Shaping a Nation’s Story: Fortaleza Real Felipe, Port of Callou, Peru

It’s our first morning in Peru and the students are running on a scant four hours of sleep and strong coffee. First on the agenda is this massive pentagonal stone fort. It’s one of the largest that the Spanish built overseas, constructed in 1747 to protect Lima’s port from pirates lured by New World gold and silver.

You're noticing a really eclectic presentation of history here. Think about how a site like this challenges the master narrative.

The fort now catalogs Peru’s military history over more than 17 acres. The students are simultaneously over- and underwhelmed: the introductory video and labels are in Spanish, and creepy mannequins model modern military uniforms. Pre-Columbian ceramics and a large poster of Machu Picchu lend a random element to the march through Peru’s military past.

We pause to take stock in a courtyard lined with cannons from the Ecuadorian-Peruvian War of 1941.

“You’re noticing a really eclectic presentation of history here,” Laurence Hare says. “Think about how a site like this challenges the presentation of a master narrative. Where are the gaps, and where are the incongruities? Keep your eyes open, look for those moments, and see if you can get a feel for where those tensions are.”

And like that, the experience shifts. In the “Hall of Heroes” we notice the front-and-center placement of the bronze bust of a glaring Tupac Amaru II, a descendent of the last Inca who met a bloody end after leading an 18th-century uprising against the Spanish. The Spanish coat of arms over the entrance to the Castillo de Real Felipe has been chiseled and blurred, a post-independence attempt to erase the colonial past. And a relatively new gallery, “Tribute to Women,” remembers the camp followers, spies and wives who played an important role in past conflicts – and helps to recruit present-day women into Peru’s army.

Shawn Austin alerts the students to watch for coverage of the 19th century War of the Pacific as a moment of reckoning when the Peruvians lost substantial territory to Chile. “There was terrible destruction and they lost, big time. How do they move forward from that loss?”

His question is answered by the poignant Casa de la Respuesta (House of the Answer), a replica of a house once on Peruvian soil, located in today’s Chile, where in 1880 Peruvian General Francisco Bolognesi refused to bow down in defeat, despite being outnumbered. “The house presents the Peruvian’s take on the War of the Pacific, a narrative of noble martyrdom,” Hare posits.

At night and on the bus throughout the trip, the students read more than 500 pages of primary sources and scholarly articles. During the day, at sites like this and many others throughout our journey, they learn to “read” how history is packaged and presented to audiences, from the Spanish colonial era to the present day.

Navigating Tourism – Isla Amantaní, Lake Titicaca

Our speedboat skims across the clear blue waters of Lake Titicaca, purported birthplace of the first Inca, Manco Cápac. Dotted with islands both natural and manmade from reeds, the lake shelters indigenous peoples whose traditional way of life centers around fishing, farming, weaving – and now, tourism.

When we arrive at Isla Amantaní, our hostess Valentina and her L’Ampayuni kinswomen lay necklaces of kantuta, the national flower of Peru, around our necks and escort us up the hill to their home, a coral-colored adobe compound, lush with brightly colored flowers, that has been expanded to accommodate groups like ours.

It’s student Katie Gerth’s turn to present, and she reports on the impact of tourism on the indigenous populations who make their home on Lake Titicaca. There are positives: “Tourism is Peru’s second-largest industry, and Peru itself has the second-highest growth rate in Latin America, probably thanks in large part to tourism,” Katie says. She points to economic growth, education and cultural survival as positive benefits for the people who live on these islands at a time when global assimilation threatens.

But there are drawbacks. The locals own their land, but anti-monopoly laws passed in 1991 gave tourist agencies a foothold to control the experience – first through boat transportation to the islands, and now management of scheduling, meals and homestays. “To gain back control one would think that the islanders should just become the tour guides, but this is difficult, because becoming a tour guide requires a four-year degree in tourism.” Cultural and economic hurdles make that degree a tall order, Katie adds.

