My Dream, Manifest: The Arid North Coast, the Chimu and the City of Chan Chan

I walked up a slight slope, concrete trail...surrounded by forest, high mountains, blue skies. It was a trail on which I usually walk in Lake Tahoe, my hometown. I start to see block images pop up, like T.V. screens; just the image, displaying windows into another Universe. I choose the first window I see, and, once engaged in it, that visual depiction instantly becomes my reality. Now I'm walking at night, on a dirt trail, flat land. It feels like a desert as sand-chiseled and shaped structures decorate both sides of the path. Everything is familiar, like I've known the place for a long time. Almost like the second-nature action of tying your shoelaces. The other images that appeared from the thin-air screens showed other places that were familiar: rigid and young mountains, small villages of Andean shacks, lots of green. Just then, a homely feeling rushed through me; I knew all of these places most intimately. I felt that this was a homecoming to various locations, immediate and simultaneous. 


I elected to enter one of the sand structures off to my left. Diving into this home, I instantly navigated my way through the first room, down a hallway, to the left, left again, and then to the right... I felt the presence of my brother behind me, almost chasing me through this labyrinth of halls. It shifted from Real-time to fast-forward. As if orienteering was my forte, I knew the route, the secret hiding spots, the way in and out. This house and, by extension, this place used to be my home!

I popped out of my fool-me dream to realize that it was just that, nighttime rubbish. I rubbed my face and stretched while feeling unusually energized, amazed that I had just experienced something so synchronistic. I wasn't sure where I had gone, but I got the feeling that my dream and everything in it, was a premonition shown to me prior to my return to the Andes Mountains.

Initially, my journey took me to Quito, Ecuador. It was exhilarating to descend into the Mariscal Sucre Airport in Quito, and the high elevation "risks" (at least to the interpretation of this novice) of 9,200 some feet, even at night. Fortunate for us passengers, touchdown was smooth and so was the rest of the evening.

As I relaxingly sat in my hostel room that evening, I felt a strange pull coming from a place that I couldn't pin-point, bound to me like follicle to skin. During the entire time I spent in Ecuador, I repeatedly experienced this sensation as if it was guiding me to another place. At first, I did my best to just ignore it, or, at other times, allow the feeling to be, but in the end I knew I had to heed its call, like it or not. My attempt to ignore came by way of venturing to Guayaquil and up the Ecuadorian coast all the way to Canoa (a quaint beach town at the midway point on Ecuador's coast). My internal resolution came by way of opting to travel further south into Peru; nonetheless, this giant being-tug remained albeit less intense. So, I left Ecuador.

As we crossed the Peruvian border I felt we were entering into familiar terrain as a concomitant camaraderic (sp.) bond manifest. It felt like I was being sucked-in by a sort of vacuum to the south. This was evident when rather than waiting around and experiencing any of the places that I was traveling to, I instead opted to hastily make my way to the beach town of Huanchaco. There, with the rough afternoon waves of the Pacific crashing down upon vacant shore, I felt at least a bit more at ease. I found Huanchaco to be the perfect place to rest and take stock of the places to which I had been traveling in my former mindless hurry.

Huanchaco was mellow, relaxed, like most small beach towns the world over. It was a getaway for Peruvians coming from nearby Trujillo, Chiclayo, and Cajamarca. Also, Limenos and others jaunt to these "nice" beaches for weekend and holiday fun. I, too, enjoyed this slow-motion aspect while, once having allowed it in, my consciousness immediately followed suit.

And, of course, like anywhere else in Peru, tourists were a-plenty, not only because of the allure of the beautiful beaches, but also, I found, due to the close-by ruins of Chan Chan. Immediately, upon news of the presence of these ruins, I inquired as to the best method to reach them. On my way into town, via a local Trujillo taxista, I was informed of their location (in fact, we passed them on the road to Huanchaco). I needed to find these ruins! The strong pull that brought me down this far south, the pull on the core of my-self, was now a violent tug not even allowing me a choice in the matter...

