration of pathways,
may be another indicator for significance of the pathway or stations. The Cusco ceques all had
multiple wak’as along each pathway, in addition to the important Coricancha. With this example,
multiple stations along the pathways suggests a very elaborate landscape that was built over
years of imperial use. In comparison, Paracas pathways had only terminal stations. This is a
much less elaborated system that instead shows use by a small scale polity. Studying either case
provides insights for how past ritual practices influenced political organization. Beyond the
number of stations, distribution over the landscape is an important aspect for ritualized landscape
studies. Bauer’s (1998) study investigated how the various wak’as of Cusco were built with
water or rock features in mind. This distribution reinforces Inka ontologies where rock was
living or otherwise had power (Brosseder 2014, Christie 2008, 2016). Location of stations is thus
an important factor in investigations into past cultural logics and ideology. The last aspects of
stations is investment. As we have seen in the case studies, this may be in the form of a labor
53
intensive mound or a less labor intensive apacheta. Different investments within the same
ritualized landscape may suggest a hierarchy or different ritual practices.
The last quality of ritual landscapes, portable materials, is useful for determining scale of
ritual, types of rituals, and places for ritual. In the ethnographic case studies, materials are used
in designating, creating, and signaling ritual. Due to limited preservation of some materials, it
may be difficult to make inferences besides the presence of ritual activities without ethnographic
or historical sources. For instance, in the case of the Cusco ceque system, the only portable
material that demonstrates a significant difference in practice are seashells. This is in part thanks
to historical sources that note that seashells are associated with water rituals (Bessom 2009).
Further compounding the difficulty of using portable materials is the fact that different rituals for
different purposes often reuse the same set of materials and spaces (Kyriakidis 2007b). In order
to infer about scale and type of rituals, careful fieldwork would be needed to establish disposition
sequencing and perhaps ethnohistorical information about any social importance about the
materials. The archaeological case studies show the difficulty of using portable materials. For the
Paracas and Nasca, portable materials were used for dating and for inferring past importance of
places. For the Cusco ceque system, this was different. Ritual offerings have been used to infer
about scale or rituals and cultural significance of stone and llamas (Bauer 1998, Bessom 2009).
To use portable materials, clear lines of evidence such as ethnohistoric sources or a ritual site
still in primary context is needed to infer information about past ritualized landscapes.
4.4. Possible Limitations
In this project, I will assess the applicability of this model, while also addressing my
main research questions. However, I recognize that there are important limitations of this project
that must be addressed in future research. My work was based on a pedestrian survey, including
54
mapping and analysis of cultural remains. It excluded excavations, and I did not have the chance
to spend a significant period of time developing a rapport with locals. These limitations mostly
arose from time, transportation and funding restraints.
By not excavating, questions about when and how long these sites were used may not be
fully answerable. Some of these sites are still used, making difficult to excavate them. This is
especially true on the hilltops where depositional processes may be very slow in the dry Sajama
environment. Not collecting surface finds may have also limited the types of analysis that could
be done on ceramics. However, because in the pilot project I only encountered a few artifacts
along the pathways, it was possible to take detailed field notes on each artifact. Also, because of
the limited amount of time in the field, relationships could not be fully established with residents
in order to procure detailed interviews. By the final week, one resident—Don Gregorio—was
willing to sit down with me to discuss the community's past and current use of the lines. This
preliminary ethnographic research shows that future research could explore the oral history of
the landscape but also participate in current rituals around Nevado Sajama. Despite these
limitations, and as discussed in the next chapters, the results were revealing. In order to further
contextualize the results of this research, in the next chapter I discuss the cultural history of the
Carangas. The investigation results are presented on the one that follows.
55
CHAPTER FIVE: THE CARANGAS
Pueblo Sajama and the pathways examined in this thesis are located in the Parque
Nacional Sajama (PNS) on the western edge of the Oruro Department, Bolivia. In 1939, the area
was designated as a protected area for vicuñas, numerous bird species, and polylepis tarapacana-one of the highest altitude growing trees in the world. Today, the park is a moderately popular
destination for tourists seeking to experience the Altiplano. Prior to being a national park, the
Sajama region was inhabited by the Carangas ethnic group, a Late Intermediate Period (c. 1000
AD - 1476 AD) Aymara señoríos. At their height, the Carangas occupied a large section of the
southern Altiplano that includes parts of modern day Peru, Chile, and Bolivia.
In this section, I examine the history of the Carangas from their origins following the
collapse of Tiwanaku till the abandonment of the identity sometime in the Republican era (1825
AD - 1952 AD). First, I start by discussing the Carangas during the Late Intermediate Period. A
particular emphasis is placed on the archaeological remains of past social organizations and the
probable creation of the Sajama lines during this period. Next, I take a look at the Late Horizon
(c. 1477 AD - 1532 AD) and the incorporation of the Carangas within the expanding Inka
Empire. This period had a change in settlement patterns and a continued usage of the Sajama
lines. Finally, the Colonial (1533 AD - 1824 AD) and the Republican eras are reviewed. These
periods are the most dramatic in terms of change. New sacred spaces are created, the Carangas
core is depopulated leading to the eventual disuse of Carangas as an identity. It is also during this
period that the Sajama lines were modified to use new sacred space, as well as places of
memory. The Pueblo Sajama pathways were more than likely created during this period.
56
5.1. Late Intermediate Period
Prior to colonization by the Inka and Spanish, the Carangas were very similar to other
neighboring ethnic groups and Aymara señoríos (see figure 5-1). Like other groups, the
Carangas may have formed following the collapse of Tiwanaku as a regional power (BouysseCassagne and Chacama 2012: 672). However, this is not agreed upon. For example, Michel
(2000) has argued that the Carangas emerged around 300 AD. Regardless of when they emerged,
the Carangas core area was located in the Cordillera Occidental of Bolivia and Chile, and
extended north to the Rio Desaguadero and east to near Lago Poopó (Bueno 1951). In the core,
Carangas engaged in similar lifeways and practices as other highland groups at the time. They
practiced agropastoralism, and were later noted for being remarkable for the quality of their
camelid herds (Medinaceli 2010).
Figure 5-1: The Aymara señoríos during the Late Intermediate Period. From Bouysse-Cassagne
1978.
57
Although a principal town, site, or capital has yet to be identified for the Carangas (see
Lima 2012, Medinaceli and Lima 2012), groups were organized around pucaras, fortified hilltop
settlements, and chullpas, funerary towers. It seems that two concentrations of these sites existed
in the north at Pukara de Huaylilla near Sajama and in the south at Caranguillas near the hills of
Capuratas (Lima 2012: 62). This suggest that political organization was decentralized and based
around confederations of ayllus and markas (ibid.). In both north and south sectors, pucaras
controlled areas near water that allowed for some agriculture, but communities probably relied
heavily on camelid herds. Camelids would have been used for meat and wool but, most
importantly, would have been used as caravans to connect distant settlements with the core.
Chullpas were constructed near pucaras and were very important as hundreds of examples have
been recorded (Lima 2012: 523, Michel 2000: 53-55). These structures were places of memory
and would be associated with social groups such as ayllus and markas (Bouysse-Cassagne and
Chacama 2012: 673-4). Carangas and Pacajes chullpas are notable because they were painted or
otherwise colored. Examples of these painted chullpas can be found to the south of Sajama.
Although the PNS does not have any chullpas inside the park boundaries, one pucara may be
found to the southwest of the mountain. Outside the park are at least six other pucara sites with
the two most important being Pukara de Huaylilla and Pucara de Changa Moco (Michel 2000:
48-51).
Also similar to other groups, the core area of the Carangas engaged in exchange with
colonies located in valleys to the east and west. This was perhaps a form of vertical
complementarity between the camelid producing core, and colonies in valleys that were able to
grow a greater variety of crops such as coca and maize. This provisioning may have been
necessary for maintaining high populations in the Altiplano (Murra 1985). For the Carangas,
58
colonies were established in the western valleys of Azapa, Luta, Codpa, and Timar, in the eastern
Tinkipaya Valley near Cochabamca, in the south at Pojpo in Chuquisaca Department, and in the
north near Arequipa (Lima 2012: 56). These colonies would have provisioned the core with
agricultural produce while the core may have provided camelid products, other goods, or
something of cultural value such as participation in a shared identity or ritual system. Aiding in
connecting dispersed communities are networks of prehistoric roads found in the Carangas core
(Medinaceli 2010: 98). Despite these arguments, colonies and road networks may have been a
product of the Inka. Bouysse-Cassagne and Chacama (2012: 670) suggest that colonies near
Arica were founded with Inka mitmakunas from not only the Carangas but also Pacajes and
Lupacas. Roads may have also been a product of Inka imperialism as well, and one way to
ritually integrate provinces with the Cusco heartland (Michel 2000: 74-77). Ultimately it is
unclear when these periphery settlements were established as most sources of information rely
on Spanish accounts. More archaeological work is needed in order to fully understand Carangas
peripheries.
It was also during the Late Intermediate when the Sajama lines were more than likely
created. This 16,000 kilometer long network of linear pathways or geoglyphs stretch out across
the core of Carangas territory from Nevado Sajama in the north, the Salar de Coripasa to the
south, and Lago Poopó in the east (Tierra Sajama 2008). Although this system has been heavily
modified through time, it still connects pre-Hispanic sites with currently inhabited sites and
historic sites. Besides associations with prehistoric archaeological sites, Tony Morrison (1978)
and Johan Reinhard (1988) argue that the lines reference mountains and high places that were
important to precontact sacred beliefs. By referencing pre-Hispanic sites and sacred ontologies,
these lines were more than likely created prior to contact. Morrison (1978) also suggests that
59
because there is no historical mention of these lines, that they were more than likely created
before 1532. All these arguments strongly suggest a pre-Hispanic and possibly pre-Inka origin
for the Sajama lines. If this was the case, the ritualized pathways would have been useful for not
only connecting villages and settlements but also ensuring regular ritual, interaction, and perhaps
exchange between far flung ayllu and marka members. In this way, colonies in the valleys would
remain culturally affiliated with groups located in the core.
5.2. Late Horizon
The arrival of the Inca and the subsequent integration into an imperial state transformed
Carangas society. In general, this transformation was guided by the more or less positive
relationship that the Carangas had with the Inca. As historical sources explain, the Inca used
Carangas’ hostility towards a neighboring ethnic group, the Pacajes, to ally with the Carangas
(Lima 2012). This alliance may suggest that the Carangas were vassals or otherwise
diplomatically subsumed within the expanding Inka state instead of being conquered. As a result,
the Carangas may have attempted to emulate the Inka or at least Inka material culture.
Supporting this is a fusion of Inca and local styles in chullpas and in ceramics (ibid.). In a
chullpa near Antin Curahuara, the use of stone is similar to Inca architecture with large
unmortared blocks around the entrance to the mortuary structure (Ticona 2012). As for ceramics,
Lima (2012) argues for the presence of Carangas elites in Caranguillas based on the presence of
Inca-local ceramics. Cooperation, or identifying with the Inca, may have been one way Carangas
elites gained political or social capital during Inca colonialism. The Carangas were integrated
into the empire in other ways. This integration can be seen at the numerous new Inca
constructions in the region, and subsequent abandonment of local pucaras (ibid.: 60). Around
Nevado Sajama, Torrez (2014) identified an Inca era ceremonial or administrative site at Inca
60
Marka that has ceramics from the Carangas, Pacajes, Inca, and a combination of Inca-local
styles. The lack of residential structures and the frequency of aribalo sherds points to a primarily
ritual use for the site.