We come away from Katie’s presentation a bit wary but are soon embraced in preparations for a spectacular midday meal. Katie and another student, Rashi Ghosh, volunteer to help and practice their Spanish while chopping vegetables for soup in the tiny kitchen.

The major bustle takes place outdoors, where local men shovel hot stones from a large campfire into two earthen pits lined with eucalyptus leaves. Our hosts are treating us to a special celebratory meal of Pachamanca (“earth pot”), and quite literally, the earth cradles searing hot stones that cook chicken marinated in herbs and garlic and wrapped in oiled paper. Bright purple, gold and russet potatoes are also nestled into the steaming hot cavity. The feast is rounded out with sopa de trigo, a wheat and vegetable soup; steamed broccoli, onions, carrots and choclos, jumbo-sized Peruvian corn; and a spicy aji salsa that we slather on the chicken. “I’d say this is the best meal we’ve had so far in Peru – including fine dining,” Austin opines, and all of us agree.

Peru has the second-highest growth rate in Latin America, probably thanks in large part to tourism – but there are drawbacks.

Austin and several other athletes among us work off lunch with a pick-up game of soccer with two local boys on a playing field well up the mountain, where fetching the ball provides as much exercise as scoring goals. Then the whole group, led by Valentina’s brother Jacinto, decide to climb 1,000 feet to one of two shrines on the island, this one dedicated to Pachatata (“earth father”).

It’s a tough climb, at high altitude. Austin and our host take the lead, chatting in Spanish. We stop frequently to catch our breath and wait for stragglers to catch up. At one such stop, Jacinto produces a bag of coca leaves. We are invited to take three leaves each and chew on them, and following this ritual rooted in Incan times, the climb seems doable. We make it to the top, pose for pictures, circle the shrine three times for good luck, then beat the rain storm down the mountain.

After dinner, our island idyll takes a turn towards full-on tourism. Our guide encourages us to don native dress – the men pull on ponchos and chullos, knitted caps with earflaps that keep them warm, a plus given that rain has brought a steep drop in temperatures. We women are dressed in embroidered blouses and polleras, heavy wool skirts, over our jeans, and Valentina cinches the skirts tight with chumpis, intricately woven belts. Then we head to a dance in a nearby community hall, where a band plays traditional tunes and locals show up to drink beer and dance with us. I’m uncomfortable wearing the costume and later learn that others had reservations about the experience as well.

The next day, Austin summarizes the dance as a “forced fiesta” cooked up by the tour guide, but this experience becomes a defining teaching moment in the course.

Professors Hare and Austin want to cut out the trip to Amantaní altogether on the next trip to Peru, but the students describe the experience as perspective changing. “This was one of our only chances to actually engage with indigenous people on this trip,” Katie points out. “I learned what it is to be a tourist – this was important for us to see,” Rachel Lindsey says.

“We find ourselves – an honors class – in this complicated position of how to experience these moments,” Austin says. “And that’s what I love about this class, because these students are cognizant of this, and we’re talking about it constantly. They’re questioning, ‘what does identity mean in these contexts?’”

Seeing Machu Picchu

“We’re going to have class outside today!” Laurence Hare jokes. We’re up at dawn, getting a quick breakfast before joining the long line of tourists waiting for a bus up to Machu Picchu. After a bumpy ride zigzagging up hairpin turns, we join another line and then finally, we’re in.

It’s crowded as we climb the stone steps and we hear accents and languages from around the world – all of these people, like us, intent on having their moment at Machu Picchu. We come to the main gate, which offers our first view of the terraced stronghold, nestled beside Huayna Picchu’s steep slopes. It’s breathtaking, but unlike the postcards and pictures in guidebooks, the place is clotted with hordes of people in neon climbing garb, clutching walking sticks and selfie sticks and leaning in close to snap shots with grazing llamas.