So off I went. I took the local "Huanchaco to Chan Chan" bus and left to the site. Ten minutes later, following a grease-filled bus ride with bus and driver embodying the description, I was let off at the entrance to the road leading to the Chan Chan ruins. From my vantage point there, I peered out at the desert expanse that was this great city. I paid witness to a truly remarkable site here on the arid Peruvian coast: a panoramic treasure of yet to be excavated ruins deep-dusted over from centuries of the Humboldt current-blown sand. These ruins were marked by uneven mini mounds of sand protruding from the earth in every direction. I suspected that bone-dry funding was the culprit (among other reasons) for this stunted project potential. I walked the quarter mile down toward the beach to the excavated section of the ruin site. Although I was oblivious to it then, I was walking along a path that cut through the world's largest adobe city.

Chan Chan is located a couple of miles west of Trujillo, and was the capital city (with a population of around 30,000 inhabitants) of the Chimu (built around 850 A.D.). The Chimu Culture (or, the Kingdom of Chimu) was based in fishing, agriculture, and many artisan works such as metallurgy (gold, silver, copper and bronze), pottery, and wood-carving, among others. It was a culture that developed out of the Moche tradition and lasted until the Incas conquered them in 1470 A.D. The area ruled by the Chimu extended (at its height) from the Jequetepeque River in northern Peru to just north of present-day Lima (although other areas further south were inhabited during the society's life-span).


I found my way to the gates of the five-percent or so section that is the excavated portion of Chan Chan, the Tschudi Complex. From there, I walked through the wood/bamboo-formed gates and structure past a group of awaiting official local guides who offered their services but to whom I gratefully declined. It was as if I was on a mission, for the truth that I spoke to the guides was so forthright that none of them even insisted. I immediately paid the entrance fee and entered the site.

Right away, there was something familiar about this adobe paradise. The site's walls, now all mostly half their previous/original size due mostly to erosion, were in the shape of a maze with the only hope for space to be found in the large areas where temples or important rooms were placed. After walking the halls (essentially) of the Chan Chan site for a few minutes I came around a bend that led me toward the first and most impressive room in the entire site: a temple. This open, almost stadium-like room with a stage/ceremonial area at the far reaches of it, had walls adorned in the typical Chimu style: etchings of fish, crab, birds and other coastal objects and shapes.

In fact, as I paced myself through the other halls and larger sections of the ruin site, I was privy to much more of this elaborate wall decor. It was impressive to see that much of it had been well-maintained while still other parts had been renovated or redone all together.

Chan Chan was essentially mine, except for a few other random visitors to the site. I had picked the best time to come, after the hordes of school children and other visitors had left. It was like my own ruin park through which I could (re)imagine just what it was like to be a citizen of Chan Chan. I saw myself become a fisherman (anew), the husband of an artisan, the brother of a metallurgy (silver, gold, copper and bronze) crafter, the son of a master cook, the uncle of a shaman. I catapulted myself back to the time of the hay-day of what was this grand society and into the fiestas that were often held to honor the royal and religious/spiritual figures of the day. We drank chicha (the drink of the Andes and Peru), ate abundantly, including the following: fresh fish and grains with peppers from nearby, yucca and potatoes from the mountains, and exotic fruits from the faraway jungles.

All of these imaginings were the product of what I gathered by just being present to this place, without the jabber of some random guide, without the insight of a guidebook or map, without the noise that usually penetrates and shudders through places of such interest as ancient ruin sites.
Unable to deny the evident, which struck me like an unseen fist to face, I was now home. The dream that I had had previous to my trip to South America was manifesting. As I walked through the various halls of Chan Chan, I could remember what it was like to live in this place. There was no separation between me and the structures, the city, the environment on the coast, the wind currents coming from the Pacific, for I had lived in this city before and my dream of it was just a call ahead to make sure that I would be coming.

So here I was! And the rest just happened. I could have stayed there, walking through the constructions of adobe and sand-dilapidated ruins for the rest of the day, night, and probably forever. This was how much at home I felt, for few other places compare in regards to comfort and knowingness (sp.) of place.

Walking out of the Chan Chan site I was at peace with myself; it was as if something was complete by just being present at the site. I sensed that ever since I had the initial dream of the ruin site, I had had an energetic connector attached to me that pulled me to this place. I felt that now that connector had released and that I was now home, at the center of the Earth.