With the Sajama lines, the Inka may have reconfigured or used the pathways to ritually
incorporate Carangas into the empire. Upon arrival to Carangas territory, the Inka would have
recognized the parallels between the Sajama lines and the Cusco ceque system. The Sajama lines
may have been understood as an effective way to organize people, exchange, and political
economies just like at Cusco (Bauer 1998). This system of ceques must have been effective as it
was extended out to Lake Titicaca and elsewhere in the Inka Empire (Bauer 1998, Christie
2016). If the Sajama lines were adopted by Inka practice, then Inka construction and offerings
would be done to make the Sajama lines and ritual system into an Inka one. Elsewhere during the
Late Horizon, the Inka elaborated on architecture and complexes such as at Pachacamac
(Makowski 2015) and Isla del Sol (Bauer and Stanish 2001). Offerings would also be done to
link these sacred places with Inka material culture and ritual systems (McEwan 2015). All this
had the effect of linking people with land and naturalizing Inka dominance (Kosiba 2015). A
similar process might have occurred with the Sajama lines. As already discussed, Inka Marka
northeast of Nevado Sajama was created as a possible ritual site, and a way to integrate nearby
ritual space and systems into the Inka Empire. Pathways still visible connect Inka sites with the
Sajama lines and even views of mountains (Lima 2012). Future excavations at Inka era sites may
further elaborate on imperial strategies of controlling and harnessing local ritual systems.
5.3. Colonial and Republican
The most dramatic transformation of Carangas society came with Spanish relocation
programs and evangelicalism. Following the Conquest, the Carangas territory was made into a
61
province and then divided up among encomiendas in the late 1540s (Bueno 1951: 119,
Medinaceli 2010: 110-116). In addition to serving in encomiendas, the Carangas were required
to work in mines such as Potosi, while other population segments were located in the eastern
portion of the newly created Carangas province (Medinaceli 2010: 111; Medinaceli and Lima
2012: 15-19). It was because of these labor requirements that in 1575 the first major reducciones
were carried out under Viceroy Toledo’s reforms (Medinaceli 2010, Stanfield-Mazzi 2013). In
total, 147 settlements in the Carangas province were reduced down to six towns that were mostly
located in the eastern portion of the province near the mines (Medinaceli 2010: 119). Not every
prehispanic pueblo was modified. Turco de Hatun Caranga, for instance, remained occupied
despite evidence that it was a major pre-Hispanic population center (Medinaceli 2012: 22).
However, on the 19th of February 1600, the eruption of Huaynaputina covered the western
portion of the province in ash (ibid.: 21-2). This disruption drove what little population was left
towards the eastern towns. Repopulation slowly occurred during the latter half of the 17th
century and well into the 18th century, when many modern towns such as Sabaya and Curahuara
de Carangas were founded or expanded (Medinaceli and Uchanier 2012: 219). Even today the
western portions of the region is sparsely populated (Medinaceli and Lima 2012: 15-19).
Relocation through the reducciones was only one of the major changes in the region;
evangelicalism further transformed Carangas space and society. The first organized effort in the
southern Andes came with the formation of the archdiocese of La Plata in 1559 and in the
following decade when monastic orders established chapels, churches, and missions (Bueno
1951: 16, Bouysse-Cassagne and Chacama 2012: 671). However, these early efforts met with
mixed success. Like many places in the Andes at the time, indigenous peoples still practiced preColumbian rituals and worship. Carangas colonies near Arica still engaged in ritual practice at
62
wak’as, especially chullpas and other places identified with ancestors (Bouysse-Cassagne and
Chacama 2012: 679). The failure of early evangelical attempts were partially caused by priests
that did not take into account the people they were attempting to convert. Writing in 1588, the
priest Bartolomé Álvarez complained how most priests did not speak any local languages nor
were they exceptional preachers (ibid.: 671). This was a common problem in the colonial Andes.
Not using Andean languages allowed for the indigenous population to preserve a separate
colonial order insulated from the politically dominate Spanish colonial order (Shah 2013: 101).
A more organized evangelical effort was made following the Third Lima Council in
1582-1583. This council set standards for church architecture, use of indigenous languages, and
prompted the creation of new doctrinas, parishes, and bishoprics (Stanfield-Mazzi 2013). Across
the southern Andes, additional archbishoprics were established such as in Santa Cruz in 1605
and La Paz in 1609 (Bueno 1951: 17). For the Carangas, a creation of a local bishopric in the
province meant additional emphasis placed on Catholic worship and church construction (Bueno
1951: 18-19, Medinaceli and Uchanier 2012: 215). Constructing and using churches and chapels
were very important for pastoralists as it provided a regular time to gather dispersed populations
(Medinaceli 2012: 31). In this way, colonial religious authorities could begin challenging the
persistence of pre-Columbian practices. However, this did not replace these practices but served
as a way to combine and augment pre-colonial cultural logics and social groups.
Like many places in the colonial Andes, missionization brought with it a negotiation of
the sacred and this can be seen in the placement and construction of catholic architecture in the
Carangas province. Selecting places for new churches and chapels was not done solely by
Spanish colonial authorities but instead was directed by indigenous agents. For instance, in 1601
Hatun Caranga attempted to petition the Audiencia in La Plata to cover some of the construction
63
costs of the local church in Huachacalla (Medinaceli 2012: 32). Another similar case occurred in
1603 when elites from Curahuara de Caragans petitioned colonial authorities to cover a third of
the costs for the new church (ibid.). These construction projects were carried out by prominent
members of the community, most importantly members of ayllus and markas (Medinaceli 2012:
44, Medinaceli and Uchanier 2012: 216). Because of this, chapels and churches tend to
correspond to these social groups. Furthermore, creating and maintaining these sacred places was
a form of competition between groups to validate the legitimacy of ayllus and markas. Creating a
church or chapel required elites to establish ties with Spanish civil and/or religious authorities, as
well as having enough wealth and resources to ensure the successful execution of the project. To
further aid in placemaking, local elites adhered to pre-columbian cultural logics. Important
landscape features such as hills, volcanoes, lakes, slopes and rare formations became sites for
early colonial churches and chapels (Medinaceli and Uchanier 2012: 221). However, reuse of
space was not always the case, as colonial relocations tended to create new relationships between
people and their sacred landscapes (Bouysse-Cassagne and Chacama 2012: 678-9, Medinaceli
and Uchanier 2012: 220).
Besides locating churches and chapels in important areas, Carangas elites also relied on a
shared style of churches to aid in their sacred placemaking. Over the 17th and 18th century,
construction would become standardized to such an extent as to develop a unique Carangas style
of churches (see Medinaceli and Uchanier 2012). Often, Carangas churches--and even chapels-had surrounding walls, atriums, arches, white plaster walls, thatched roofs, and three-tiered
towers (ibid.: 238-270). Some features such as arches are found elsewhere in the southern Andes,
but atriums are more unique and only found elsewhere in Mexico (ibid.: 238-240). The church of
Curahuara de Carangas, Pueblo Sajama, Tomarapi, and Laguna are all great examples of this
64
style. Moreover, the church at Curahuara de Carangas even shows just how creative the Carangas
style can be with its spectacular polychromatic murals depicting natural scenes as well as saints,
Christ, the Virigin Mary, and demons. This style not only provided a way to designate a certain
type of ritual space but also allowed for displays of wealth, skill, and organization in their
construction and decoration.
During this period, the Sajama lines were still used and modified to relate new Catholic
architecture with pre-Hispanic places (Tierra Sajama 2008). Churches and chapels were either
built into this system, or new lines were constructed for Catholic architecture. This can be seen at
the ritual pathways at Pueblo Sajama and elsewhere in the region. It was also during the late
Republican era that the Sajama lines were brought to the attention of Western scholars. Aerial
photos attracted Alfred Métraux (1936) to investigate the lines albeit only briefly. Later,
Morrison (1978) investigated 22 lines and would interview several people that claimed the lines
were being abandoned by younger people. Even more recently, the Tierra Sajama (2008) project
of the University of Pennsylvania under the supervision of Clark Erickson investigated the lines.
This project identified features of the lines, such as architecture and clustering of lines. However,
much of the data remains unpublished save for a website. Despite all these investigations, it
remains unclear how the Sajama lines were used during the Colonial and Republican eras. It is
the goal of this thesis to address this concern through exploring material patterns and spatial
relations of the Pueblo Sajama pathways.
65
CHAPTER SIX: ARCHAEOLOGICAL RESULTS
My research goals for fieldwork were to record the materials associated with the
pathways and to determine if there was any differences based on space and place. To accomplish
this, Ramón Torrez, Claudia Alvarez, and myself surveyed a total of nine pathways to the west
of Nevado Sajama and recorded nine altars, four chapels, two churches, two shrines, and one
possible ritual site. We also field recorded 125 diagnostic artifacts and noted 651 non-diagnostic
artifacts. In the end, we identified what types of materials were deposited along the pathways at
at associated sites. Through identifying these materials we also noticed patterns.
In this chapter, I present this data collected in July and August 2015. First, I examine the
architecture and other features associated with the lines. Altars, chapels, churches, and other
features were examined for similarities and differences in size, frequency, and design elements.
Next, I take a look at the distributions, styles, and forms of artifacts. During survey, we mostly
recorded ceramic sherds and tried to determine a possible relative date and form. Lithics were
also encountered including possible pre-forms and ground stone. After, I present spatial data
about the pathways such as length, views from altars, and size of corrals near chapels. Finally, I
conclude this chapter by discussing the boulder field site, which is a contemporary ritual site that
also has associations with Inka and pre-Inka groups such as the Carangas and Pacajes.
6.1. Architecture and Other Features
We recorded a set of constructions and associated features mostly to the west of Nevado
Sajama near the pathways. This included nine altars, four chapels, two churches, one shrine, six
stacked rock features, and six rest areas. The most common type of architecture encountered
during survey were altars, which were often built as an end point for the pathways. These may
have been used to house offerings and perhaps as a focal point for rituals. Besides the altars,
66
chapels and churches were also common and despite the size differences these two types of
architecture were somewhat similar. A small number of additional features were recorded such
as one shrine, six stacked rock features, and six possible resting areas along lines 1, 3, and 4. All
in all, each feature type has a high degree of homogeneity however small differences such as size
and additional design elements differentiate individual structures.
6.1.1. Altars
Altars are three tiered unmortared, plain stone structures often with a niche placed on the
first tier facing away from the pathway (see figure 6-1). Around Pueblo Sajama, eight were
found in association with the nine pathways and one was found between lines 6 and 8 to the
south of town. In the case of the pathway (line 2) without an altar, a recent rockslide may have
covered up the altar and part of the line. Instead, a circular stone enclosure (35 cm x 40 cm) was
found roughly forty meters down slope. As for the nine altars observed, they tended to be very
similar in layout. They differed in size, presence of a niche, or a cross on top.
Figure 6-1: Altar L1.
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For size, altars ranged in height from 80 centimeters to 2.18 meters (mean 1.55 ± 0.54
meters) (see table 6-1). This distribution is fairly standard with only three outliers, the large
altars 3 and 4, and the small altar 6. Altars also varied more significantly with volume and
ranged between 0.58 cubic meters to 8.48 cubic meters (mean 3.01 ± 2.62) (see figure 6.2). Altar
L3 is the clear outlier at 8.48 cubic meters which is nearly twice as large as the second most
voluminous altar L4 at 4.47 cubic meters. Moreover, altar L3 is the only altar outside the range
of one standard deviation. Looking at these two metrics, several trends emerge. First, altar L3 is
high significant in terms of volume. Altar L3 is also important as it is located on line 3, which is
currently the most used line in this system.
Table 6-1: Table with altar heights in meters.
Name
Code Height (M) Notes
Altar L1
6001
1.86
Altar L2
n/a
n/a
Altar L3
6011
2.18
Altar L4
6004
2.14
Altar L5
6003
1.69
Altar L6
6006
0.80
Altar L7
6010
0.98
Altar L8
6007
1.73
Altar L9
6009
n/a
In ruins
1.01
Altar without a pathway
Possible Altar 7009
Covered in rockslide
Top tier was fallen
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Figure 6-2: The volume of altars in cubic meters. Note that asterisk denotes a modified or
destroyed altars.
In addition to size, altars also differed in other design features such as the presence of a
wooden cross and a niche (see table 6-2). For crosses, only a minority of altars that could be
observed had these features (n = 2/8, 25%). These two altars--L1 and L4--were also the second
and third most voluminous altars. As for niches, these were all found with ceramics inside and in
three cases with nearly complete vessels. These ceramics were all bowls and decorated. Unlike
crosses, it seems niches were an important feature in most altars as only the two smallest altar
did not have niches. Niches can be found in other structures in the Altiplano that predate the Inka
such as in chullpas. For the Pueblo Sajama altars, niches may have been a major feature in rituals
as ceramic evidence may indicate. Furthermore, niches are found with large stone nearby and
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some altars even had these stones covering the niche. Items placed inside niches and covered
with this stone may symbolize a feeding of the mountain.