We finally claim a secluded terrace, and Spencer Soule shares his research on the 1911 discovery of Machu Picchu by Hiram Bingham, an explorer and lecturer at Yale who paid one sol to a local farmer to lead him to the ruins. Bingham struggled to identify this spectacular find. Birthplace of the Inca? Last Incan capitol? All wrong. “Archeologists believe it was a retreat for the 9th Incan ruler, Pachacutec, who ordered it to be created in 1450,” Spencer reports. “He came between battle campaigns in winter, because it was warm – something like an Incan Camp David.”

Bingham was more successful at romanticizing Machu Picchu as the “Lost City of the Inca,” sparking a desire to see and be seen there that persists to this day. Following Spencer’s presentation, Hare asks him, “When we take pictures here, what are we looking for, in the 21st century?”

“That’s a hard question,” Spencer replies quickly, then more slowly, says: “I think we’re arbitrarily trying to capture the moment, when maybe we should just kind of focus on living in the moment.”

Outdoor class is on. Hare reminds the students about an article they read that discussed different ways of “seeing” the Andes and Machu Picchu. We look out, but immediately focus on the hundreds of visitors crawling around the ruins. Hare asks, “Don’t you wish we could blast all the tourists to outer space and have the place to ourselves?” We agree wholeheartedly, and Hare says: “But wait. There’s one person who’s not removed. How many of you took a selfie?”

Several students sheepishly raise their hands. “What’s up with that?” he asks. Ellie Jones allows that the selfie is a “bragging picture.” “I think we’re okay with tourism if it’s us,” Spencer adds. Hare follows up: “You can buy tons of postcards of Machu Picchu, but if you’re in the picture, then you’re part of the experience.”

We spend the rest of the morning working every inch of the site. Kaitlyn Akel, initially overcome by being here, collects herself to present on Incan construction and engineering. Austin delves deep into the Incan relationship with stones as “lithic brothers,” where stone takes on roles that range from framing views to portraying rulers by literally including traces of their hair and nail clippings. We discuss the readings while gazing out at spectacular views, a rare chance to discuss this storied site, on site.

First a sprinkle, then a steady rain finally drives us offsite for sandwiches and sodas offered at exorbitant prices in both soles and dollars. After lunch, we climb back up to Machu Picchu. Thanks to the rain, momentarily, the crowds have cleared, and we have an opportunity to appreciate, as Kaitlyn put it, “pure Incan thought, pure Incan design at work.”

What We Take Home

It’s our last morning in Cusco. We rush around buying chullos and chocolate for friends and family back home, gulping down the last bit of coca tea, and easing zippers closed on overstuffed bags. With a precipitous ascent out of the Cusco airport, we start the 19-hour journey home, arriving in Arkansas just two days before the start of the spring semester.

Soon enough, our selfies at Machu Picchu will get buried in the Instagram feed, and – dare I say it? – some of the finer points from the 533 pages of readings will fade as students tackle new courses, the next paper.

I saw history as a bunch of names and dates and large-scale events that didn’t mean a lot to me. H2P reshaped that vision into something that was more about individuals and more about discovery.

But the most important lessons won’t be lost: the way nations shape their stories; how conquering cultures build on old ones. For sure, Honors Passport has offered a master class on engaging respectfully with other cultures. “We’ve had a lot of good discussions about how to be a tourist, what’s okay and what’s not okay,” Anthony Azzun says. “I think my biggest takeaway is realizing how important it is to be intentional when interacting with people, especially when you’re abroad, because it’s a very special opportunity that not everyone has.”

For Cami Conroy, the trip to Peru, and the three H2P courses that preceded it, have radically changed her vision of history. “I saw history as a bunch of names and dates and large-scale events that didn’t mean a lot to me. H2P reshaped that vision into something that was more about individuals and more about discovery.”

Discovering Peru’s past, its present and the way the two commingle in a street parade, an outdoor feast or at Machu Picchu will stay with these students, and gives them the tools they need to read and gracefully navigate future cultural encounters.