It felt like detective work. In reality I'd mainly just walked down one long road. I'd passed through the populated streets of Nazca, to the less populated parts, to a wall that signified this road's end. The rest of the tour group was pursuing other activities, while I followed these requested directions to a different agenda.
Outside the gate to a large property the sign read 'Museo'. I rang the bell, exchanged an "Hola" on the intercom and the gate buzzed open.
It seemed that this was a sizeable household residence, with the larger part being a private museum. An elderly Peruvian lady greeted me and I bludgeoned my way through the language barrier until we gained an understanding. It seemed that the lady of the house would be back soon, but in the meantime I was given access to the museum with an English guidebook explaining the exhibits.
I tried to take my time, but there was really one main display I was after. The skulls. Craniums mishapen to increase their length for prestige apparently, like much religious headware today. I'd previously read the idea that brain plasticity could fill the extra 'headroom'. My info at the source suggested that the build up of fluid pressure would sometimes need a hole to be drilled through the forehead. Fuck asprin, hey? This hole also doubled as a rope hole after death so that the now ceremonial skull could be carried around.
The curator arrived and she carried a fancy cane, which seemed fitting. Her English was as sketchy as my Spanish, so my questions were limited. She opened a door to the backyard, removed a restricted access sign and indicated where I could walk. Outside there was a reconstructed aqueduct and other archaeological finds. There was also a pet peacock. I followed the path around to a raised platform that stood above a scale model of the Nazca lines. This was useful as I was soon due to rejoin the group and fly over them.
The Nazca lines are a series of huge markings (geoglyphs) including pictures of living creatures etched into the desert floor. The mystery for the images is that they can only be appreciated from the air. It wasn't until commercial aircraft flew over the patterns in the 1920's that they were (re)discovered. Before then, the Pan American Highway had already been built, obliviosly cutting through one of the images.
The lines were drawn over hundreds of years and preserved by the dry desert conditions. Due to this long time frame, more than one theory may fit their purpose. Some seem to point to water sources, others may fit a solar calendar or have astronomical references and there is even anecdotal evidence from pilots that some match condor flight patterns. A theory I heard here is that the maximum payload of a condor is greater than the weight of a little Peruvian dude, and condors can apparently be trained. My vantage point was to be via small aircraft.
As we took flight it immediately felt bumpy and hot. For each image in the desert floor, the plane performed a figure 8 maneuver with a heavy tilt on the wings so that each side of this 6 seater would get a decent view.
A steady photo proved difficult. The co-piolt announced the image of the 'Astronout' - a humanoid figure pointing upwards to the sky and down to the earth. I was only able to capture a mediocre shot on this turbulent gut wrencher.
My fingers rested in contact with the sick bag hanging in front of me. As I did several small distrustful burps, I was ready to quick draw like a queasy high noon cowboy.
We circled around some more images as I felt my stomach perform the magical carrot chunk transformation. Appreciation was rapidly diminished by nausea. The co-piolt announced that here is the shape of the whatever. I kept it together by a thread as we eventually landed, but this flight may be an example where the documentary is actually better.
In the next flight for the tour group, another member refunded breakfast soon after takeoff. She said it felt good, allowing her to enjoy the rest of the show. That's the thing about spew, sometimes it really does feel great. Other times it feels like gargling acid. I realise I could have titled this post 'The Nazca Lines Mystery & The Philosophy of Vomit'.
Outside the gate to a large property the sign read 'Museo'. I rang the bell, exchanged an "Hola" on the intercom and the gate buzzed open.
It seemed that this was a sizeable household residence, with the larger part being a private museum. An elderly Peruvian lady greeted me and I bludgeoned my way through the language barrier until we gained an understanding. It seemed that the lady of the house would be back soon, but in the meantime I was given access to the museum with an English guidebook explaining the exhibits.
I tried to take my time, but there was really one main display I was after. The skulls. Craniums mishapen to increase their length for prestige apparently, like much religious headware today. I'd previously read the idea that brain plasticity could fill the extra 'headroom'. My info at the source suggested that the build up of fluid pressure would sometimes need a hole to be drilled through the forehead. Fuck asprin, hey? This hole also doubled as a rope hole after death so that the now ceremonial skull could be carried around.
The curator arrived and she carried a fancy cane, which seemed fitting. Her English was as sketchy as my Spanish, so my questions were limited. She opened a door to the backyard, removed a restricted access sign and indicated where I could walk. Outside there was a reconstructed aqueduct and other archaeological finds. There was also a pet peacock. I followed the path around to a raised platform that stood above a scale model of the Nazca lines. This was useful as I was soon due to rejoin the group and fly over them.
The Nazca lines are a series of huge markings (geoglyphs) including pictures of living creatures etched into the desert floor. The mystery for the images is that they can only be appreciated from the air. It wasn't until commercial aircraft flew over the patterns in the 1920's that they were (re)discovered. Before then, the Pan American Highway had already been built, obliviosly cutting through one of the images.
The lines were drawn over hundreds of years and preserved by the dry desert conditions. Due to this long time frame, more than one theory may fit their purpose. Some seem to point to water sources, others may fit a solar calendar or have astronomical references and there is even anecdotal evidence from pilots that some match condor flight patterns. A theory I heard here is that the maximum payload of a condor is greater than the weight of a little Peruvian dude, and condors can apparently be trained. My vantage point was to be via small aircraft.
As we took flight it immediately felt bumpy and hot. For each image in the desert floor, the plane performed a figure 8 maneuver with a heavy tilt on the wings so that each side of this 6 seater would get a decent view.
A steady photo proved difficult. The co-piolt announced the image of the 'Astronout' - a humanoid figure pointing upwards to the sky and down to the earth. I was only able to capture a mediocre shot on this turbulent gut wrencher.
My fingers rested in contact with the sick bag hanging in front of me. As I did several small distrustful burps, I was ready to quick draw like a queasy high noon cowboy.
We circled around some more images as I felt my stomach perform the magical carrot chunk transformation. Appreciation was rapidly diminished by nausea. The co-piolt announced that here is the shape of the whatever. I kept it together by a thread as we eventually landed, but this flight may be an example where the documentary is actually better.
In the next flight for the tour group, another member refunded breakfast soon after takeoff. She said it felt good, allowing her to enjoy the rest of the show. That's the thing about spew, sometimes it really does feel great. Other times it feels like gargling acid. I realise I could have titled this post 'The Nazca Lines Mystery & The Philosophy of Vomit'.
No comments:
Post a Comment