Community With The Ancestors. Ceremonies and Social Memory in The Middle Formative at Chiripa, Bolivia

Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 22 (2003) 305332 www.elsevier.
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Community with the ancestors: ceremonies and social memory in the Middle Formative at Chiripa, Bolivia
Christine A. Hastorf *
Department of Anthropology, University of California, Berkeley, CA 94720-3710, USA Received 8 July 2002; revised 3 February 2003
Abstract In the Andes of South America, the ancestors have been known to be an important font of power and perpetuation since the Spanish began writing about the area. The question of the prominence of ancestral worship in early settled communities and its role in societal formation has been an ongoing discussion for Andean archaeologists. Recent archaeological research in the Titicaca Basin suggests that this dynamic was important in the earliest societal formation. This thesis is based in part on the evidence that early architecture was for civic memorials rather than domestic habitation. In addition the artifactual remains suggest these constructions were in part for ancestor veneration. Community creation and social experimentation charged by ritual are illustrated at the Formative site of Chiripa on the Taraco Peninsula in Bolivia. To demonstrate this thesis of community creation through rituals surrounding ancestral energies, the role of relational personhood, kinship, and social memory in community construction, based on practice theory is rst outlined. Next the place of burials in the Andean world and the creation of ancestors are dealt with. Finally the ritual and memorials as seen in the archaeological evidence spanning 1500 years is traced. 2003 Elsevier Science (USA). All rights reserved.
Keywords: Social memory; Memorials; Ceremonial architecture; Formative period; Andes
Introduction The important, provocative book by Isbell (1997) on ancestor veneration and ayllu formation has crystallized a series Andean discussions over the creation of Andean life and society. In his book he proposes that highland ayllus are truly formed only after the rst great highland states, in the Late Intermediate Period (also called the ~orios, or Regional States). With much detail time of Sen about chullpas and other above ground structures that enclose the dead, he makes a case for why, when ancestors are kept with the living they can participate in the decisions and thus become important in community and political life. Thus there is a link between the remains of the dead, the architecture that contains them,
* Fax: 1-510-643-8557. E-mail address: hastorf@sscl.berkeley.edu.
and the veneration of the dead. This is most clearly illustrated in the mummy bundle (mallki) veneration of the Inka (Arriaga, 1968 [1621]; Doyle, 1988; Rowe, 1946, 1995; Salomon, 1995). Spanish accounts document these powers of the sacred ancestors and their place as heads of lineages and stewards of the landscape. Two hundred years later the Spanish set out to destroy these ancestral mummy bundles, once they realized that the dead themselves were worshipped. What the Spanish religious authorities had not planned on was the fact that people also worshipped named locations throughout the landscape as part of the mallkis realm. These places were associated with the dead, making not only the bundles and their contents, but also these places powerful memorials that evoked access to the spirits of fertility and regeneration. Such territorial cosmology was hard to eradicate (Abercrombie, 1986). Thus we learn from the 16th century that resources, lineage, and
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C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332
memory were intimately linked. We can assume that these relationships were built up over many years, becoming interwoven in Andean political and social life in various political settings. When and how did these temporal, spatial and material relationships develop, and what role did they play in Andean social cohesion and political formation? At the time of the Spanish conquest, ayllus were corporate landholding groups that had mutual obligations with the dead ancestors concerning care of the territory, resources, and their descent group (Rowe, 1946; Salomon, 1991; Spaulding, 1984). They were political entities on the ground, the smallest social au~oz (1989) and Cobo (1988 [1653]) thority. When Alborn wrote about religious activities in the 16th century they noted that there were certain types of huacas, sacred places, where mummied corpses of former leaders were worshipped and revered. They were talking about a form of worship, specic to the ayllu, or family group that descended, truly or ctively, from the ancestors. They note that the descendents curated the bodies with great care between walls, including clothes, adornment, and goblets, and bring them out to eat, drink, and discuss matters of political interest. Other documents describe the places where the ancestors were kept as modied caves, small houses, rooms, chapels or temples. Some ancestors were buried under the oor or within the house walls. In these descriptions, we see how enclosed, dark, small spaces that can be visited by the living were places for the most special ancestors during the 16th century. These houses for the dead were always accompanied by an open place where the worshipers of the dead could gather, called a cayan (Doyle, 1988, p. 111; Moore, 1996, p. 125). These ancestral shrines therefore included enclosed spaces for the rituals with an accompanying small enclosure for the dead. As Moore points out, these spaces reect the need to constrict but not prevent access to the mallkis while allowing the gathering of a small social group (Moore, 1996, p. 126). It was during the visitations with the mallki that people came together, performing rituals of care and communitas (Turner, 1969). Such community conrmation still happens in places of pilgrimage like Copacabana in the Lake Titicaca area and at annual community festivals. These rituals not only reenact political relationships of superior and inferior but also are times to reorder the social fabric that has been ruptured by death. Isbell suggests that such veneration, through mummy presentation and their associated places of encounter, is rst evident materially in the Andes in the Early Intermediate Period (200 BC to AD 600). Elaborate marked burials however seem to be evident with the rst sign of territoriality in the Andean region. Rivera (1995) and Arriaza (1996) note that, as early as 7000 BC, people have been caring for the dead along the northern Chilean coast in the Chinchorro culture. In this preceramic
foraging and shing society, there was even embalming and mummication of the ancestors, including both adults and children. Arriaza (1995) conrms that over hundreds of years some of the Chinchorro mummy bundles were periodically extracted out of the tombs, redressed, and replaced. Such care suggests the memory of the dead person remained in the family, the larger kin, and even the whole group. This care suggests that rewrapping and curating were acts of remembering, while revisiting the rupture brought on by death to reorder the living (Humphreys, 1981; Rowlands, 1993, p. 144). Memorials are often used for such realignment of the social world. Thus we see both building memory and society in these Chinchorro bodies.