Table 6-2: Table of altars with crosses or niches. Asterisk denote altars that are either completely
or partially destroyed.
Name
Code
Cross (Y/N)
Niche (Y/N)
Altar L1
6001
Y
Y
Altar L2*
n/a
n/a
n/a
Altar L3
6011
N
Y
Altar L4
6004
Y
Y
Altar L5
6003
N
Y
Altar L6
6006
N
N
Altar L7*
6010
N
n/a
Altar L8
6007
N
Y
Altar L9*
6009
n/a
n/a
Possible Altar
7009
N
N
6.1.2. Chapels
Chapels are smaller church-like structures constructed from adobe blocks with thatch or
clay tiled roofs (see figure 6-3). In all cases except one, chapels were located within the
immediate proximity of residential houses, corals, and other domestic structures. Unfortunately,
only one of the four chapels was still relatively intact and maintained with white plaster, thatch
roof, and items still placed on the altar. Two of the other chapels were barricaded and used for
storage while only walls remained of the last ruined chapel. The chapels all shared similar
cruciform layouts and orientations. These structures ranged from 5.1 to 5.9 meters long and 4.2
to 4.9 meters wide. However, total square meter area for the chapels showed a little more range
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with the largest, chapel N1, being 28.91 square meters and the smallest, chapel N3, being 20.74
square meters (see figure 6-4). Inside, chapels were also similar. Doorways were oriented
towards the east with the associated pathway lining up with the door. At the opposite end of the
chapel were altars constructed into the walls with numerous niches above and sometimes tables
in front. Altars provide the biggest difference between chapels with different number and
configurations of niches, pillars, molding, and paint pigments used.
Figure 6-3: Chapel N2, noted ceramic tiled roof and adobe brick dome.
Figure 6-4: Total square meter area for the four chapels.
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Although there is little variance in layout or size of chapels, exterior design features such
as walls and shrines set chapels apart. Walls differed in terms of height and how much they
surround the chapels. Chapel N1 only had a small wall of approximately 20 centimeters to the
north and south. Chapel N3 and S1, on the other hand, had walls completely surrounding the
chapel with two narrow openings in the direction of Nevado Sajama and Pueblo Sajama. Chapel
N2 had no wall although recent construction may have removed the wall to make way for a road.
Shrines also differed in size and style between chapels. Shrines were small unmortared stone
structures a few meters away from the doors of the chapel that, generally, had a stone platform
with a stone cross. Each chapel had slight different shrines that varied in size and slightly in
style. Chapel N2 was the only one without a shrine although a foundation near the chapel
suggests it may have been moved recently.
Chapel N1, the one remaining chapel, provides an example of how the other chapels may
have looked while still used. On the outside, the chapel was plastered and had a thatch roof and a
small wooden door that was secured with some wire. The interior space was plastered and had
some crimson curvilinear designs along with a bird and a possible potato plant motifs. The altar
had six niches arranged in two rows with a small plastered platform in front and a separate
wooden table in front. The center two niches were the largest and framed on each side with
pillars and arches. In these niches were crucifixes and depictions of the Madonna and Santiago.
On the platform in front of the altar were a plate and a couple candleholders. Both north and
south transepts were empty. The interior showed signs of age with plaster cracking and even
portions with plaster falling off. The objects in the niches were covered in grit, more than likely
blown in, and did not appear to have been handled in some time. Conversations with the son of
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the former landowner suggests that the chapel was last used by the recently deceased father and
styled after the other chapels near Pueblo Sajama.
6.1.3. Churches
Through survey, we recorded two churches--one at Pueblo Sajama and one at Tomarapi.
Both structures were very similar and a part of the Carangas style for catholic sacred space (see
Medinaceli and Uchanier 2012). This style refers to white plastered churches often with thatch
roofs, perimeter walls, towers, atriums, and shrines (see figure 6-5). Both constructions at Pueblo
Sajama and Tomarapi had all these features. As for the floor plan, only the church at Tomarapi
had a cruciform shape. However, both structures had doorways oriented towards the east and
altars in the west. Each church also had either buttresses, side chapels, or atriums. Tomarapi had
a large atrium that extends to the north and south that breaks up the cruciform floor plan. As for
the church at Pueblo Sajama, the floor plan was rectangular with an atrium in the east, transepts
to the north and south, and six buttresses. In addition, the Pueblo Sajama structure had an
ambulatory on the west end near the altar. Finally, both churches varied in size with the church
in Pueblo Sajama being substantially larger (see figure 6-6).
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Figure 6-5: The church at Tomarapi.
Figure 6-6: The total area in square meters of both churches recorded in the survey.
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6.1.4. Other Features
In addition to the previously mentioned architecture, we encountered a number of other
features including a shrine at Tomarapi, six stacked rock features, and six rest areas along the
pathways. The shrine was found outside of the town of Tomarapi to the north of Pueblo Sajama
and does not have any pathways associated with it. Instead, it is similar to small rock shrines
often found outside churches and chapels. Stacked rock features were found by altars L3 and L4
but also near the shrine at Tomarapi. Three pairs of rest areas were discovered along lines 1, 3,
and 4.
The shrine at Tomarapi was very similar to the small shrines found elsewhere and thus
was recorded. Shrines found by churches and chapels all had a stone base with a stone
superstructure covering a cross on the base. However, the Tomarapi shrine was well over 2
meters tall and much larger than the other shrines found. The mortared stone base (159 x 155 x
95 cm) had a cross on it along with a stone superstructure that covered the cross. Besides the
size, the other major difference was a half-wall that surrounded the shrine with only openings
from the east and west. In addition, the shrine was not located on or associated with a pathway.
Instead, it was built outside of the village roughly 100 meters east of the Tomarapi church near
the main road that runs through the PNS. Getting to the shrine is even a little difficult as a barbed
wire fence is constructed towards the east and north.
Six stacked rock features were also encountered during survey. Five were recorded by
Pueblo Sajama and one near the Tomarapi shrine (see table 6-3). The first two stacked rock
features (#1 and #2) were found along a trail approximately 50 to 60 meters away from altar L3.
These appeared to be constructed from local stone and on top of a natural rock outcrop. This rock
outcrop offers better views of Nevado Sajama than the altar. This may been a reason why these
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features were constructed in this locale. The next three stack rock features (#3. #4, and #5) were
found within 30 meters of altar L4. They were also built with nearby stones from the top of the
hill. Two were placed within 20 meters of the altar, while the third one was located away from
altar by the edge of the hill. This hill was apparently still used for stacking rocks as an
unrecorded stacked rock feature adjacent to the altar spelled out a name and the current year.
Lastly, the stacked rock feature next to the Tomarapi shrine (#6) was similar to the others but,
unlike the previous examples, it had one wide stone placed at the top to form a sort of platform.
This differs to the other features which had a wide base that tapered towards the top.
Table 6-3: The dimensions of stacked rock features encountered during survey.
Stacked Rock Feature Number Location
Dimensions (Base x Height) in CM
#1
Altar L3
22 x 36
#2
Altar L3
20 x 30
#3
Altar L4
88 x 113
#4
Altar L4
91 x 60
#5
Altar L4
63 x 84
#6
Shrine at Tomarapi 77 x 145
The last type of feature recorded were three pairs of resting places found along lines 1, 3,
and 4. All possible resting areas were placed equal distance along the slope of the hill. These
resting areas are approximately 3-4 meters in diameter that are built using rocks placed
downslope and dirt fill on top to create a more or less leveled area. The features along line 3
were a little more substantial with boulders piled up to form windbreaks and benches. Although
it is unsure if the flat areas recorded on lines 1 and 4 are resting areas, the areas on line 3 were
more than likely intended as rest areas for tourists climbing the hill. Besides the walls and
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benches, elevation markers and a sign near the top of the pathway further support the idea that
these were constructed for tourists. The possible rest areas recorded along lines 1 and 4 may have
been intend for some other purposes maybe as stations for a procession but unfortunately no
artifacts were found nearby to suggest a possible use.
6.2. Artifacts
In total, we recorded 772 artifacts (125 diagnostic and 651 nondiagnostic) from the
surface collections. The most common type were ceramic sherds, but we also recorded 13 lithics.
Diagnostic artifacts were considered based on presence of paint or if vessel form could be
inferred. Non-diagnostic were unpainted sherds that we were unable to infer vessel form. Besides
lithics and ceramics, we also encountered fauna remains mostly at the boulder field site and
chapel N1. These remains may have been caused by the natural lifecycles of the numerous
camelids in the PNS, hence they were not recorded. Other artifacts not recorded were the
numerous modern artifacts such as tin cans, glass, rubber, and paper encountered mostly around
Pueblo Sajama and some of the chapels. These were not recorded or noted because they did not
directly relate to the pathways. In this section I examine the artifacts recorded during the survey.
I present data based on their distribution, before moving on to their variation in form and style.
Finally, data on the lithic artifacts will also be presented.
6.2.1. Distribution
Overall, the most amount of artifacts were found at chapels (n = 449/772; 58.16%)
followed by the boulder field site (n = 255/772; 33.03%)(see table 6-4). When we look at
diagnostic artifacts, there is a more equal representation at the chapels (n = 45/125; 35.48%),
boulder field site (n = 39/125; 31.45%), and altars (n = 34/125; 27.42%). With non-diagnostic
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artifacts, the majority were found in large deposits near chapel N1 (n = 349) and the boulder field
site (n = 216). This skews the proportions of non-diagnostic artifacts at chapels (62.5%) and the
boulder field site (33.33%).
Table 6-4: Number and percentage of total artifacts found at the different site types.
Location/Feature Type
Diagnostic
Non-Diagnostic
Total
Altars
34 (27.42%)
27 (3.7%)
58 (7.51%)
Chapels
45 (35.48%)
405 (62.5%)
449 (58.16%)
Pathways
6 (4.84%)
1 (0.15%)
7 (0.91%)
Boulder Field Site
39 (31.45%)
216 (33.33%)
255 (33.03%)
Tomarapi Shrine
1 (0.81%)
2 (0.31%)
3 (0.39%)
Totals
125 (100%)
651 (100%)
772 (100%)
Chapels and altars show a difference in total number of artifact remains as well as
diagnostic and non-diagnostic. Overall, chapels had the highest number of artifact remains but
individual sites differ slightly with diagnostic and significantly with non-diagnostic artifacts.
Diagnostic artifacts are fairly evenly distributed between the four recorded chapels (see figure 67). When comparing non-diagnostic artifacts, chapel N1 is clearly an outlier. At this chapel, there
were three large deposits of mostly non-diagnostic ceramics found under boulder overhangs
nearby. The non-diagnostic artifacts at chapel N1 are also the most encountered at any site.
Altars, on the other hand, have less diagnostic and non-diagnostic remains (see figure 6-8). The
only notable altar is L1, which had significant amounts of diagnostic (N = 14) and nondiagnostic (N = 12) artifacts recorded.
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Figure 6-7: Diagnostic artifact distribution between the four recorded chapels.
Figure 6-8: Distribution of both diagnostic and non-diagnostic artifacts around altars.
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In order to further examine the difference in frequency of artifacts found at chapels
versus altars, a chi-square test was performed. Specifically, this test was used to examine the
relation between painted and unpainted ceramics found at these two site types (see table 6-5).
This relation was found to be extremely significant (p < 0.0001), suggesting that there is less
than 0.01% probability that the difference observed in the ceramics at these two sites was caused
by chance. Thus, painted ceramics were more likely to be found at altars while unpainted,
utilitarian wares were more likely found at chapels. This pattern may be caused by the discard of
domestic ceramics at the chapels and the adjacent residential structures. At the altars, the
presence of painted ceramics may indicate a preference for public performances at these places.
This may imply that altars were sites of different practices or that less variety of activities were
carried out at the altars.
