This is the Andes | Time Travel Does Exist

It’s one of those days. When you wake up and the sun is perfectly shinning. The brightness of it feels as warm as the people walking the quiet and empty streets. Breakfast tastes more heavenly than normal, as if all the flavors are dancing upon your tongue. It’s one of those days you can tell from the moment you open your eyes that the day is special, it’s extraordinary. The energy is radiating positivity and it is contagious. It can penetrate into the depths of your soul. All is perfectly aligned in the universe and you feel connected to it all. You are in unison with a higher source.

This is how I felt when I woke up in the charming village of Alausí. Recognized as a “Pueblo Magico” in Ecuador, I understood why. There is something peculiar here, but I have not put my finger on it yet, especially since I just woke up.

I walk out of the village past the old Bull Ring. The light is reflecting off the mountains making the powerful Andes reflect in hues of green. It’s almost otherworldly, as if I’m seeing new shades of colors that have been blended on a creative artist’s palette for the first time. I pass by barking dogs on rooftops, alpacas grazing lazily in fields that appear to never end, and humans that make it a point to greet me with a melody of “buenos dias” and toothy grins. Good vibes here are infectious.

I’m walking to the trailhead of the Devil’s Nose. While the train ride that departs from Alausi has made the village quite famous, Covid has crippled tourism and the trains sit empty at the Depot. They have not glided along the tracks in almost 2 years.

I decide to hike out to the Devil’s Nose. You can still walk a parallel trail with intrepid travelers who feel drawn to the area. I sensed the magnetic pull to come here and find myself quite happy with this decision.

It feels so good to be back in the mountains. There is an energy source that radiates from the powerful Apus. The Indigenous refer to these mountains as Gods. Looking at them and walking respectfully on them, I can feel their wisdom, love, and the lessons they carry in each rock and blade of grass. They are communicating through me via the wind and after gazing upon them my eyes are unsure they have ever seen such beauty. Everything is so grand that I am having a hard time comprehending and digesting their abundance. Can anyone else feel this?

I continue on the small dirt path that twists alongside the mountain. Looking out in the distance, I see the mountains. Looking up, the sky is such a bright blue coloring and there is just a slight hint of clouds forming. Looking down, I see the empty rail tracks, a stunning river valley, and the realization of the towering height of these jagged peaks.

I see my end goal in sight: Cóndor Puñuna. This condor statue and viewpoint site is run by the local Indigenous Nizag community. They dress in red, speak Kichwa, and wear smiles as wide as the river valley.

I’m still in awe of the beauty and views that are encircling me. I’m standing “on top” of the Devil’s Head and I haven’t seen the Andes shine in this light in a long time. If these are the view from his head, I laugh to myself and think maybe hell wouldn’t be so bad.

The community tells me they will have food and dance, but to go enjoy the mountain until they are ready. I climb down towards his nose and sit in the sun, breathing deep the wonder of this planet. I go into a meditative state.

How is it that I ended here, on a speck of rock that is spinning wildly through the void that is the universe? I am feeling reflective and full of gratitude as I bask in the sun, lying on the grass, relishing in the magnificence that is the universe.

There are whispers that the Andes are full of energy sources that we can’t explain. After spending a majority of my time in them for the last few years, I see this clearly as a truth. There are portals hidden in caves. Ancient civilizations built sacred sites around these portals, like Ñaupa Iglesia in the Sacred Valley. There are unexplainable energy sources radiating from the megalith structures that were built by the Incas, or maybe they simply inherited these mysterious sites.

There are mountains here that can create their own energy sources, like Saywa in Urubamba Peru. I witnessed this phenomenon with my own eyes on multiple occasions. The more time you spend in the Andes, the more you can see that these aren’t legends or myths. They are true stories that are unexplainable. Stories that our human brains can’t understand.

In the Andes, time travel does exist. If you are in-tune with your surroundings, you can enter the portal of magic.

I head back up to the mirador. My heart is full and I am buzzing as I am reconnecting with the mountains. Our relationship expands beyond this lifetime and I know in the depths of my soul that I have spent lifetimes walking among them. I am re-finding myself and all of those selves that came before this moment.

In all honesty, I have been a little lost these past few months in Ecuador. These teachers were outside of my window, but I forgot to spend time with them. The mountains are awakening a remembrance in me. They are constantly healing me, teaching me, expanding me. I could sit here all day with them, but I know that it’s time to return. I can’t get lost in them either. I climb back to the community.