Memory of family Before we follow the changing patterns of ritual that accompanied increasing formalization of the Formative architecture in the Titicaca Basin, I explore three main notions that participate in social development. First is the concept of relational personhood, where individual identity is formed by the relations between people and things that circulate within their world (Strathern, 1988; Thomas, 1996, p. 73). These relational systems form the social and political fabric of the lineage. The second notion is that the actions of people are tethered by the modes of possibility and circumstance, by their daily practices that are both intentional and unintentional (Bourdieu, 1977; Dobres and Robb, 2000, p. 5; Giddens, 1979; Hodder, 2003). The third notion is the role of social memory as it activates social relationships and moral authority through activities in designated places with specic material culture. Memorializing social relationships and authority through the deceased transmits meaning while providing a promise for the future (Bradley, 1990; Rowlands, 1993; Whittle, 1996). These memorials are the materializations of the sociality as well as a locus for maneuvering the future political claims of the descent groups (Josephedes, 1991). It will be through the changing burial and architectural evidence that we can track the change and elaboration of ancestor veneration and in turn the use of collective memory to maintain a larger group. Our western intellectual tradition increasingly places the individual at the center. Today an individuals actions and intentions drive society, while most objects have been alienated from their histories (Thomas, 1996, p. 72). For those who work in non-western traditions, we have barriers to cross in our understanding and empathizing with past lives, meanings and understandings of relationships. While individual people created the archaeological record by their activities, their interconnectedness with those objects and their intertwined social contexts formed a network of energetics and
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qualities that transferred meaning between the involved things and people, worlding the objects as Thomas calls it (Thomas, 1996, p. 72, 153). In this setting, relationships among people and things are social. Thus objects, homes, and land that people live among become the web of signication that builds identity within a maze of kin and material. Students of agency theory have been eager to place individual actions in the forefront of past study in our likeness (Dobres and Robb, 2000). It might be helpful to realign this notion of agency a bit by shifting the center of action to what was more likely the dominant social force in daily life, a person acting in a collective web, in relation to their living (and deceased) kin. Marx (1963, p. 15) focused our attention on the situational reality in which individuals exercise choices (make their own history) within the limits of their circumstances that are created by their past. Choices of action were as they are for us, not innite, and agency was not free-oating. This situational boundedness is the basis of many concepts in Anthropology, from Barths ethnic identities (1969) to agency theory (Dobres and Robb, 2000). People live relationally through time, altering their interactions and attitudes to those around them as they grow. It follows from this relational web of persons and things that some knowledge was maintained through the remembering of those persons; remembering stories, myths and morals through the visual clues of daily practice and ritual performance. In societies where a relational rather than individualized notion of personhood prevails, both persons and things circulate in exchanges, which contribute to the formation of the identities of each (Thomas, 1996, p. 73). It is these relational identities, formed by meaningful action with things and people that maintain cultural traditions of identity as well as become the locus for manipulation and change. These notions of interconnectedness between people and things allow cosmology and community history to become visible in material and therefore patterned (Strathern, 1988; Thomas, 1996, p. 153). People, in their daily lives are routinized, gaining knowledge as well as social skills through experience and observation (Bourdieu, 1977; Giddens, 1979). Bourdieu is not the rst person to notice this. Every mother and father learns that children feel secure as well as learn most easily with routines, not just temporal and spatial routines but routines of meaning (Barrett, 2000; Dobres and Robb, 2000). Just as practical competence is passed on to children through the enactments of daily chores, activities, stories and justications, so too are the community values of production and worldview (Bourdieu, 1977). Repetition of actions and their recursive meanings allow a groups traditions (unreexive knowledge) to be passed down in instruction and memory (Giddens, 1979; Hodder, 1986, 1987; Pauketat, 2000, p. 115).
Through this practical enculturation, it is possible to instill a whole cosmology,. . .a political philosophy. . . (Hodder, 1986, p. 76). These practices also transfer a moral order that is imbued in the activities and events. Bourdieu emphasizes how these routines create habitus, the unspoken way of doing things in a persons daily world (Bourdieu, 1977, p. 94). They help control the uncertainty and the chaos of the day and season, grounding actions from the past to help people move into the future. Each new event requires a response that will be both a version of past responses as well as an alteration of the present circumstances. Agency therefore is individually constructed, operating within a history that is directed by the desires and meanings of the moment (Barrett, 2000). Each action, Butler (1993, p. 15) argues, is only an imperfect citation of the norm, which is created through past practices and remembrances of the way to do things. Within the routines, slippage occurs in the completion of tasks, hence, people (agents) change these tasks over time, through their practices (situations and meanings) of the routines (structures). This discrepancy between practice and norm, as well as the lapse in recall that occurs between one practice and the next over time, allows for forgetting (strategic remembering) and thus shifting of the norms while adding new directions and, at times, enhanced meanings (Rowlands, 1993, p. 141). Unintended outcomes occur not simply when an actors plan goes awry, but with imperfect knowledge and reproduction of the social contexts (Bourdieu, 1977, pp. 52, 65; Dobres and Robb, 2000, p. 10). The point of practice theory is not only to explain change over time through this individual slippage, but also to understand the continuity and cohesion that occurs through the maintenance of certain cultural practices. Some practices breed strong connectedness that supports communal association (Milner, 1994; Pauketat, 2000). Regardless of diering goals and the varying knowledge of the participants, there can be a voluntary collective action that renews the group and the participant. This action creates solidarity and meaning. Repetition invokes the original meaning but under slightly dierent circumstances each time. We can study these circumstances archaeologically and through that, the strength of the associated meanings. It is through the acts and commitments of those involved that the past meanings are transmitted into the future. How do such activities renew group cohesion? The role of memory Events that invoke the ancestors through social memory operate on multiple levels that can be channeled to unite the community (Connerton, 1989; Rowlands, 1993). Connerton tells us Concerning social memory, we may note that images of the past commonly
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legitimate a present social order. It is an implicit rule that participants in any social order must presuppose a shared memory. (1989, p. 3). He reminds us too that peoples memories vary. This divergence (slippage) can make complete communality dicult. Therefore events may be periodically enacted to help realign members of the group. Valued experiences must be shared. A powerful and socially oriented path to communality is through ritual. Rituals are events that construct a symbolic system in a dierent space and time (Leach, 1968). They promote shared memories through incorporated practices that link generations while being inclusive for each member (Bell, 1992; Turner, 1969). Ritual performances therefore convey acceptable social knowledge by drawing upon past bodily social memory (Connerton, 1989, p. 4). Ritual acts become important loci of cosmological, social and political order. Even the domestic can be ritual. This places ritual centrally in an active role of community creation. Places where ritual occurs therefore can evoke important collective memories, renewed through codied remembering. Oral societies often bring a group together through recitation of their origins and histories, through propitiation of the spirits, and through communing with the ancestors. These stories and their associated rituals, performed in certain settings with specic valued objects in a repetitive, stylized form oer ways to renew and realign social identities and lineages. These situations allow for maneuvered change as well as continuity through selective memory (Hendon, 2000, p. 49). In this way social memory creates a moral authority of a group that goes beyond place, object, and act. Connerton goes on to suggest that individuals locate their own memories within the mental and material spaces of a group, as the group shares its memories (1989, p. 37). Therefore societies that operate with relational personhood have stronger links to group memory. In these settings, the creation of self is relational, which is sustained through ritual performance. One powerful locus of group solidarity is the use of icons and memorials that recall past authority gures (Dillehay, 1990; Rowlands, 1993). Objects, natural forms and built architecture create a setting that concretizes rituals, calling up past practices as well as cosmologies. Ritual performances therefore send out webs of meanings throughout the participants (Deleuze and Guattari, 1988). It is through these remembered histories and associated performances that meanings are transmitted from one generation to another, often jumping a generation (Rowlands, 1993, p. 141). This transference of social memory can be remarkably persistent (Connerton, 1989, p. 40). Memorials establish a temporal continuum between the living and the larger powers embodied in the sacred space (Milner, 1994). As Thomas points out The presentness of things is as signicant as