Table 6-5: Table for chi square test to compare relation between painted and unpainted ceramics
found at chapels and altars. The two-tailed P value is less than 0.0001.
Painted
Unpainted
Total
Chapels
33
416
449
Altars
21
37
58
Total
54
453
507
6.2.2. Styles
The styles of ceramics were important for suggesting a relative date for sites as well as
the cultural affiliation of the sites. In addition, examining styles could also provide information
about what connections people of Sajama were forming with other regions such as the Inka or
Spanish. In determining styles, we looked primarily at quality and color of the clay, paste, slip,
and glaze. This was based on an existing ceramic chronology developed for the region (Michel
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2000, Torrez 2014, Villanueva 2012). These criteria allowed us to classify ceramics into three
broad categories: (a) pre-Inka or Carangas/Pacajes, (b) Inka or local Inka styles, and (c) colonial
and republican pottery (see table 6-6 and figures 6-7 and 6-8). We were able to date most sherds
this way. When it was difficult discerning between styles, we counted those under
indeterminable. As can be seen in the table below, colonial and republican ceramics were the
largest type encountered.
Table 6-6: Table with frequency and proportions of styles and lithics.
Style
Number Percentage
Carangas/Pacajes
8
6.4%
Inka/Inka Local
18
14.40%
Colonial/Republican
55
44%
Indeterminable Ceramics 31
24.80%
Lithics
10.4%
13
When examining the distribution of styles, several sites stand out (see figure 6-9). Line 1,
for instance, was the only site to have only pre-Hispanic ceramics. It is highly likely these came
below surface from the construction of a nearby building foundation. Besides line 1, three
chapels, two altars, and the boulder field site had pre-Hispanic artifacts in addition to later
materials. The boulder field site had the most with two pre-Inka sherds and eight Inka-local
sherds. Altar L1 had the second most with one pre-Inka sherd and six Inka-local sherds. Based
on the presence of these artifacts, these post-contact sites may have reused pre-Hispanic places
or brought in the materials during the colonial era. It is also notable which sites do not have any
pre-Hispanic artifacts. Chapel N1, for instance, only had postcolonial artifacts despite being
located so closely to the boulder field site. Hence, it is likely that this feature was added at a later
time.
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Figure 6-9: Number and proportions of artifact styles found at the various sites.
The survey also provided great examples of all these styles. Several pieces showcased the
dark red slip and black figures of the Pacajes and Carangas style (see figure 6-10). Typically this
style is black linear and curvilinear designs in the interior that sometimes feature a black border
(Villanueva 2012). In the Inka and Colonial eras, this style could become muddled with designs
and forms from both traditions. For instance, Inka-local sherds were often very thin. Other Inkalocal sherds showed the use of new white pigments (see figure 6-11), and in one case, this was
present in an aribalo (see figure 6-12). In fact, this aribalo is the only example of this form in the
region besides the Inka site of Inca Marka (Torrez 2014). Colonial and republican ceramics
would occasionally have designs similar to pre-Colonial pieces but often this style used new
pigments, technologies, and exchange networks that contrasted sharply with pre-Colonial styles.
The red and orange of pre-Hispanic ceramics were replaced by green (see figure 6-13) and
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yellow glazed surfaces (see figure 6-14) in more complex, polychrome curvilinear designs and
figures. One blue transferware sherd (see figure 6-15) found in the boulder field site shows a link
to broader late colonial or republican trade networks.
Figure 6-10 (left): A Pacajes cuenco sherd found at the boulder field site.
Figure 6-11 (right): An Inka local sherd found at the boulder field site.
Figure 6-12 (left): An Inka local aribalo sherd found near altar L1.
Figure 6-13 (right): A republican era base sherd from a cuenco found chapel N1.
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Figure 6-14 (left): A republican era base sherd found near chapel N2.
Figure 6-15 (right): A blue transferware rim sherd found at the boulder field site.
One of the most common motifs found was a ‘draped’ design, where either one or two
lines form consecutive U shapes on the edge of bowls or plates. This possible local style was
primarily used on colonial pottery, but may have had roots in pre-Hispanic designs. In total, we
recorded ten sherds that had some sort of version of this motif. Some of the early examples have
the dark red or orange color of pre-Hispanic styles (see figure 6-16) or are thick and made with
numerous inclusions (see figure 6-17). In both cases, these sherds may be from early colonial or
possibly Late Horizon ceramics. Other examples of this motif are clearly late colonial or
republican. These sherds either have a glaze or use the dark green pigments indicative of
republican styles (see figure 6-18 and 6-19). Furthermore, clay used in pottery is very fine and
tends to be a brighter orange. This style may be localized in the Carangas and broader Oruro
regions but more work with historic ceramics is needed to make more definitive conclusions.
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Figure 6-16 (left): Early colonial or LH rim sherd of a plate found at chapel S1.
Figure 6-17 (right): Early colonial or LH rim sherd of a bowl found at chapel N2.
Figure 6-18 (left): Republican rim sherd of a plate found at chapel S1.
Figure 6-19 (right): Republican rim sherd of a plate found at the boulder field site.
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6.2.3. Forms
Vessel forms were inferred based on the angle of the rim or the base. In addition, I used
categories from other research in the region (Torrez 2014, Villanueva 2012). Out of the 125
diagnostic artifacts, the majority were found to be cuencos or bowls (n = 43, or 38.39%) (see
figure 6-20). Cuencos are a type of shallow bowl that differs from the deeper and more
uncommon flaring tazones (n = 2, or 1.79%). The fourth most numerous ceramic form, handled
vessels (n = 14, or 12.5%), include ollas, double handled vessels, or jarras, single handled
pitchers. During survey, we recorded several handles and rims of vessels but were unable to
differentiate between these two similar forms. Finally, there were numerous indeterminable
sherds (n = 28, or 25%) that we were unable to infer the specific vessel type, especially if the
sherd came from the body or was a small section of the base.
Figure 6-20: Graph with the total count of forms for the 125 artifacts recorded.
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6.2.4. Lithics
Only a small portion (n = 13, 10.4%) of the total diagnostic artifacts were lithics. Out of
these, we recorded five modified flakes (see figure 6-21), four ground stone, three preforms (see
figure 6-23), and one core. The most common type of material was basalt but we recorded two
examples of obsidian and two white chert preforms. Lithics were also distributed across different
types of sites: four at the boulder field site, three at chapel N1, two along line 1, two at altar L1,
one at chapel S1, and one at altar L6. Unfortunately, lithics are not as well studied as ceramics in
the PNS and comparisons with other Carangas sites are not possible. The use of lithics may be
from prehistoric contexts, but we cannot discard the possibility that they were used later.
Figure 6-21 (left): Modified flake found at the boulder field site.
Figure 6-22 (right): Possible obsidian preform found in a corral at the boulder field site.
6.3. Spatial Data
The nine recorded pathways had similar architecture and were all cleared trails. However,
the length of pathways and spaces used for altars differed between the nine lines. First, the length
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of the pathways ranged from 1.01 kilometers to 3.42 kilometers (mean 2.14 ± 0.92 km) (see
figure 6-23). Distance of the lines may not be all too important, and instead, selecting locations
may have been more significant as it was in the past (see Bessom 2009, Medinaceli and Uchanier
2012). All the lines start on flat or slightly raised areas at the base of Nevado Sajama while the
termination points to the east differ between hilltops, rises, and slopes. Four lines end on hilltops
(lines 1, 3, 4, and 8), three end on rises (lines 5, 6, 9), and two end on steep slopes (lines 2 and
7). Instead of using specific types of space such as hilltops, altars may have been built for other
reasons such as proximity to residences, to reuse pre-Hispanic sites, or perhaps just because they
are in the direction of Nevado Sajama. However, all the pathways head up hill with some lines
steeper than others.
Figure 6-23: The different lengths of the nine lines of Pueblo Sajama.
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6.3.1. Views
Another consideration for line, altar, and chapel placement are views of Nevado Sajama.
Ethnohistoric sources frequently mention line of sights with culturally significant peaks as one
factor for worship or veneration at certain shrines (Bessom 2009). With the Pueblo Sajama lines,
all the chapels and the one church observe Nevado Sajama. However, at the altars, line of sight
with the Sajama are often blocked or partially obscured by hills (see figure 6-24). Views of
Sajama were often lost along pathways while walking up slopes of hills. Occasionally, Sajama
would come back in view at some of the altars. At lines 8 and 9, the mountain is observable the
whole time, while lines 3 and 6 had partially obscured views at the altar. Sajama was not visible
along lines 1, 2, 4, 5, and 7. The lack of views of Nevado Sajama and the different types of
landscape features used for placement of altars suggest that either Sajama was not the intended
for ritual veneration or perhaps alternative factors were more important. For instance, maybe an
increase in elevation along a path in the direction of Sajama was important or culturally
meaningful places in the hills were used.
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Figure 6-24: Map of the Pueblo Sajama lines and visibility of the Nevado Sajama peak.
6.3.2. Corrals
One final consideration for spatial analysis is the area of corrals near the chapels. Number
of corrals and total area may be indicators to assess the size of camelid herds. Large herds may
have been one measure of wealth for pastoralists (Aldenderfer 2001) or indicates the ability to
call on labor from family connections. Chapel N2 and S1 had structures immediately in the
vicinity of the chapels while chapels N1 and N3 had domestic structures within 100 and 350
meters respectively. Corrals were measured from satellite imagery, and defined as spaces
completely enclosed by a wall. Near chapel N3 and chapel N1 were large spaces that were only
partially enclosed, therefore they were not counted as part of the total area. Another
consideration is that herds could be kept outside of these corrals. During our survey, corrals were
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never occupied and instead llamas, alpacas, and sheep grazed along bofedales. The only indicator
that corrals had been used were the numerous scat piles left over from camelids.
Figure 6-25: The total area of corrals for the four chapels near Pueblo Sajama.
Looking at the total area for all the corral space (figure 6-25), chapel N1 at the boulder
field site has nearly twice as much as the second largest corral group. Chapel N1 also has the
most number of corrals (n = 10) while S1 has the second most (n = 6) followed by N3 (n = 5)
and N2 (n = 4). This is significant as chapel N1 is one of the most important areas because of its
proximity to the boulder field site and it is the only chapel to have two associated lines. Herd size
may be positively correlated to the ability to engage and create space around Pueblo Sajama. If
corral space indicates ability to call on labor, then altars were expected to be larger. Looking at
volume of altars, altar L4 is twice as large as any of the chapel altars. In fact, the only altars
larger are the ones associated with the church.
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6.4. Boulder Field Site
The boulder field site is located southwest of chapel N1 (see figure 6-26) on a slight rise
in a field of massive granite boulders that range from a couple meters in diameter to five or six
meters. This site is notable because of the numerous deposits of glass, ceramics, and burnt bone
often placed between these large boulders. In total, we recorded 39 (31.45% of total) diagnostic
artifacts and noted 216 (33.03% of total) non-diagnostic artifacts at this site. It is likely that there
are many more artifacts but time constraints limited are field recording. Besides deposits, the
boulder field site had numerous features. Five structures, possibly residential, were built on the
eastern section of the site along with ten corrals, one shrine, and one oven. The oven near the
shrine even had scorched wool and burnt wood nearby suggesting that it had been used relatively
recently. In addition to this archaeological data, we were able to talk with two of the landowners
about the site as discussed in the next chapter.
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Figure 6-26: An overview map of the boulder field site with chapels and lines.
The artifacts at the boulder field site were some of the best examples recorded during
survey. It was at this site that we encountered great examples of local Pacajes and Carangas
ceramics (see figure 6-10) as well as Inka ceramics (see figure 6-11). The site and nearby chapel
N1 were the only place where we encountered lithic preforms. Although all these artifacts were
found on the surface, it is highly likely that additional older artifacts may be found below
surface. Residents at the site even claimed that they were doing excavations at the site which
yielded finds of what they called “Inka gold”. This may be unlikely but the boulder field site is a
rather unique feature in the PNS. Not only is it an unusual landscape feature but it also is a
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natural place for shelter from the persistent Altiplano wind. Future archaeological research could
assess how long the site has been used and perhaps for what purposes.