I realize how hungry I am and order Chocolo (a large Andean corn) and cheese from a woman. I sit at the table waiting, still lost in my thoughts. When I see it comes with fava beans, it’s an added bonus.

All of a sudden I hear a startling noise and see the children running to the viewpoint. They are jumping up and down, squealing with joy and waving their arms above them. There is a helicopter soaring through the canyon and they are so excited about this. The elders look at them and join in on this joyful commotion, flailing their arms above them in a carefree manner. They are mirroring the actions of the children who are more than 50 years younger than they are. Everyone is laughing and relishing in the happiness. A simple moment rippled through us all and left us in a buzzing state of bliss.

As humans, oftentimes we have lost touch with these simple moments. I realize I don’t even take my phone out for a photo. It was too perfect and I felt honored just to be included and witness this brief moment. I feel a twinge of reminiscent for times like these, before people felt the need to post photos for Instagram hearts or likes on Facebook.

The music now starts and the children head to the mirador as the fog rises from the valley and covers the mountains. They begin to dance in pairs, yet as a collective whole. Those who arrive later will miss out on the wonderment of the view below, but they will see the joy upon the kid’s faces that move in the art-form of their traditions.

After a few songs the children come running towards us with their hands out. I’m kind of taken aback, but I give them a few coins. They still are sitting with their hands out. A boy grabs my hand and takes me to dance with him. I am feeling my face turn flush with embarrassment. They weren’t asking for money with their hands out, but rather they simply wanted me to share in the experience with them, to take their hand and participate in their culture.

We laugh and giggle. I am towering over these kids as I’m over 5’10.” I know I look ridiculous, but I really don’t care since there is a silly grin plastered across my face and the magic of the Andes is swirling in harmony with the music from the loud speakers.

After, the children head to the restaurant and sit huddled on the stairs together. They are eating the chocolo and the sweet juice from the corn is dripping down their chins, their cheeks full of the large white kernels. It fills my heart that they are sharing authentic time with each other. No one is on their phones, and I think to myself that they probably don’t even own one. These children are richer than most will ever be.

I am happy that I gave them some coins now. Maybe they will buy a chocolate bar or two and divide it among themselves as they sit on the steps while they giggle about the silly Gringa who was too tall and didn’t understand that they simply wanted to dance and play.

The fog has completely consumed the valley now and it’s time to go. However, I opt to take a different route back. Instead of heading back to Alausi, I decide to detour through the community of Nizag. I fell in love with the people at the condor and I want to see and understand their roots more. Most people don’t venture this way, but this doesn’t deter me since I’m not like most people anyways.

I begin on the road and the fog is starting to lift on this side of the valley. I pass by a woman who is carrying a shovel on her back. She turns to me and I wave. I am in love with these women. To most they appear like any other ordinary person, but to me I can see their magic radiating from their soul. To me, those that appear simple and ordinary are nothing less than beautiful and extraordinary.

I pass by another woman. She calls out “¿Adonde vas?” (Where are you going…?) I shout back “Nizag” and she smiles, honored that I will be passing through her home.

I glance out at the mountains again. I think about how much they affect me, as if the rivers and streams are pulsing through my very own veins. Each step I can feel their power infiltrate the soles of my boots.

I am simply a visitor here and can feel this. Do the people that call this sacred place home feel the same or have they simply become immune to it? I have to think they are aware of the power and magic at an amplified rate. Their souls enlightened by an ancient wisdom that is passed down in the forms of rituals, customs, connectivity to land and others by love. The images of these mountains etched into their subconscious, a portrait of their Gods in a divine physical form.

I follow the dirt road into the village and realize I am about to enter something special. It’s a portal. This one does not lead to another dimension, but rather, a time machine. I will be traveling back in time, when things were simpler and things like community were all that mattered.

Chickens are running in the road. Children are pushing tires while little puppies chase their feet. I walk past the center of town and 10 children are chasing each other, but they stop their game and look at me with curious eyes. I’m alien to them. I’m from the future. After a few seconds they are bored with me and continue to laugh and giggle as they sit and chase each other in a circle. They are aware of the power of this shape. The community makes them whole.