their evocation of the past (Thomas, 1996, p. 81). This is why certain objects can hold signicance, stimulating connectedness through their histories (Apadurai, 1986; Strathern, 1988). Memories can be jogged and authority called up by these physical places and associated objects, making memory visible (Bradley, 1990;Hendon, 2000;Rowlands, 1993; Thomas, 1996). Ritual performances renew social relations, rearm lineage membership, recruit new members, regulate land use rights, and monitor authority (Dillehay, 1990). Thus, certain places and things become mnemonic devices for communitas (Turner, 1969). World War memorials that are placed in the center of every town in England are mnemonic devices that draw in the viewer to remember and thereby to enact a sense of past community, while the memory remains (Rowlands, 1993; Thomas, 1991, 1996). Meaning therefore is constituted in memory. Ritual spaces are formally dened because they allow for basic knowledge communication between members and between these members and the cosmos (Moore, 1996, p. 137). Formal repetition can make a mark archaeologically, seen in the repetitive building and internment styles within phases and horizons. Such charged locales tend to be demarcated (Hendon, 2000). With funerals that memorialize the dead during a time of social rupture, there is the need for rearmation, where the power of the person is transferred to the larger social order (Chesson, 1999). Such materialization of social memory has been studied by Dillehay, 1990 in the Chilean Mapuche. He found that ceremonial mound building revolves around burials. Ethnographically, Dillehay found that the renewal of these mounds during a funerary gathering became a locus for changing social relations within kin-group alliance building. The ceremonies during these mound renewal events also involved recruitment in to marriage alliances, trading partners, land use rights and the regulation of outsider incorporation into the group (Dillehay, 1990, p. 225). In these actions we see Connertons social memory enacted in the bodily performances of Mapuche mound renewals (Dillehay, 1990). Such places become material indicators of collective action, the lineages authority directly connecting with the powers of the dead (Deleuze and Guattari, 1988). In this way the agency of the group is grounded in collective memory, activated by the rupture of the dead. Memorializing the dead Parker Pearson (1993, p. 203) has noted that when there is evidence of increasing incorporation of the dead into the world of the living, there is a growing concern with lineage and ones place within society. In these situations the living conrm their social relations through
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their relationships with the dead, done in object and in deed. The formality of the architecture reecting repetitive burial rituals allow archaeologists to investigate the dead and their place in social formation (Rowlands, 1993). I am not claiming that as archaeologists we can understand the multiple meanings of these embodied places nor know the memories that were evoked by these places. Nor can we begin to locate all of the named and valued places in the landscape, let alone the objects that circulated through such social rituals. But by charting and detailing the characteristics of the sacred communal places we can begin to recognize ritual in the material record (Dillehay, 1990). As Jerry Moore so aptly points out, [these] ritual spaces are distinguished from other constructed environments in that they are special and unique. . .. Change in size, function, and organization of monumental constructions reect. . .changes in the nature of social power. (1996, p. 139). Shifts in construction style, scale, material (permanence), size, access, and visibility all give us clues to the signicance of these memorials in some of the inhabitants lives. Out of these details can come a better sense of intentions, values, and community relations. While many memorials are not focused on the dead, as with storage (Hendon, 2000) or trade items (Weiner, 1992), many rituals evoke the past. The development of centralized burial practices mark a form of social memory of community formation materially, and thus the web of group solidarity as well as group strife (Pauketat, 2000). What is particularly signicant about the dead and their burials is the potential for making the dead visible through the memorials that can be built as an extension of the body (Parker Pearson, 1982, 2000; Rowlands, 1993). The dierent styles of civic space and memorialization reect not only the scale of the collective but also the levels of access and therefore the layered knowledge experienced by the participants. Burials and their placement within communities illustrate how the living used the dead (Moore, 1996). This socio-spatial dynamic is cogently tracked in the European Neolithic evidence by Alisdair Whittle where he nds new forms of community created through rituals and feasts for the ancestors in association with the spread of the Linear Band Keramik culture (1996). In the LBK data there is a clear placement of the graves in separate cemeteries adjacent to the living compounds. With this more formal grave placement Whittle claims there was an accompanying sense of sociality reected in the beginnings of descent and veneration of the dead. Whittle claims the layout and scale of the interments suggest that the Neolithic rituals surrounding the dead were celebrating a timeless past while creating group cohesion (Moore, 1996). The inhabitants of the Andean region and indeed South America also used the dead (and the ancestors) as
important links to the landscapes powers and resources. There are innumerable ethnographic, historical, and archaeological examples of this relationship. While I agree with Isbell (1997) about the role of ancestors in kin creation and political maintenance, I would like to leave aside the specic issue of the ayllu and its temporal existence as a political construct, whilst studying these earlier times. Rather I would prefer to focus on the broader role of the ancestors in the construction of the collective memory and continuance of the society in one concrete example. Their memory was in part maintained through the situated relationships of specic family members who became ancestors. This is visible with the increasing formalization of the civic architecture surrounding burials in many Andean sequences. It is not simply that there were burials and bundles in structures that could be visited throughout the South American coast and highlands, but that these buildings were constructed such that they marked the social group on the landscape. These ancestors could then be invoked to participate in the renewal of the group, in the realignment of power and the legitimization of political claims, creating social dierence simultaneously with solidarity (Milner, 1994; Pauketat, 2000). If we assume that community cohesion can be linked to such veneration in the Andes, we should be able to identify social process when we study burial shrines, especially located in non-domestic architecture. How far back might such community creation be visible archaeologically? When did it begin and what did the material changes suggest about veneration participating in societys cohesion? I propose that early highland Andean community life was punctuated with periodic rituals, tying the family to the landscape, as the concept of territoriality was increasingly active. The changes that occurred in such rituals can be illustrated at Chiripa, Bolivia a location of early architecture in the region. This history began with burials, usually with women as the central gure. Such memorials helped to create a more sedentary lifestyle that was associated with increasing population on the peninsula. Thus, lineage solidication (with associated recruitment and restriction) through ancestor veneration became evident in civic building on the landscape.