Besides past uses, the boulder field site seemed to be used for contemporary rituals as
indicated by the numerous deposits of glass, burnt wood, and charred wool. Around the oven and
small shrine were three large deposits of broken glass and one deposit of charred bone. This may
suggest that feasting may factor into ritual at the site or perhaps these remains were discarded
after use from the nearby residences. In the oven was a large mass of partially burnt brown wool.
The oven was used not only for food, but perhaps for other ritualized purposes such as burning
mesa or pago offerings. The landowners did not discuss the oven or current uses of the boulder
field site. However, the son of the former landowner did explain that chapel N1 was built to
mimic the other chapels. The family used the chapel in the past for rituals and ceremonies but
have since stopped. Conversations with Don Gregorio indicated that this area was used for
community wide processions that visited four stations along the outskirts of Pueblo Sajama. The
oven and shrine may have been used for such purposes. All in all, the boulder field site is a
unique site in PNS with pre-Hispanic, colonial, and modern contexts all in one place.
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CHAPTER SEVEN: ETHNOGRAPHIC RESULTS
One cold morning in August 2014, Ramón Torrez, Claudia Alvarez, and I were
examining the Pueblo Sajama church when the elderly proprietor of our rented room approached
us with a young white llama in tow. She greeted us with a half-smile and Torrez began talking to
her in rapid Spanish about visiting the town and walking the caminos radiating out from the
church. She responded in equally as rapid Spanish and gestured towards the llama. Afterwards, I
asked Torrez in my rudimentary Spanish what the conversation had been about. In slower
Spanish, he explained that the proprietor wanted to take her white llama along the main pathway-line 3--and do something with it. I didn’t recognize the verb. I asked what it was and with a grin
Torrez drew a thumb to his neck and imitated slitting his throat. As it turns out, the pathways that
we were walking were not inert, decaying remains but still very much apart of regular ritual
practice in town. This experience, perhaps more than any other during the pilot project, made me
consider the possibility conducting ethnographic research as part of fieldwork in 2015. It also
showed me I needed to work on my Spanish.
The next year, I wanted to talk to people about current use of the pathways and confirm
what our proprietor had said. Moreover, examining current uses of the pathways would provide
an ethnographic analogy of how archaeological materials were deposited and if there were any
differences between the sites. After three weeks of living and talking to various residents, these
questions turned out to be a little more difficult to answer than I initially thought. Instead, what I
saw was different ritual practices engaged by different people. In this chapter, I will review the
information gathering through informal interviews from both field seasons. First, I will discuss
how the pilot project informed later field work during 2015. Next, I present information gained
from talking to residents in Pueblo Sajama and at the chapels affiliated with pathways. Last, I
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review how these results inform the current and past understanding of ritual practices at the
pathways and more generally in Pueblo Sajama.
7.1. Pilot Project
One of my first impressions of the national park was just how desolate and isolated this
region of the Bolivian Altiplano seemed to be. Only a few clusters of houses dotted the
undulations of the Sajama region with the apparently only living thing visible being the herds of
llamas and alpacas. However, this impression was not entirely accurate. People still lived and
worked in the shadow of Sajama but most importantly, people were still venerating the mountain
as an apu that was still informing and structuring current ritual practices. In August 2015, over
the course of three days, we visited two pathways but also talked to owners of hotels and
restaurants during our day to day interactions. Through these regular interactions we were able to
gain some information about the current ritual system of Pueblo Sajama. The most insightful
conversation was with the elderly proprietor of our second accommodation that was mentioned
at the start of this chapter. All these conversations would establish the possibility of conducting
ethnographic fieldwork and direct what sort of questions could be explored in the main field
season.
The first night that Ramón Torrez, Claudia Alvarez, and I arrived it was nearly dark. We
were also the only tourists to get off at the gate of the park. After signing in and paying the
entrance fee, the three of us looked for accommodations in town. Eventually we found a small
hotel with outlying one room buildings used to accommodate tourists. The woman running the
hotel and restaurant with the help of her young children would be our first informal interview.
That night after dinner, we asked her a couple questions about the pathways or caminos. It took a
little clarification of which pathways but she seemed to know of the three that radiated from the
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church. However, she did not elaborate and left to go back into the kitchen. Other conversations
the next day with a shopkeep followed a similar pattern. It seemed people knew of the pathways,
after clarifying which pathways, but either were busy or, for whatever reason, did not feel
compelled to expand on the pathways.
The second night, after visiting one of the pathways, we needed to find new
accommodations as the first hotel was booked up by a large group of tourists. An elderly couple
running a restaurant mentioned that they had a room available. This was the same style of
accommodation as the first hotel: one room and one bath adobe building with curved thatch
ceiling that seemed to be used solely by tourists as locals tended to live in compounds of adobe
buildings with corrugated metal roofs. After moving in our things and settling in, we decided to
examine the church when one of the properties came out with a young white llama with pierced
ears with brightly colored yarn in them. She claimed that every year on February 2nd, the people
of Pueblo Sajama go up to the main camino to sacrifice a white llama. It was the llama she had
with her that she hoped would be sacrificed next. Afterwards, she led the llama away and we left
to go visit one of the more popular tourist spots, the hot springs.
Through these brief conversations, two important conclusions were reached. First, it
seemed that information about the local ritual system could be gathered by staying in the town
for a substantial time, and talking to people we encountered day to day. This was the main reason
for adding an ethnographic component to fieldwork for the next season. Moreover, informants
would probably come from the locals that ran hotels and restaurants, but these conversations
would need to be arranged in advance. The second conclusion reached is that the lines are still
used. The proprietor from the second day even provided an exact date and a basic description of
the ritual, but this would have to be collaborated with other informants.
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7.2. Fieldwork
With the information gained from the pilot project in mind, I prepared for fieldwork by
further refining my Spanish and developing questions about current line uses. My main goal was
to determine how the sample of pathways were used, for what purposes, and when. If it was
possible, I wanted to participate or observe current rituals along the lines. I planned on getting
this information from talking to as many locals as possible with the goal of identifying one or
two primary informants that would be willing to sit down for an interview. In July 2015, I
returned to Pueblo Sajama with Torrez, Alvarez, and myself to start pedestrian surveys and
informal interviews with locals.
Arriving in Pueblo Sajama, we rented a small room with four beds in a compound along
the main plaza. The proprietor and his family were friendly and asked us questions about how
many tourists arrived on the minibus and what we were doing in the park. We told him we were
interested in the caminos and he reported that the hot springs and geysers were great places to
visit. We clarified that we were archaeologists examining the ritual trails and pointed at the
pathways radiating off from the church. He indicated a familiarity with the pathways but did not
go into detail about them. Over the next couple of days, we would mention where we surveyed
and he would name hills nearby and seemed to know where we walked. Locals that ran shops
also provided similar responses: they had an idea of where we surveyed but did not seem eager
to go into additional details.
However, during this first week of survey we started eating at a restaurant owned by Don
Gregorio and his family. Although the food his family prepared was very good, we returned
because of how friendly Don Gregorio was in answering our questions about the park and talking
about politics. Each time we ate dinner the conversation would inevitably turn back towards the
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pathways and the ritual system in Pueblo Sajama. Over multiple nights he expanded on the
current ritual system of the town. One of the first things mentioned was how Nevado Sajama is
referred to as Doctor Sajama, especially in August when mesa offerings were burned. These
offerings were for the health of participants, hence the name of the mountain. Another night,
after we surveyed the boulder field site, he mentioned that a shrine found at the place was used
as one of the stations in a procession that walked the perimeter of the village. After we finished
dinner one night, I asked Don Gregorio if the lines were used for fiestas. He nodded slowly and
noted that the main line was used at carnival.
Besides talking to people living in town, I also wanted to talk to locals that lived near the
chapels. During the first week we had the opportunity to do just that at chapel N1. On our first
day of survey and when we discovered the boulder field site, a man in his twenties or thirties
approached us and wondered what we were doing near his house. Torrez talked to the man about
looking at the chapels and only taking photos of the broken ceramics. After a few minutes, the
man agreed that we could take a look around, and even let us inside chapel N1. We first walked
through the boulder field site which the man said was very old. In fact, he claimed that they were
excavating around the boulders and had found “Inka gold”. Although I am skeptical of this
statement, we did find what appeared to be a recently dug hole; hence, at least part of his story is
true. As we left the site and headed towards chapel N1, I asked him about the large deposits of
ceramics around the chapel. He answered that they kept similar things together when they
discarded them. Eventually, we were let into the chapel to take a look around at the crumbling
structure. As we took photos and walked around, our now guide said that his recently deceased
father had built the chapel to look like the other nearby chapels. He continued to chew coca and
remained outside with his dog while we paced around the dusty interior of the chapel.
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Afterwards, we talked outside the chapel about the neighboring mountains including Sajama’s
paired mountain, Sabaya. We did not just talk about mountains. With a grin, the man brought up
that he was an amateur boxer and he just got back from a match in Oruro.
The second week was less eventful as Alvarez and myself did not talk to as many people.
We continued to eat at Don Gregorio’s restaurant but we did not get any more answers about the
pathways. However, we did talk to an elderly woman at chapel S1 about her use of that chapel
and line 6. It was morning when we met her on the way out to chapel S1 and after exchanging
greetings, we started to ask her questions. She told us that she lived in the nearby residential
structures. When I mentioned being interested in the camino that extended from the doorway of
the chapel, she did not talk in detail about the line. Finally, I asked if she used the pathway or
chapel in the past. She reported that she did but did not use them anymore. I wrote down a few
notes and thanked her before returning to recording the crumbling chapel S1.
During the last week of survey, I was able to talk to three other members of the
community. On my first day back in Pueblo Sajama, I was examining the cemetery when two
women walking by greeted me. After exchanging hellos, I asked if they had time for a few
questions and one of the women agreed. We talked about the cemetery first and I learned that the
structure inside the walls was a chapel used when the recently deceased are interred. I pointed
out that the chapel was along line 3. She agreed but did not add any more. Finally, I asked if this
pathway was used during fiestas and she responded that it was during carnival. When asked
when, she turned to her companion and after a moment they agreed that it was around February
16th. I thanked the women and we parted ways.
On my last day in Pueblo Sajama, I surveyed chapel N2. While there, I encountered one
of the landowners waiting for his son. The elderly man watched me as I approached and did not
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respond even when I waved at him. Getting closer, I greeted him and shook his hand. I asked if
he had a moment and he said yes. First, I requested permission to take photos of the chapel and
the ceramic sherds on the ground. While he waited, we talked and, prompted by my questions, I
learned that the man still lives at the residential structures near the chapel. The chapel is no
longer used for ceremonies or ritual but the man claimed to have used it when he was younger.
When I asked him about the camino up to the altar, he gestured to a nearby road that parallels
line 7 and mentioned how it goes up to a base camp for climbing Nevado Sajama. Upon
clarification, I asked if there was an altar or structure at the top of line 7 and he said no. I thanked
him for his time and went back to survey. Ten minutes later, the wife approached me and asked
for some money for taking photos of the chapel. She later claimed that she used the chapel
sometime in the past.
The night of my last day, I met with Don Gregorio to clarify some details. First, I asked
about the current use of the lines and he mentioned that they are not used for fiestas but
sometimes for mesa offerings in August. When I asked him about doing a mesa for my own
health, he only vaguely mentioned that some people do it in town but would not direct me
further. Next, I asked about the system of chapels around Pueblo Sajama. After some counting
and consulting a map I had of the park, he reported that there were eight chapels around the town
with three to the west away from the mountain. Out of these chapels, only the four surveyed
were identified by him as having pathways. I then inquired about the other village around
Nevado Sajama, Tomarapi, and asked if it had pathways. Don Gregorio claimed that it did not
have pathways, instead, he reiterated that only Pueblo Sajama has pathways. Finally, I asked
about the Carangas which made him mention the seat of the province, Curahuara de Carangas. I
explained that it was an Aymara group in the past, and asked him if he identified as Aymara. He
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agreed and went on to explain that a woman used to have the last name Carangas but that was a
long time ago. I thanked him for his time and he asked for my headlamp in exchange.
