Temascal

Emily, that was a super long post! Thanks for the update - but are you doing okay now? Please tell us you don´t have dengue...

Here is an update on Amy & my activities that I just sent to my family, along with a picture of the group after the sweat lodge ceremony:

Last night we participated in my favorite experience yet: a sweat lodge, or ¨Temascal¨ in Kechwa, the indigenous language in this region. The lodge is a small hut, a circle with a diameter of ten feet and about four feet tall. Thirty-two people in bathing suits and shorts squished into the hut, sitting on woven mats and dirt, around a pit in the middle. A tall, slender woman explained the ritual of the Temascal to us while volcanic rocks, heated in a fire for hours ahead of time, were piled into a dirt pit in the center of the lodge. The ceremony began with the passing of tobacco juice, which we snorted into our nostrils, inducing a slightly dizzy and intoxicated feeling. Then the door of the hut was closed and the only light was the glowing of the rocks. Our guide poured water and herbs into the pit, and the sweating commenced.

At first, many of the participants seemed hesitant or uncomfortable, and the guide had difficulty quieting the group as people cracked jokes or complained about the lack of leg room. I felt frustration rising in me about what I perceived to be irreverence for this spiritual space and ceremony, but also realized that we were all a bit nervous about what was to come and had different ways of dealing with it.

However, once the door was closed and we were plunged into darkness, all side conversations ceased immediately. Our guide led us in prayer and song as the temperature and humidity in the room rose, and it became impossible to think about anything besides the sensations of the Temascal. We sang traditional Andean melodies, popular Western songs like “Let It Be” and Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” and Sanskrit chants from yoga class – “Om Shanti, Guru Dei Namo.” The ritual continued through four rounds of tobacco, newly heated rocks, steam, and relief as the door was opened in between rounds and cool air allowed to flow in. In each round we gave homage to and benefited from the energy of one of the four elements: air, water, fire, and earth. The first three rounds became increasingly intense, as more stones were added to the pit; seven for the first round, nine more in the second, then thirteen for the round of fire – the round of transformation. When the guide poured water over the thirteen volcanic rocks, the temperature of the air in the room surpassed anything any of us had ever experienced. As she played the drum, she invited us to express whatever we were feeling out loud, and the tiny hut became filled with the primal yells of the normally inhibited and controlled medical students. I laughed out loud as the people on either side of me yipped and wahooed with abandon. It was exhilarating.

After the round of fire, we drank cool water and rested before one last round of seven rocks, nearly as intense as the round before, but at that point we knew we could handle anything. The whole ceremony lasted just under two hours; then the door was opened from the final round and I crawled out of the lodge to a cold, invigorating shower. Rinsed of dirt and sweat, and wrapped in soft, warm clothes, I returned to the fire where our rocks had been heated earlier that afternoon. Sipping on tea, we marveled at the experience while the owners of the lodge prepared a unique meal for us. Pachu Manka is an ancient Incan tradition of cooking food underground, buried in a pit with heated volcanic rocks. We watched the uncovering of the food, then piled our plates high with beans, corn, peas, chicken, pineapple, banana, carrots, beets, and several kinds of potatoes (salty, bitter, and sweet). Eating with my hands by the fire that had warmed both my body and my food, I felt deeply content and peaceful. After dinner, I drank a large quantity of water, slid under the wool blankets in my hostel bed, and fell quickly and happily to sleep.