After a while I catch up to another older woman. Her long dress sits just above her ankles. She is sporting simple flat leather shoes. I am still in awe that they walk these mountains in such simple footwear.

She has a large colorful blanket wrapped around her that I know will be used to carry items on her back. In her hand is a sharp hook. I am about to pass her when she starts speaking to me in Spanish. I can tell she is curious and wants to chat with me.

I am ashamed that my Spanish is not better, but I understand a majority of what she says. I wish I could communicate better with her, because I don’t want her words to be wasted, lost on someone who can’t appreciate them to their full extent. At 74, I respect her and can see a twinkle of light in her eyes. I immediately identify this as wisdom. I know that when she speaks, knowledge is dancing from her lips.

Each wrinkle line around her eyes is filled with life. The creases resemble years of laughter, worry, and struggle. I can see her life has been filled with all of these things and so much more, but they have made her strong. At her age she is standing in her power, in her magic. I immediately respect her.

She tells me her name and that she has four children, including one that lives in the United States. She has 9 grandchildren, and if almost on cue, two little boys run up to her and she calls them nietos. These are two of her grandchildren. She speaks with them lovingly, but I can tell she wants to continue to walk with me. We leave them and she affectionately pats them on their heads.

She keeps her pace with me, even though I tower over her. At one point she dabs the sweat from her forehead, but moves forward with grace and ease. I am more in awe of her with each passing moment.

She tells me she walks this route daily and that she is on her way to collect herbs for tea. Before we part ways she grabs my hand, as if bridging our differences with a symbolic gesture of love. We are so different, but we are both humans. Both of us are on our own journeys, but for this brief interaction in time our paths crossed and we shared an experience. I saw in her magic, kindness, and tenderness. She embodies perfectly a grandmother of wisdom, a protector of the Earth, traditions, and customs.

When she reaches for my hand as we departed, I am curious what I gave to her. I hope it was something just as pure and good. I watch her walk into the field, her skirt swaying in rhythm with the grass. After our paths crossed, I feel the sudden calling to write about this; my day when I traveled back in time. She has inspired me.

I continue along the dusty road, but I feel a pang of sadness. I can see the road in the distance. I know that as soon as I hit the road I must go through the portal and exit this time machine.

I will wait for a bus that is filled with people hidden behind masks. They will be fixated with their phones, plugged into the virtual world and completely disconnected from the curative powers of Mother Nature. Or maybe, they will be sleeping. Feeling exhausted from living in a world that is fueled by consumerism and one that places value and worth in the material world. As humans, we are so tired from trying to maintain a life that so unnatural, a life within the matrix.

We are meant to live simply, in harmony with the mountains, in a loving and supporting community. The secret being the less we have, the more content we are.

But I hang onto the physical time I have left here. I walk by women tending their gardens, the dark and muddy Earth stuck to their hands. Families are sitting in the grass eating. A little boy throws a scrap of food to a jovial pup. There are three black piglets near by squealing with joy and curiosity. I catch two young lovers lying under the shades of trees sheepishly grinning at each other and sneaking kisses when they think no one is looking. My heart could burst. It has been feeding off the energy here, universal love.

Finally, I cross a bridge and reach the pavement road. It feels unnatural. I have crossed the veil and have traveled back to the here and now. I stand on the road waiting for the bus that will solidify that I have returned to 2022.

However, something special happens. I see a grandfather, grandmother, and a little girl emerge from a grassy path with their loyal dog tagging alongside. They are heading back to the community. The elder is dressed in a red poncho and walks with a limp. He has a wooden cane and his face is handsome. The grandmother is carrying herbs and grasses on her back. The little girl walks close to me dressed in traditional clothes, but with white rain boots. She is looking deep into my eyes and I see her face is wearing curiosity. They call her back and she clumsily crosses the street to rejoin them.

Just as they are about to head down the gravel road the grandmother shouts out to me with the biggest smile on her face “¡Hasta Mañana!” See you tomorrow! But maybe it’s more of a question than a greeting.

I am fighting back tears. I needed to hear this. She has invited me back the following day. I shout it back to her as I am waving with both hands maybe too enthusiastically.

I wait for the bus with a huge smile stuck on my face. This woman gave me the greatest gift, a reminder that the portal is always open to me. All I have to do is step through it. It is a miracle to see and acknowledge this wormhole, but it is grander blessing to be invited back through.

In the Andes, time travel does exist.