7.3. Contemporary Ritual Practice at Sajama
Prior to the main fieldwork in 2015, I envisioned participating in rituals and recording
items used in current rituals to infer about materials in the past. This did not happen. Instead, I
confirmed the pathways were still used for rituals but these may be changing under the influence of
tourism and perhaps more national trends. For current rituals, line 3 is used for carnival as
multiple people mentioned that use. Other uses may include mesa offerings or for llama sacrifice
in early February that may be part of the celebrations of la Candelaria (Monast 1972: 194). For
all these uses of the pathways, it is not determined if processions are used or if ceremonies only
start at the altars or chapels. For Pueblo Sajama, processions would not be unusual as they are
used in other ceremonies in town such as during Bolivia’s Independence Day on August 6th. In
fact, Johan Reinhard (1988) wrote about a similar pathway and ritual procession up to an altar
near Sabaya. Potentially similar practices may have been conducted around Pueblo Sajama.
These rituals also seem to be influenced, at least partially, by tourism. It seems a little
unusual for the elder woman encountered during the field season to keep a llama so close at
hand. It is possible that the llama was receiving special treatment, but posing young llamas for
photo opportunities is not too uncommon in tourists areas in the Andes like Cusco. Moreover,
other families and locals in Pueblo Sajama did not have any camelids nearby. Taken with
examples of locals asking for money for photos and the fact that Pueblo Sajama is the main
village for visiting Nevado Sajama, tourism appears to be changing lifestyles and perhaps the
ritual system. Perhaps this is creating separate worlds, one for tourists and one for locals. This
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may explain the hesitancy some people had in speaking about the pathways as well as the
difficulty in having a mesa offering done.
Besides tourism, larger national trends may have impacted Pueblo Sajama’s ritual
system. While visiting Bolivia for fieldwork, there were numerous examples of indigenous pride.
From bicephalic serpent on busses in La Paz to the Entrada Folklórica Universitaria procession
in La Paz, it seems that there is an ongoing negotiation of the role of indigeneity within Bolivia.
At Pueblo Sajama, future research may be able to investigate how practices from elsewhere in
Bolivia are being adapted for local Sajama rituals. Materials may also be changing. Mesas may
be influenced by modern trends in the main cities, and may use materials that were not used in
the past. This is the case of metallic paper used to replace ancient metal artifacts, or dry llama
fetuses instead of more mature camelids. Thus, ethnographic analogy for rituals may not be able
to explain archaeological patterns as materials may be new or used in different ways. More in
depth ethnographic work is needed for any definitive conclusions.
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CHAPTER EIGHT: DISCUSSION
By examining the pathways, stations, and portable materials brought into relationships
with the landscape, we can gain an understanding with how places were created and used to
navigate both inter and intra group relationships. In this way, the ritual pathways around Pueblo
Sajama are similar to the ritualized landscapes elsewhere in the Andes. Like with the Paracas, the
lines brought together different people for interactions and, like the Inka, this system was also
ranked. The major difference between the case studies and Sajama is the fact that the Pueblo
Sajama lines were created with the backdrop of Spanish colonialism and republican
independence. Besides these social relationships, using the lines allowed for the people of Pueblo
Sajama to negotiate Spanish-Catholic authority with Andean practices and cultural
understandings.
In this chapter, I discuss how the data presented in this thesis addresses the three main
research goals, in particular the last two goals. These goals included (1) documenting qualities of
ritual in the Pueblo Sajama lines, (2) creating and testing a model for ritualized landscapes, and
(3) colonial effects on the Pueblo Sajama landscape. Therefore, I first review how the Pueblo
Sajama lines are a ritualized landscape using the qualities of ritualization as outlined in chapter
four such as orientation of lines, investments into stations, and portable materials. By using these
qualities, I make inferences about scale of practices at these sites as well as the nature of
performance rituals. Next, I look at how the dynamic social landscape of Sajama helped in
creating subjectivities for the people using it. This can be seen in a number of ways. One way is
through memory, which functions through citing memories of Andean sacred ontologies,
organizing space through socioritual engagement, and creating place by referencing ancestors or
past materials. Another way subjectivities are found is through the social organization of Pueblo
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Sajama through the landscape. This organization is seen through different types of community
and kin group rituals which allowed integration within community and regional groups. Finally,
the dynamic nature of the landscape allowed for the people of Sajama to subsume and mitigate
colonial strategies by incorporating Catholicism into their own landscape and cultural
understandings of the sacred. Examining these aspects of the Pueblo Sajama landscape all
address the three goals of this thesis. In this next section, I examine the second goal by applying
the data collected during fieldwork to the model for ritualized landscapes.
8.1. The Ritualized Landscape of Pueblo Sajama
By analyzing the lines of Pueblo Sajama in terms of the material aspects of ritualized
landscapes as present in chapter three, we can relate this system in multiple ways to the other
case studies of both prehistoric and historic landscapes. In short, these aspects seek to understand
ritualized landscapes through three material lines of evidence: the pathways, the stations, and the
portable materials. For pathways, the concentration and orientation are perhaps the two most
important qualities for the lines of Pueblo Sajama. These potentially allow for inferences about
past ranking or cultural importance of either places in the pathway system or outside of it such as
Nevado Sajama or other nearby mountains. Stations are also very important. Frequency,
distribution, and investment can all provide additional support for conclusions about importance
or uses of altars and chapels but also they can inform researchers about labor organization and
even sacred ontologies in how stations are placed. Finally, portable materials are the only way to
provide a relative date for the pathways but also to shed light into past practices in this ritual
system. Using this model not only provides a means of inferring about ritual practice along these
lines, it also addresses my second goal by testing the model for ritualized landscapes.
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8.1.2. The Pathways
The first quality of pathways, concentration, is clearly represented in the lines of Pueblo
Sajama. Three radiate from the church, two from chapel N1, and four from the other chapels
including the missing chapel S2. Although it is not surprising the church has the most lines, it is
interesting that chapel N1 has two. Chapel N1 is unique in its proximity to the boulder field site
and the total number of artifacts found at the chapel and boulder field site. For these reasons, the
space near chapel N1 may have been considered significant and provided a reason for
construction of the altar and the two lines. Alternatively, chapel N1 has the most amount of
corral space and this may indicate more wealth or perhaps a greater ability to call on labor. This
may somehow relate to having multiple ritual pathways perhaps as providing a reason to bring
people together. A third explanation is supported by interviews with Don Gregorio. The space
near chapel N1 is used for additional ritual that is not done at the other chapels. This may
influence the material remains. During interviews, Don Gregorio mentioned that a shrine near
chapel N1 was visited as part of a procession to four shrines on the periphery of Pueblo Sajama.
It may not be a single factor either and instead a combination of these three explanations may
have resulted in the construction, use, and maintenance of two pathways.
Next, the church’s lines could easily be explained by the fact that they are used for
community wide rituals and ceremonies. In both the cases of chapel N1 and the church, a greater
number of people using the station may mean more lines. This is supported by the current
practice of the lines, where members of Pueblo Sajama come together for a procession along line
3 during carnival in February. However, unlike the chapels, most altars and pathways would be
able to accommodate large groups of people. Instead of more participants correlating with more
lines, pathways may also correspond to different types of ritual practices. In Sallnow’s (1981,
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1982) examples of Christ shrines, pilgrimages and processions are dedicated to set shrines on
certain dates and a similar pattern could be done with the multiple sets of lines at the church at
chapel N1. In both cases, pathways terminate at altars placed at different types of landscape
features. For the church, line 1 ends on a saddle that does not have a view of Nevado Sajama,
line 2 ends on the side a steep hill, and line 3 ends on top of a hill with views of Nevado Sajama.
Each of these three lines may be dedicated to a different shrine or purposes although similar
architecture was observed. A similar trend could be seen at chapel N1 which has line 4 ending on
a hilltop with a partial view of Nevado Sajama, and line 5 on a rise without a view of Nevado
Sajama. The exact nature of this past ritual practice is unable to be determined, but it seems that
the most likely explanation for differences in line concentration is different ritual practice.
Next, the orientation of pathways is less clearly defined, but suggests that cultural factors
were perhaps influencing placement and construction. First, in terms of length all the pathways
ranged from 1.01 to 3.42 kilometers but this may not be all too important as it seems that
pathways were constructed to reach the first hill or rise. When walking towards Nevado Sajama,
not a single pathway went downslope besides the occasional wash or drainage. In this way, the
pathways’ length may have only depended on the closeness of the selected point for the altar.
Second, in terms of orientation of the pathways, there all generally head in the direction of
Nevado Sajama but only line 9 is oriented directly on the summit. Even having a view of Nevado
Sajama is not guaranteed along the pathways. Two lines have a more or less continuous view of
the mountain while two do not. The other five have partial views only at the summit of the hills
or rises. It seems that there was only an occasional focus on the mountain as the pathways are not
centered on the summit and even a couple lines do not have views. Instead, the one uniform trait
of pathways is they all increase in elevation when moving east away from the chapels or church.
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Change in elevation may have been the most important influence on placement of the pathways
or perhaps simply linking together significant sites was the main factor for the pathways.
8.1.2. The Stations
For frequency of stations, the Pueblo Sajama lines are all fairly uniform. Each line has a
set chapel or church and one altar at the end point. In the case of line 2 and line 8, one of the
termination structures were missing but these were most likely caused by a landslide or
renovations to domestic structures in the recent past. The only deviation from this pattern are the
rest areas found definitively along line 3 and potentially on line 1 and 4. These are flat areas
placed more or less equal distance from each other along the slope of hills. Although line 3 had
rest areas set up for tourists, lines 1 and 4 may have been used for other purposes such as rituals
done while traversing the lines. Compared to the broader network of Sajama lines, not having
stations in between the termination places may be unusual. Morrison (1978) recorded that
stations in the form of small rock shrines were in between termination stations. Multiple stations
may be only placed on longer pathways as Morrison mentioned that these lines were much
longer than the ones at Pueblo Sajama. It is unsure if having multiple stations along a line is
common but future research in the region may establish the changes and continuities of this
practice.
Distribution of stations is important in potentially determining how sites were chosen for
construction into sacred space. This provides some level of inference on colonial Andean sacred
ontologies. Altars provide the best examples of these past ontologies. These structures were
placed on hill tops, slopes, and even rises. This could mean that increase--or decrease depending
on direction of processions--in elevation was important for sacred placemaking. One problem is
that these types of places can describe virtually all the locations to the east of Pueblo Sajama.
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Instead, the change in elevation of the pathways may be caused by the fact that they are based off
of the east facing doorways of the church and chapels. Other factors may have influenced
placement. Concerns such as ease of access from chapels, or known culturally significant places,
could have dictated where altars were placed and thus pathways. Reuse of significant places may
have been the case for some altars, such as altar 1, which had pre-Hispanic artifacts found
nearby. This explanation does not fit all the altars as some do not have any pre-Hispanic artifacts
nearby. However, it is possible these were not visible on the surface. Chapels and the Pueblo
Sajama church, on the other hand, are much more clearly placed. The church is in the pueblo and
surrounded by the highest concentration of buildings in the PNS. Chapels are often placed near
residential structures as was the case with chapels N2, S1, and perhaps the missing S2. Two
chapels were placed farther away. Chapel N1 is about 100 meters away from the residential
structures while chapel N3 is even further away at about 300 meters. Overall, chapels and the
church’s placement may have been based on ease of access near residential structures although,
as previously mentioned, chapel N1 may have reused the prehistoric boulder field site.
Investments in altars along the pathways are also important as this provides inferences for
how construction may have occurred and perhaps how much labor each line had invested into it.