The place of Andean kin Guaman Poma de Ayala (1980) portrayed the daily life of Andean people in an attempt to make these people real to the distant Spanish monarch. He drew Andean residents enacting activities that were proper for each age group; children carry water, women weave, boys tend ocks of llamas. He portrayed the lived experience of people, highlighting the stereotypic life cycle stages, and associated activities of highland dwellers. At the end of his lifecycle portraits is a mummy bundle of a
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dead elder. Interpersonal relationships and age classes did not stop with death. Tales of past acts were told to grandchildren while remembering the dead. We ourselves receive histories of past family members. These stories frame our path in life and not of ourselves. In South America, the active role of the dead in the family is part of the living culture. With death, a person is transformed, gaining a new level of inuence and a new ownership of resources. In the Andes, the dead live in a world that parallels the living. There is a world of farming and herding that the dead undertake while the living sleep. In addition to this parallel daily cycle, the deceased, the Machukuna, have great inuence on the living, the Runakuna. All deceased, not just the important people (the mallkis) inuence the living (Allen, 1988). They cause animals to visit the hunters, they cause both sh and storms that visit the shermen and, by bringing rain, they make the crops grow. As Tarlow (2001) noted, contrary to some archaeologists perspectives about the dead, the recent Scottish dead, like the Andean dead, continue to be active in peoples lives and decisions. The living act as advocates for the recently deceased among the living, while the dead are advocates for the living with the spirits of the earth. Andean belief systems are lled with animism. Part of this resonating force is expressed in the idea that all material things have a living essence, especially if items have been crafted or cared for (Allen, 1988, p. 179). Even things that are dead hold this essence. These dead include not only humans but also plants and animals. Things like wooden tools or harvested crops are dead but still interact with the living (Allen, 1988, p. 186). When physically present, the dead can participate in the decisions of the living. The living most often communicate with the dead through eating, which opens the channels between the two worlds. Allen insightfully reports on how force-feeding and intoxication open communication between the living and the dead that allows for a ow of energy and support. Such communication ministers care to the dead, which calms them. Because they are slightly resentful of the living, the dead can become angry and cause harm. Therefore, they require regular feeding. Such requirements allow the dead elders to continue their inuence in a cycle of power relationships within a community, which in turn provides potency to the living who are feeding the dead. This power of inanimate things, of the mallkis as well as their resting places, highlights the corporeality of ideas in the Andes. It is through communication with these dead ancestors that the living maintain community well-being, particularly for the productivity of crops and animals (Allen, 1988, p. 183). What is the locus of transmission with the elders? It is the bodily remains of the ancestors, the bones, clothing, and their images. Catherine Allen notes that the people of Sonqo, Peru see
the bones of their dead as a locus of power as well as of their own identity, Kept in a niche of a storeroom wall, a skull is said to provide khuyay (protection and care) for the room and its contents (Allen, 1988, p. 184). This power can also be gained from small stones, shaped like animals or potatoes. These small objects carrying this inanimate essence are called illas (little carved animals out of clay or stone), conopas (carved stones in the shape of food stus), enqaychus (carved stones into heads and potato shapes), and the living ones (Allen, 1988; Doyle, 1988, p. 66). Today, such skulls or carved stones are periodically honored with presentations and oerings (Astvaldsson, 1994). These objects hold power over the fecundity and the well being of the living, through their association with the dead. Through these ethnographic examples, we see how the social identity as well as the economic power base (the animals and crops) are signied in and transmitted by the ancestors and their bodily essence. To pursue an understanding of the creation and maintenance of past social relations we must consider the strong emotions that would be present in settings where the dead were buried and periodically visited. Rituals that include the dead, naming them and recalling their memory, are full of feeling, not only due to the sadness of the departed, but also due to the power that the deceased can emit (Allen, 1988; Bell, 1992; Dillehay, 1990). People are not just driven to communicate with the elders for resources and land. They are also motivated by the emotional attachment to them as symbols of group existence (Geertz, 1963). The dead therefore should be included in the Andean life cycle as the ultimate elders. The messengers to the telluric deities are not always grandparents. During the time of the Inka, children also gained power for the lineage when they were sacriced, forging a strong link between the living and the spirits. We see this most clearly with the Inka ritual of capacocha, where young children of elites were left on the top of mountains to reify their lineages (Guaman Poma de Ayala, 1980; Reinhard, 1992, 1999). In this ritual, children were oered to the mountain spirits, the elders of the landscape. Through this sacrice, they became messengers to the spirits for the living. Fortes (1965) notes that ritual recognition of the ancestors helps construct social identity and delimit a corporate group on the landscape. Clearly such recognition will have had variable impact through time and cultural setting. Once we include the ancestors in the social and the physical world of the past inhabitants, we can begin to see their active place in past social formation. McAnany (1995, 1998) nds this in Mesoamerica. Through a series of rituals, the Maya dead provided rights and access to resources. Such rituals placed the dead on the landscape by their burial pit, room or house of the dead. From there, the deceased claimed a spatial,
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relational, and emotional territory with the living. In the same way, Andean people today say they gain the land they work on and its fertility from their ancestors. This relationship is maintained and nurtured through rituals of visiting, sharing, and feeding the dead. Remembering the dead and their associated telluric spirits can be an act as large as a feast and procession with the mummy bundle, or as small as libations to the earth, invoked every time drink or food is shared or the earth is opened (as with the start of every day of excavation). The landscape then participates in the creation of the group. Through their ties with the ancestors, there is an essential territoriality to Andean social relations.