Overall, altars were apparently built over time as evident in the difference in altar size and
architecture. Altars seemed to have been constructed to reach a height a little taller than an adult,
or around two meters, but varied substantially in volume. The largest, altar L3, has a volume of
8.48 cubic meters--twice as large as the next largest altar while the least voluminous altar was
only 0.58 cubic meters. These smaller altars, such as altars L5 and L7, may represent some of the
earlier stages of construction as they have similar forms as the larger altars and, more
importantly, could have fulfilled similar ritual functions. Further supporting this is the potential
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altar found on line 2. A landslide covered up the old altar and approximately 50 meters
downslope was a small circular stone enclosure that may represent the first steps of altar
construction. Even if this is not the first stages of altar construction, the variability of height and
volume shows that different amount of labor went into construction and this was perhaps carried
out over time during multiple building periods. It also suggest that altars L1, L3, and L4 were
perhaps the most used and longest used or built by a larger pool of labor.
On the other end of the lines, chapels show a standard layout and use of design elements
although there were slight variations especially with design. Chapel N1, the only chapel in
decent condition, provides the best example of what the other chapels may have looked like.
Inside this chapel was white plaster walls with crimson curvilinear, bird, and plant designs. The
altar also had several niches decorate with statues of Christ, Santiago, and the Madonna. On the
exterior, the chapel had a thatch roof, white plastered walls, a nearby shrine, and a short
perimeter wall only on the north and south. Although the other chapels were in ruins, some
provide examples of alternative interior configurations. Chapel S1 still had plaster on the walls
with elaborate blue plant designs. Chapels S1 and N2’s altars had a large central niche with
numerous side niches instead of more or less equal sized niches. Considering the use of niches in
pre-Hispanic architecture, it is likely some of these features were absorbed in the construction of
chapels. In all observable cases, there is an investment into the chapel that uses same design
elements such as altars, paints, and walls but these differed from chapel to chapel. These
differences may have been caused by different wealth or personal choices of families
maintaining and building chapels. Unfortunately, only one chapel is in good enough condition to
accurate gauge these investments and choices.
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8.1.3. The Portable Materials
The final quality of ritualized landscapes, portable goods, provides information on the
main periods of use for this system but also hints at what sort practices were conducted at the
sites. In terms of use, the most common style of ceramics found during survey were colonial and
republican styles but this pattern may be caused by only recording surface materials. Still, six of
the twenty-five sites had evidence of pre-Hispanic ceramic styles. This may indicate that sites
reused earlier places or other types of memory practices that will be reviewed later. Styles of
ceramics found at sites such as the boulder field site and altar L1, support other conclusions
about their importance. Altar L1, for instance, may have been heavily used or very significant as
it is the third tallest and most voluminous altar. It is also one of two altars found with preHispanic ceramics nearby. This importance may be tested through excavation in future work.
Besides providing a potential date of use for sites, diagnostic artifacts found show a
preference for decoration and bowls, which supports the fact that ceremonial activities were done
along the pathways. The majority of artifacts found at altars are decorated while chapels have
more non-diagnostic plain ceramics. Chapels though are near residential structures and artifacts
recorded nearby may be discarded from residential uses rather than ceremonial ones. Therefore,
altars may offer a better insight into past ritual. For ceramic forms, out of the 125 diagnostic
artifacts recorded, 43 were cuencos or bowls while the second most determinable form was
plates (n = 24). Moreover, three altars had bowls found inside niches on the first tier. Decoration
may have been intended for participants or as a show of wealth or even labor during rituals while
the form of bowls and plates would have been ideal for display. It is also likely that these serving
vessels were used in ritualized commensal practices.
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8.2. A Dynamic Social Landscape
Much like the case studies of ritualized landscapes, the lines of Pueblo Sajama are able to
physically capture some of the complex social processes of the past. By examining these material
qualities of the landscape, we can better understand how the landscape and place making
entangled memories, social relations, and colonialism into their surroundings. These
entanglements within the landscape were possible because of the relationships between human
agents and non-human agents such as Nevado Sajama and the materiality of stone. In this
section, I will address these entanglements in the Sajama landscape. First, memory is deeply
embedded into these pathways through the use and reuse of places but also through portable
materials that may have been incorporated into ritual practices at the altars. Next, social
organization is mapped onto the lines as the ritualized landscape provides the medium and means
for group formation, but also as a way to claim affiliation with emerging colonial identities.
Finally, through this group practice in a memoryscape, the people using the lines were able to
negotiate Spanish-Catholic colonialism by subsuming pre-Columbian and Catholic images and
practices into their own sacred ontology. By examining these social processes, this addresses my
third research goal by providing examples of the effects that colonialism had on the landscape
and the people that used it.
8.2.1. Landscape of Memory
The Pueblo Sajama lines are perhaps best described as a memoryscape where social
memories of the past are cited through a human engagement with space and place. First, Andean
understandings of the sacredness of mountains and high places is represented in the lines and
altars. This is accomplished through the orientation and placement of this system. Next, memory
can be seen in this system’s use of rituals and ceremonies to mark out space much like the case
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studies of ritualized landscapes. Ritual engagement is important as it brings people into a
particular relationship by empowering materials and space involved. Finally, memory can be
seen in how the altars and perhaps chapels were using material associations with the Inka and
pre-Inka past in order to create a sacred place.
Andean ontologies of the sacred are recreated and confirmed in the Pueblo Sajama lines
through movement and the orientation of both chapels, altars, and pathways. Movement along
the lines is contrasted between the lower, interior chapels placed near residences before moving
up to higher, exterior ritual areas near Nevado Sajama. Although it is not sure what this
experience would have meant, this movement transitions through two different sensory
experiences that have been affiliated with certain cultural knowledge. As part of this movement,
Andean sacred ontologies of mountains are referenced in the use of height for altars and views of
mountains. These were both common elements in mountain worship for the Inka and other
Andean groups (Besom 2009). Perhaps just as important, Catholic symbols and styles of ritual
practice are brought into relation with this system through the chapel and the use of saints,
crosses, and Christ. This is not simply a reproduction of older Andean ontologies with
legitimization of Catholicism but a new colonial and republican sacred ontology and practice that
uses elements from the Andes and Catholicism. These understandings are referenced through
orientating chapels, altars, and pathways towards the mountain. Chapel doorways and the
pathways all are directed roughly towards the east but are more in line with Nevado Sajama.
Altars conform to this orientation by lining up with pathways and having the niches for
dedicatory materials placed on the opposite side towards the mountain. Nevado Sajama serves as
a way to orient and design sacred space but also seems to confirm sacred space by being
viewable by seven on the nine altars.
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The second way memory is embedded into the landscape is through ritually relating
people, places, and things through regular ceremonies and performances along lines. This way of
ritually relating people to their environment allowed past Andean societies to create ties to
locations, naturalize power relations, generate identity, and to generally create society. The Inka
even used this to incorporate disperse peoples in their empire with Cusco. More recently, the use
of linear processions to relate people with local, distant, and past places is well documented in
the Bolivian Altiplano (Abercrombie 1998, Uchanier 2012). With the Sajama paths then,
individuals in processions would engage the landscape in a linear fashion. Perhaps this started
near the personal, everyday space of chapels before moving up into the larger regional entities
such as Nevado Sajama or Doctor Sajama. This would trigger memories such as stories, names,
and past interactions with materials and spaces engaged with. In the past, Catholic images and
practices would become incorporated and naturalized through these practices as well. Today,
these same cultural logics of space and ritual may assist in relating tourists that climb line 3 with
a limited understanding of the past importance of Sajama and movement. This ritualized
movement in the landscape cites older Andean spatial organization through ritual engagement
that could be seen as far back as the Paracas.
Finally, the last way the Pueblo Sajama lines act as a memoryscape is through how past
events are referenced through placement of chapels and altars and perhaps even through bringing
sherds to the sites. To start, six chapels and altars have a definitive prehistoric component.
Placement of these sites may have been influenced by the proximity to older sites or perhaps
memory of older places to assist in sacred placemaking. This reuse is not the only way
placemaking was aided with portable materials as bringing ceramic sherds to altars may have
been another way. In his account of the Sajama lines, Morrison (1978) describes local Aymara
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groups bringing sherds to altars and sacred places as a sort of “currency” to the gods or spirits.
These sorts of offerings have a basis in historic accounts where apachitas were occasionally
offered goods meant to be discarded such as worn clothing or busted sandals (Bessom 2009:
109). Even if offerings of ceramics sherds were not be done, the places along the Pueblo Sajama
pathways reference past memories of ancestors through reuse of places.
8.2.2. Group Formation through Practice
One of the main features in the case studies of ritualized landscapes was the ability to
bring people together for practice at a set place and at a set time. By doing this, group formation
around the landscape allowed people to express identity and personhood. As an ongoing process,
group formation is dynamic and things such as material symbols, time, or place may allow for an
individual to claim membership with a group (Latour 2007: 28-31). The role of space is
important as it not only aides in group formation but also in creating subjectivities. Citing the
work of Lefebvre and Soja, Swenson (2015) uses concepts such as firstspace, secondspace, and
thirdspace to argue for the creation of subjectivities at the Moche site of Huaca Colorada through
embodied engagement with place. This is only made possible through highly significant spaces
and places. Near Pueblo Sajama, similar processes of group, identity, and personhood may be
observed with how people experienced the lines through practice. This navigation of groups and
self can be witnessed in the shared experience of the lines, forming ritual connections with the
surrounding landscape, and using material styles and forms as a way of participating in regional
groups and identities.
Practices along the pathways would have created a shared experience that would relate
community members, and perhaps family or small groups together. Ultimately, this shared
experience would be grounded in the use of similar spaces at the chapel, pathways, and altars.
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Chapels or the church would be artificially lit and rituals would have been conducted in this
sometimes narrow interior space. Variations in the chapels would not substantially detract away
from this experience but instead may have related individual members using the chapels with
each other. Moving out of the chapels, all the pathways had an elevation increase although this
differed along with what landscape was visible. It is unsure where exactly processions started but
this passing over the landscape would move between the everyday domestic spaces to areas more
than likely not visited as regularly. At the altar, all would have offered commanding views of
nearby snowcapped mountains such as Parinacota, Pomerape, and occasionally Nevado Sajama.
This space would be exterior and any weather would be experienced such as the persistent
Altiplano wind. Altars differed in terms of size, volume, and even small design features and this
may have served as a physical marker of past construction phases and even perhaps the design
choices of individuals. Regardless of these differences, all the altars were constructed from
unaltered stone from local sources.
Overall, these experiences would relate the people of Sajama together as well as to other
people in the highlands that did similar rituals. Within the community, community wide rituals
and ceremonies using these spaces would bring everyone together for a shared practice. As
smaller groups used chapels, families or small social groups would form in the process.
Similarities would exist between chapel rituals that would serve to connect different social
groups while differences in space, and perhaps these practices served to maintain these
boundaries. On a wider scale, these experiences using the landscape for ritual and binaries such
as low-high and interior-exterior may be relatable to other similar procession practices. This may
have related the people of Sajama to other Aymara, Quechua, or indigenous groups. It is not
possible to know exactly what colonial era people thought of when walking the lines, but their
116
experience would have created a similar community of practice that would allow the
practitioners to relate with one another, and maybe even other Andeans that engaged in similar
practices.
Besides a similar experience, chapels and the church relied on a regional style of
architecture and in doing so would allow the people of Pueblo Sajama to engage with a regional
identity. This regional church style is unique to the Carangas and Sajama in its use of atriums,
walls, white plaster, and towers (Medinaceli and Uchanier 2012). The chapels around Pueblo
Sajama demonstrate a similar style. Some chapels, such as chapel S1 and N3, had walls
surrounding them while the only chapel in decent condition, N1, had white plaster. Variants of
this chapel style existed. Chapel N1 had red interior designs while chapel S1 had larger blue
plant murals. Altars inside chapels differed in size and configurations of niches. Chapels also
reflected different levels of investment. For instance, chapel N2 has ceramic roof tiles while the
rest were built with thatch material. All in all, this style of chapels and churches relies on design
choices made elsewhere but by selecting these choices for sacred placemaking, the people of
Sajama were legitimizing their own space and engaging broader trends which allowed them to
participate in a regional identity.
All these practices may have originally maintained Carangas as an identity, but over time
these practices may have become associated with a more general Aymara identity. Based on
early historical documents, the Carangas as an ethnic group persisted at least through the 17th
century. During survey, locals identified as Aymara while Carangas was only considered as part
of the name for the seat of the provincial government. Part of this change may have been caused
by Spanish rule. Overall, colonialism brought fundamental changes to how the people of the
Andes viewed themselves. Specific pre-Hispanic ethnic groups were replaced by broader
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ethnicities often based on language and location (Ogburn 2008). However, it is not exactly sure
when the people in Pueblo Sajama would have stopped identifying themselves as Carangas. A
gradual breakdown of identity through colonial and later republican administration may be
possible but this would ignore changing ritual and everyday practices. Changing rituals may have
occurred relatively recently as the Sajama lines were gradually abandoned in some parts. Today,
the people of Pueblo Sajama use line 3 for the occasional procession but it cannot be determined
if this is a recent phenomenon or has been continuous throughout the 20th century. Future
investigations in the region may be able to correlate a change in the use of ethnonyms in archival
documents with a change in the material record. Moreover, ethnographic investigations may be
able to determine to what extent the people of Sajama are being influenced by broader national
indigeneity trends.
8.2.3. Mitigating Colonial Authority
Although the Sajama lines more than likely have origins in prehistory, the Pueblo Sajama
lines are colonial creations constructed using pre-Hispanic, Andean cultural logic of processions
and spatial organization. It was under the backdrop of colonial conversion and extirpation
campaigns that the locals of Sajama were forced to adopt elements and practices of Catholicism
into this ritual system. This was not a simple transplant of Spanish Catholicism. Instead, the
locals of Sajama selectively incorporated elements of Catholicism into their landscape and
practice. This can be observed with how places were constructed and what materials were
brought to the sites and deposited. By doing so, indigenous agents were at least partially able to
mitigate colonial authority by incorporating into their pre-existing understandings of what is
sacred.
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Using the landscape to resist, diffuse, or otherwise subsume colonial authority is not
uncommon in colonial encounters (Given 2004). With Spanish colonialism, there was an
ongoing discourse over Spanish and Andean relationships with landscape (Gose 2008: 163-165).
The Spanish recognized that uncontrolled territory represented a challenge to their governance as
their subjects could always flee into the wilderness. In fact, this was a problem in both the Andes
and Mesoamerica (Gose 2008, Jones 1989). This challenged the colonial mission as new towns
and cities needed labor but also non-Catholic practices could be continued through these
runaways. In the Andes, Don Juan Chucho Liviac, a curaca of Otuco, petitioned the Spanish in
1656 to crack down on people fleeing the reduccion as this present a threat to their conversion
and souls (ibid.: 163). Although fleeing reducciones was a threat to economies, the often stated
trouble was in maintaining a convert populous. Spanish writers depicted the Andean countryside
as affiliated with Satan, and fleeing European style villages and towns meant that locals were
communing with demonic forces. Mountains were identified as sites and conduits for this satanic
influence. In his geography, Albornoz notes that many mountains were places of pre-Hispanic
worship around wak’as dedicated to ancestor places and places of origins or pacarinas (ibid.:
166). While the Spanish depicted the landscape as demonic and counterhegemonic, Andeans
sought to integrate their landscape using Catholic practices. Gose (2008: 175-181) argues that,
through this discourse, Andeans reinterpreted ancestor worship through saints while mountains
became separated from ancestors and worshipped on their own. Although this is not the case for
all the whole Andes (Bastien 1978), the Spanish only recorded the first mountain worship
relatively late after contact in 1617 at San Pedro de Ninacaca (Gose 2008: 179). Even
ethnohistoric sources about worship at mountains do not attribute worship to the mountain itself,
but other factors such as proximity to gods, views, or significant cultural space (Bessom 2009).
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More investigations into colonial era ritual would be needed to fully understand this
transformation of worship. However, what is clear is that Spanish colonialism required Andeans
to use Catholic practices to reclaim and re-identify with their surroundings.
At the pathways around Pueblo Sajama, this discourse can be observed in the use of
chapels or the church with the altars. Chapels were a new style and form that used interior space
filled with Catholic imagery for ritual. These places were linked physically through a pathway to
the altars often placed in high places and constructed out of unworked stone. The type of place is
important as high places with views of snowcapped mountains are very common for ritual
practice in the pre-Hispanic Andes (Bessom 2009; Dean 2015; McEwan 2015). Furthermore, the
use of stone in the altars may be a reference to the use of stone in many sacred features in the
Andes such as apachitas. This use of unworked stone recalls the past sacred and metaphysical
importance of stone in the Andes by the Inka and other societies (Christie 2008, 2016; Dean
2010, 2015; Kosiba 2015). Perhaps most importantly, deposits found at the altars are somewhat
similar to historical sources on what was offered to apachitas. In these references to Andean
sacredness, the people of Sajama were adopting to colonialism by bringing Catholic symbols and
practices into their own understandings of sacredness. By doing this, the people were able to
avoid Spanish colonial authority and resist colonialism.
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CHAPTER NINE: CONCLUSION
The lines of Pueblo Sajama demonstrate the ritualization of space and a re-engagement of
colonial people with their landscape. These processes can be seen in the distribution of ceramics,
the difference in architecture, and the pathways themselves. In order to make these conclusions
about this landscape, I directed research based on three goals: (1) identify and record ritual
behavior and qualities of ritual, (2) create a model that could be applied to other examples of
ritualized landscapes, and (3) investigate how the observed ritual system was a product of
colonial negotiation. In order to gather empirical data to addresses these goals, in the field I
gathered information to address (a) what materials were associated with the Pueblo Sajama lines
and (b) whether space impact materials and behavior. In this last chapter, I first summarize what
I found for each research question, before discussing conclusions for each goal. I conclude with
some directions for future research and some final thoughts on how this thesis relates to broader
topics.
The two research questions served as a guide for fieldwork. Question one, about
materials associations, was answered by recording artifacts and features. We found that the
majority of surface artifacts were colonial and that most features types were similar to one
another. However, there are exceptions. At several sites we recorded pre-Hispanic style and form
of artifacts. At the features, chapels differed in terms of design elements while altars differed
substantially in terms of volume. The second research question, whether space and place
impacted the lines, helped in determining patterns along these lines. This is clear when
examining how Nevado Sajama orients the whole system. Each chapel and the church are
oriented towards the east, as is traditional for Catholic structures, but are just enough off east to
be oriented towards the mountain. Furthermore, each structure has at least one line that runs
121
more or less towards the mountain. At the altars, several altars have views of the mountain and
those that do may have been referencing the shape of the mountain in construction. Besides
Sajama influencing the lines, altars are statistically more likely to have more painted or
diagnostic ceramics than chapels. This may have been caused by a variety of practices at the
chapels, which are near domestic structures, while the altars may have been used exclusively or
primarily for ceremonial rituals. By investigating these two questions through fieldwork, I was
able to discuss the three main research goals.
The first goal, to document the qualities of ritual along the pathways, required a thorough
record of the materials found along the Pueblo Sajama lines. Moreover, this was not just noting
what ceramic styles were found but also patterns as discussed above. To address this goal, I used
a model for ritualized landscapes as outlined in chapter four, and discussed in the previous
chapter. This model allowed for comparisons to be made within the line system such with the
number of pathways from chapels. Chapel N1, for instance, had two lines while the other chapels
only had one. This may be explained by larger group using chapel N1 or perhaps different,
additional rituals occurring at the site. Investigating the qualities of ritual also allowed for
discussions about the social functions of the pathways. Ritual use would have facilitated group
formation, whether at a family or community level, and this would have related the people of
Sajama with other people in the Andes that engaged in similar practices. Finally, documenting
materials allowed for the identification of pre-Hispanic artifacts. The presence of prehistoric
artifacts may suggest either reuse of precolonial places, or the use of precolonial artifacts in the
creation of sacred places. All in all, recording this information allowed for additional discussion
about memory and past social practices, but it also provided an example of colonial encounters
with the Carangas, a society not fully understood archaeologically.
122
The second goal was to create and test a model that could be applied to other ritualized
landscapes. This model was initially created by examining case studies for other Andean
landscapes, and noting important lines of inference in pathways, stations, and portable materials.
The Pueblo Sajama lines provide this opportunity for investigating patterns with the pathways,
stations, and portable materials. By using the model, I was able to discuss how different rituals
may have created different patterns. For example, chapel N1 had two pathways and interviews
with locals indicated that chapel N1 was the site of rituals that were done at other chapels.
Moreover, examining the stations—particularly altars—revealed how important mountains were
to orienting the system, but also how unmodified stone still factors into sacred construction.
Ultimately, the goal is to create and refine a model that could examine other instances of the
Sajama lines, and compare this ritualized landscape with other landscapes in order to make
meaningful comparisons.
The final goal for this research was to assess a colonial encounter. The Pueblo Sajama
lines are a good example of the late colonial negotiation that occurred over the roughly three
centuries of Spanish colonial rule. Chapels and churches were constructed using a style that was
already developed elsewhere in the Carangas province. These new sacred places at Pueblo
Sajama were built under a new understanding of Catholic and Andean sacred practices. Chapels
and churches were built within communities and residential structures. Altars were constructed
on high places in the landscape, and they might have reused pre-Hispanic places. Examining the
materials recorded and ontologies represented in the pathways documents a colonial ritual
system that has elements of Spanish Catholicism and Andean sacred understandings. In this way,
the use of the Pueblo Sajama lines navigated colonial religious authority by conforming under
locals sacred understandings of their landscape. This may be part of broader colonial perceptions
123
of the landscape (see Gose 2008). Lastly, the colonial ritual landscape should be seen as a new
system that modified practices, symbols, materials, and understandings from both Europe and the
Andes. By doing so, elements of this ritual system may appear Andean or European but are the
unique products of a colonial encounter. Future research into the Sajama lines should investigate
how Spanish colonialism may have not just modified preexisting ontologies and practices, but
instead created new ones.
9.1. Directions for Future Research
As I outlined in sections of this thesis, there are additional directions for further research
regarding both the Carangas and the Sajama lines. First, excavations could be done at altars,
chapels, and the boulder field site to better understand temporal patterns and to determine how
long sites were used. Also, more ethnographic research could be conducted to examine how the
pathways are used during carnival and for other rituals include mesa offerings. Interviews could
also be done to potentially determine how rituals are changing in relation to broader national
trends. Elsewhere in the Sajama region, archaeological research could be done to better
understand how colonialism impacted the Carangas first through relocation and then through
gradual repopulation of the region. This may include how the Sajama lines were reconfigured to
use new colonial places. Finally, the Sajama lines could be studied to determine their origins and
how they were changed during the Late Horizon and Colonial era. Researchers believe they are
prehistoric but are unsure when they were created and exactly how they were used over time.
9.2. Memory in Colonial Context
Memory is not just inscribed, embodied, personal, or some other type: memory is
political, generative, legitimating, and one way future action is primed and expected. Memory is
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also not just for events but for dispositions, traditions, practices, identity, and negotiation. Above
all, memory is political and works to support and naturalize the actions of human agents in
navigating their world. In this way, the people of Sajama employed memory to create a new
ritual system and sacred places that relied on past understandings of space, mountains, and stone
to incorporate Catholic symbols, practices, and materials. This use of memory is political and the
people of Sajama employed memory in adopting Catholicism and in avoiding colonial violence.
This research shows how an examination of social memory can be applied to colonial studies,
and to better understand how colonized peoples can partially determine outcomes through the
use of memories of the past. This process entails not only a reuse of pre-colonial spaces, but also
a reuse and reinterpretation of styles, forms, ontologies, and traditions. Because of this highly
mutable nature, memory can serve as a better tool for understanding colonial encounters, as
opposed to processes of hybridity.
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VITA
Adam Birge received a B.A. in anthropology and history from Washington State
University in 2010. His fieldwork experience include excavations and survey in Washington,
New Jersey, Oregon, Peru, and Bolivia. Through these experiences, he has excavated mortuary
sites in southern Peru, surveyed hunter-gatherer sites in the northern Great Basin, and excavated
a 19th century glass factory in central New Jersey. He is planning on joining the Ph.D. program at
the University of Texas at San Antonio in fall 2016. In the future, he hopes to continue to
conduct research in the Andes and teach at the university level.