Andean ritual architecture Ritual architecture is the earliest known permanent construction in the Andes, beginning in the Archaic (Preceramic) and Formative times. The rst multi-generational evidence was delimited space in association with small rooms (Moore, 1996, p. 132). Some of the earliest studied examples have been found at Asana in the south-central highlands, at Huaynun a and Aspero along the north central coast, and later at Huaricoto, Piruru, La Galgada, and Kotosh in the north central highlands (Aldenderfer, 1990, 1991, 1993; Bonnier, 1997; Burger and Salazar-Burger, 1980, 1985; Grieder et al., 1988; Izumi and Sono, 1963; Izumi and Terada, 1972; Moore, 1996; Pozorski and Pozorski, 1987; Pozorski and Pozorski, 1990). The essential ingredients of these civic places include an enclosed or demarcated space with a prepared oor. More elaborate sites have a change of level with the entrance into the rooms and bodies or places that could have contained bodies (niches) within the enclosures. In the north, the earliest rooms have sunken hearths with ventilation shafts, reminiscent of sweathouses. In the south there are sunken enclosures open to the sky. Later, mounds are built with small rooms on the top. Most important are the small rooms and niches that recur, suggesting curation of sacred objects. Moore (1996) insightfully traces the diering trends of Andean ritual architecture through time, and therefore I will only focus on a few salient attributes in this architectural history that directly relate to my argument. One of Moores main points about this sequence is the importance given to ancestor worship (1996, p. 166). He sees a major shift in the style spectacle in the Middle Formative with the addition of mound building, allowing for spiritual and social dierences to be made more visible on the landscape and in the rituals. Such mound architecture suggests that there might have been two levels of communion with the ancestors, a small intimate interaction within the little rooms, and a larger supra familial viewing at the base of the platforms. Thus the
architecture projected the ideal cosmic order in which the inhabitants operated (Milner, 1994; Moore, 1996, p. 167; Wheatley, 1971). As Moore notes, this structure continues until the Spanish arrive. These early mounds are best illustrated at La Galgada, whose twin mounds were built between 2662 and 1395 BC (Grieder et al., 1988). Small rooms built upon the mounds had sunken central hearths with ventilator shafts. These rooms received the dead as new structures were built on top of them. Around 1500 BC, Kotosh, with the same style of architectural sequence and dual mounds dotted with small structures that contained internal hearths, displays other forms of engagement with the human body (Izumi and Sono, 1963). In one building there are clay molded, crossed human hands placed just below a chest high niche, implying that human heads were kept in such niches. Coastal sites like Aspero, dating to 27002000 BC, show a combination of small enclosed rooms on mounds that has an open plaza area for large group rituals (Feldman, 1980). The deads place in these early ceremonies is seen at the coastal site of Asia, dating around 2200 BC. Engel found a cache of eight human crania wrapped in matting under the oor of a non-domestic room (Engel, 1963; Moseley, 1992). Here we see a materialization of the dead, either permanently or periodically in enclosed rooms. The southcentral Andes has slightly later timing and dierent scales and styles, but essentially the same sequence of ingredients. Asana, a preceramic site in the highlands, dating between 3000 and 2400 BC displays public space demarcation, illustrating the earliest example of community gathering in the southcentral highlands (Aldenderfer, 1990, 1991). The site has traces of postholes that mark a series of walled enclosures sitting on one side of the plastered surface, along with basins, hearths, ash lenses, platforms and stone circles (1991). Aldenderfer calls this precinct ceremonial and suggests that this non-domestic area of the site was used as a dance/ritual space. Due east of Asana, towards the Titicaca Basin, there is evidence for human body curation. Along the southwestern side of the Titicaca Basin, up the Llave River, Mark Aldenderfers team has identied several stone piles that contained human crania (Aldenderfer personal communication, 1999). While their date is not conrmed yet, Aldenderfer believes they were constructed sometime around 2500 BC. These rock piles were created before we have settlements in the Basin and sets the stage for Chiripa with its rst building at 1500 BC. Preceramic architectural evidence on the coast and in the highlands shows that gatherings began with marking a space for ritual performances. This architectural expression of social relations reects a loose cohesion. Later the space is divided up through elevation. In these contexts, at early sites like La Galgada and Aspero, there are spaces for both large and small gatherings;
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large open spaces with no hindering divisions as well as small, more restricted gatherings in enclosures that are entered through a series of entrances (Moore, 1996). These features inform us as to the size and structure of the group that congregated (Moore, 1996). This sacred architecture was at times linked to actual bodies and/or representations of the ancestors, like the burials at La Galgada, the heads at Asia or the crossed hands at Kotosh. These powerful things contained an essence that the living desired to remember and invoke. Such concepts are deeply rooted, and most probably were active and structuring in the rst public architecture we see. While these links to the historical beliefs about the dead cannot be directly linked through time, there are some continuities in the Andean tradition about ritual that resonates with the material traits of the past.
The evidence at Chiripa The rst settled communities occurred along the Titicaca lakeshore during what is called the Early Formative Phase (also called the Initial Period), between 1500 and 800 BC (Bandy, 2001; Hastorf et al., 1999; Stanish, 1999). It is at this time that we rst see painted and incised ceramics as symbolic cultural representations enter the record with civic architecture. While a series of sites have been studied in the region, extensive excavations from these early phases have occurred at Chiripa on the Taraco Peninsula in the southwestern area of the little, southern lake (Fig. 1). I want to focus on its development up until it is drawn into the larger peninsular polity of Sonaji, around 250 BC (Bandy, 2001). To illustrate how the people of Chiripa constructed their society over this time, I will track two phenomenathe civic architecture and burials. Both classes of
evidence highlight lineage, ancestors, and community on the landscape. The early burials display women as central gures. Over time the civic architecture becomes more elaborate and segmented. At Chiripa, the burial evidence displays a shift from walled enclosures with below ground interment to sunken enclosures with niches, to elaborate nested chambers for curating ancestral paraphernalia on raised mounds. The Taraco Archaeological Project (TAP) has been working at Chiripa since 1992 (Hastorf et al., 1992, 1996, 1998, 1999), building on the work of previous scholars (Bennett, 1936, 1948; Browman, 1978, 1986, 1991; Cordero Mirando, n.d.; Kidder, 1956; Mohr Ch avez, 1988; Portugal Ort z, 1992; Portugal Zamora, 1940). We dene the Chiripa indigenous uorescence of the site in three phases, Early, Middle, and Late Chiripa (Fig. 2). These phases are dened by changes in the ceramic assemblage at the site, with radiocarbon dates to anchor the sequence in absolute time (Steadman, 1996; Whitehead, 1999b). While the Chiripa phases span when it was one of four centers on the Taraco Peninsula, it is during the Tiwanaku I times that a peninsula wide polity formed with the center several kilometers to the west from Chiripa. Chiripa is located on a low slope o the lake plain, facing north towards the glaciated Cordillera Blanca mountain chain across the lake. The site sits upon three culturally contoured terraces, rising up from the lake (Fig. 3). These terraces were accentuated, receiving architectural alteration throughout the sites existence. The architectural sequence begins in the Early Chiripa phase (15001000 BC) with a plastered surface within an enclosing wall on the lowest terrace (in the Santiago area of Fig. 3). In the Middle Chiripa phase an enclosure is built on the middle terrace, reminiscent of the Santiago plastered surface with surrounding mudbrick wall.
Fig. 1. The Taraco Peninsula study area.
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Fig. 2. The temporal phases at the site of Chiripa and the Taraco Peninsula.
It is during the Late Chiripa phase, spanning over 500 years, that the rst group of buildings is built on top of a new platform mound on the middle terrace. During the Late Chiripa Phase 1 we know that a series of stone and mud brick rooms were built on the mound. While we do not know their full extent, these structures could have spanned across the whole mound top area, and probably were laid out in a rectangular organization, facing the lake to the north. The structures were rebuilt several times, eventually stopping with the Late Chiripa phase 2. At the height of Chiripas inuence, the residents constructed a mound in this same spot with an integrated group of two sets of seven structures surrounding a sunken court on the top and a new sunken enclosure was built (illustrated in Fig. 3). These structures have burials under the oors, as well as niches and secluded chambers. Sometime around 250 BC, the social and political worlds of the residents of Chiripa altered. Political expansion was afoot around the lake basin. It is during this Tiwanaku I phase that we see political consolidation of the western peninsula (Bandy, 2001). The peninsula shifted from a series of segmented, independent communities to a centralizing inuence of one center, Kala Uyuni, on the southwestern end of the Peninsula, called the Taraco Peninsula Polity. This larger political entity
Fig. 3. The architectural evidence from the excavations at Chiripa. The site grid coordinates position the excavation units to the main site datum.
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~os, and is reaected the ritual identity of the Chiripen ected in new ceremonial architecture. The Taraco Peninsula Polity was only one of several such political entities that existed in the Titicaca Basin during the Tiwanaku I phase. Other multi-community polities, albeit smaller in scale, were most likely centered at Tiwanaku itself, Kanamarka/Lakaya (Bandy, 2001, p. 196; Stanish et al., 1997), and Palermo (Stanish et al., 1997), and potentially at Titimani (Portugal Ort z, 1988; Portugal Ort z et al., 1993) and Kallamarka (AlbarricinJordan et al., 1993; L emuz Aguirre and Paz Soria, 2001; Portugal Ort z and Portugal Zamora, 1977). These population centers each contained a mound and sunken court. The whole of the Titicaca Basin was not made up of such multi-community polities however. A wide range of alternative political forms existed at this time, including non-hierarchical village systems present on the Achacachi (L emuz Aguirre, 2001) and the Copacabana Peninsulas. There also was the development of the much larger polity at Pukara, that dominated much of the northern Titicaca Basin by the end of the Tiwanaku I phase (Ch avez, 1992; Cohen, 2001; Kidder, 1948; Klarich and Craig, 2001; Mujica, 1978; Plourde and Stanish, 2001). In this time of political expansion, the ancestors were harnessed to larger supernatural powers by the burgeoning politicians. The semi-subterranean enclosure at Tiwanaku reects this clearly. It was constructed during the Tiwanaku III phase (Kidder, 1956; Ponce-Sangines, 1975). The stone faced walls were lined with carved tenon heads. These heads were most likely the enqaychus of the local ancestors of all lineages drawn into the growing Tiwanaku sphere. Here, we see the essences of the ancestors brought to one place to be propitiated, honored, and controlled at one time. Such ~os, the was the path to political power that the Chiripen ~os and the Tiwanakota in turn used to great Kala Uyunin eect, as the spiritual world of ancestral power was harnessed in the political power over the living. Our recent work has uncovered a total of 12 Chiripaphase burials in o the mound pits (Blom and Bandy, 1999; Hastorf, 1999). The earlier excavations by Bennett, Kidder, and Portugal found a total of 34 burials in the Late Chiripa mound (Bennett, 1936; Kidder, 1956). Theirs were all in burial pits, with no visible evidence in any of the niches or bins, unlike the skeletal evidence that has been found at Pukara in both Pre-Pukara (BG sector) and Pukara (BB) phase ceremonial enclosures (Ch avez, 1992; Kidder, 1948; Mohr Ch avez, 1988; Wheeler and Mujica, 1981). We have uncovered little primary evidence for domestic architecture but layers and pits of domestic rubbish. To the east of Santiago we encountered an Early Chiripa curved domestic wall that was surrounded with later material (Dean and Kojan, 1999). The excavated data suggest that people resided on all three terraces at the edges of the ceremonial architecture. Later phases have more midden evidence, especially from the
Tiwanaku periods. The likelihood is that simple organic structures were constructed out of mudbrick with stone foundations, or constructed of sod and reeds (wattle and daub) and that these small, humble structures were then covered up with domestic midden when they were abandoned. The Early Chiripa period Several areas of the site have Early Chiripa phase evidence (Fig. 4). The densest use is recorded in 1 m of Early Chiripa domestic material deposited on sterile in the Santiago area. On top of these midden layers is a series of white and yellow plaster surfaces laid down within a mudbrick wall. Across this plastered and fairly clean surface were placed at least six cobbled and unlined interment burial pits, some adjoining each other (Alconini and Rivera, 1993; Dean and Kojan, 1999, 2001; Hastorf et al., 1992). On the uppermost terrace a
Fig. 4. The extent of Early Chiripa occupation uncovered to date. The large central cloud is from our systematic surface collections. The smaller zones are excavations. The site grid coordinates position the excavation units to the main site datum.
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pit lled with Early Chiripa midden has also been located (Paz Soria, 1996, 1999). We also have a locus of early use marked by the surface ceramics. These units are dated by their associated ceramics and absolute carbon dates (Steadman, 1999; Steadman and Hastorf, 2001; Whitehead, 1999b). The deposition history tells us that this plastered area was constructed towards the end of this 500 year sequence. Two of the six pits have multiple bodies. These multiple burials include one wrapped adult woman at the base of the pit, with additional bodies added later, evidenced by their position and their disarticulation (Dean and Kojan, 1996, 1999; loci 1404 and 1236/7). The accompanying bones are of dierent ages, but most are children. The relatively complete articulated female in locus 1404 is accompanied by several adult crania (possibly female, Blom, personal communication, 1999), as well as a secondary burial of a child (Blom and Bandy, 1999, appendix 5). This female received a whole ceramic bowl plus a stone tablet in her grave. We have no visible evidence to clarify if it was used for snu and/ or paint. The female also had beautiful blue sodolite beads around her neck. The accompanying crania and children are more likely to be oerings rather than a family burial. The second multiple burial, loci 1236/1237 contained evidence for four interments in a cobble-lined pit. The primary burial in the tomb again was a 4455year-old woman, wrapped, exed, and lying on her left side. She too received sodolite beads, one mano and two basal grinding stones, with the more worn basal stone placed over her head. On top of her lay a foetus, one 2 4-year-old and an older person (Blom and Bandy, 1999, appendix 5). These additional bodies might have been later oerings, along similar lines of the capacocha Inkaic ritual. Both of these burials suggest that the original, wrapped person was remembered through receiving oerings over time. This is our rst evidence for the lineage-ancestral focus around the females. Three of the four single burials contained juveniles (Fig. 5). One well-wrapped 610-year-old had several strings of lapis lazuli and sodolite beads (locus 871). The most elaborate of these interments, was a 12-year-old (Blom and Bandy, 1999), virtually an adult in that culture (loci 565 and 2055). This youth had very worn teeth suggesting much work, processing reeds or hides. The interred also had two manos, bone tools, and an accompanying raptor. This burials importance is reected also in the adjoining white plaster lined chamber containing two lovely cooking vessels. One is a small family sized cooking vessel and the other a larger supra-familial cooking pot1 (Fig. 6). This person received not only special animals to accompany it, but also a second small
We hope to run a DNA sample on this person to learn if it is a female or male. I predict that it is female, based on the tooth wear and accompanying artifacts.
1
Fig. 5. Plastered oors in the Santiago area. The light gray is the preserved remains of the plastered oor. The dark gray are the burial pits. The black is the mudbrick wall traces.
Fig. 6. Two Early Chiripa cooking vessels form burial locus 565/2055. The larger cooking pot is unusually large.
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chamber with cooking vessels. Such bi-cameral tombs are common later on the Peninsula (Janusek, 1999; personal communication, 2001). The nal unlined burial pit contained one male adult, 2535 years old, no offerings have preserved with him (L 1404). All articulated burials were exed and wrapped in reed mats. Most importantly, the two multiple burials each contained one intact body and several secondary, partial burials above or next to the main skeleton. This depositional pattern suggests that the burials were periodically reopened to attend to the bodies and make oerings. Both of these multiple burials focus on an adult female who had sodolite beads and worn grinding or pallet stones as offerings. Two also contained whole bowls, the only complete bowls in any of the Chiripa phase burials we excavated (L. Steadman, per. comm., 1999). Perhaps not what we normally think of as elders today, the two single juveniles seem to have been treated with as much reverence as the elder women encountered in the burials suggesting that they were considered adults in their community. This area was not a community cemetery but rather a place for honoring certain individuals. The data we have suggest that the early residents of Chiripa and others on the Taraco Peninsula began to hold periodic gatherings surrounding some of the female dead. During these rituals, these pits would have been reopened to feed and tend the dead, as we see with the earlier Chinchorro burials (Arriaza, 1996). The ceramics associated with the plaster surfaces and the burials are predominantly serving vessels, mainly bowls and small jars, such as would be used in public ritual consumption or feasting, dierent from the mixed assemblage of cooking and serving wares from the middens (Steadman and Hastorf, 2001). Very few people were actually buried in this enclosure, suggesting that these few were designated as ancestors. This is not the same veneration that we see in the later adult male chullpas, for a start this is curation with a distinctly female focus. While it is almost a clich e to note that females often are associated with propagation and fertility, this early burial evidence does suggest that the lineages that were rst memorialized on the Taraco landscape were maternal. These central bodies are the strongest indicators of the use of the female line in this initial social consolidation, associated with increased sedentism and territoriality on the Peninsula. It is possible to suggest that females were the initial focus of Titicaca ancestor veneration, a precursor of the female super naturals to come with the stone representations in the Late Chiripa times (Lyon, 1979). By the Tiwanaku imperial times, the veneration has shifted over to the males. The Middle Chiripa period The Middle Chiripa phase is identied by a change in ceramic style, the rst semi-subterranean enclosure
constructed on the peninsula, and by several absolute dates (Hastorf, 1999; Steadman, 1999; Whitehead, 1999b). We have uncovered two architectural features built between 1000 and 800 BC, a sunken enclosure and a walled enclosure. One semi-subterranean enclosure was constructed in the Santiago area (Fig. 7). Associated with the plastered surface to the east. This plastered area received at least four Middle Chiripa multiple and single burials. We have also identied a second enclosure that is now mainly under the mound on the middle terrace (Whitehead, 1999d). The sunken court adjoining the previously demarcated enclosure suggests that the residents were experimenting with new forms of social interactions and rituals.2 The form and frequency of red ceramics expanded along with their surface decoration (Steadman, 1999). This was a time of relatively rapid social change, albeit at a small scale in a modest population. The density of people on the Peninsula, while substantial enough to have regularly spaced communities throughout had not as yet pressured the social environment enough to warrant major societal shifts in political organization (Bandy, 2001). That comes later. At this time we see an interest in accentuating social cohesion with more elaborate ritual participation. Renewal of collective memory through ceremony could build lineage cohesion as well as become a locus for maneuvering political claims in the descent groups (Dillehay, 1990; Hendon, 2000). The Santiago area continues to be a focus for ritual activities involving communion with the dead. More lenses of white plaster surfaces were laid down in this eastern area. These surfaces had some evidence of food preparation, with ashy pits of sh and meat (Dean and Kojan, 1999; Moore and Hastorf, 2000). These fairly clean lenses reect preparation and consumption rather than production or processing. The three burials associated with this surface are all in unlined pits (Fig. 7). One, locus 789 is a multiple burial, in this case centered on a male individual of 3555 years of age (Blom and Bandy, 1999, appendix 5). The oering of a 0.71.3year-old infant is suggested by its crania placed inside a large, sooted cooking pot (Steadman and Hastorf, 2001). The second burial, loci 761/768 is an adult female, aged between 50 and 80 years old in a south facing, exed position (Blom and Bandy, 1999). She had local style cranial deformation, determined by Deborah Blom who has studied the southcentral Andean head treatments. This elder female was wrapped in a reed mat and accompanied by three worn grinding stones, one mano, three duck crania, and a whole cooking pot. As in the
2 While we have no evidence for it, there might have been an earlier, smaller sunken enclosure where the Middle Chiripa one was placed, which would have been completely destroyed in the rebuilding.
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Fig. 7. The Choquehuanca sunken enclosure. The Middle Chiripa burial pits are shaded gray. The site grid coordinates position the excavation units to the main site datum point.
Early Chiripa phase burials, this well-used cooking pot continues the association of feeding with the ancestors. The third burial (locus 816) was a single adult, only partially exposed and therefore its sex was not determined (Hastorf et al., 1992). The Choquehuanca semi-subterranean sunken enclosure built in the western part of this area measures 14 13 m and forms a trapezoid (Fig. 7). The foundation for the enclosure was cut through the Early Chiripa layers down to sterile. Rounded river pebbles were initially laid down (Hastorf et al., 1992; Whitehead, 1999d). The walls were built of river cobbles with gray plastered mud, smoothed, and painted red and yellow. While most of the walls have been destroyed down to one or two courses, the portion seen in Fig. 8 demonstrates that it was originally six courses tall. A ll layer of gray clay was placed throughout the interior and covered by a very ne yellow plaster. A thin use surface on top of this is evident only microscopically. Micromorphological analysis indicates that this surface was not heavily used, but did have water percolation. In
other words, it was exposed to the elements and without a roof. From the one sediment block studied, there is no evidence of burning or res on the surface (Goodman, 1999; Wendy Matthews personal communication, 1997). The ceramics on the Choquehuanca enclosure oor reect a narrow range of activities. The predominance of small jars and bowls, more common here than elsewhere at the site at this time suggests a focus on food consumption, including one special ware that suggests chicha beer (Steadman personal communication, 2000; Steadman and Hastorf, 2001). The oor surface was covered over quite rapidly with Late Chiripa midden. The evidence suggests that food was prepared in the upper enclosure for presentation and consumption in the sunken space, depicting a more formal separation of activities in this phase. Important in the history of ancestral worship on the Taraco Peninsula is the identication of a niche, about 90 cm in length, located on the eastern side of this enclosure (Fig. 9). This niche can be compared to the later niches in the sunken enclosures at Pukara, where
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Fig. 8. Choquehuanca wall plaster, seen on the lower portion of the stonewall. The stick in the photograph is 50 cm long.
Fig. 9. The niche along the eastern wall of the Choquehuanca enclosure. The stick in the photograph is 20 cm long.
vez, 1992; Mohr Kidder found a human mandible (Cha Ch avez, 1988). Another example of niches for the dead and related icons was also uncovered at Pukara, in the small niches of a pre-Pukara rectangular structure in sector BG. While two of the niches near the door were empty, the other two on the opposite wall held a painted stone head in one and a stone human gure in the second (Wheeler and Mujica, 1981, p. 29). We can also refer to the ve more humble but earlier niches found in the Formative structure 3-A at La Barca to the south (Rose, 2001). Two of these niches have human burials in them.
If we assume that the residents of Chiripa periodically placed signicant items in this niche, like people did slightly later at Pukara, we can suggest that this Choquehuanca niche is the rst evidence of ancestral presentation at Chiripa, dating to between 1000 and 800 BC. The placement of a body in a niche can be seen as intermediary between the multiple burials pits of the Early Chiripa phase and the entirely above ground burial-chambers of the Upper Houses in the Late Chiripa phase 2. Upslope on the middle terrace, later covered by the platform mound, we found traces of a large enclosure,
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sitting directly upon leveled Early Chiripa midden (Fig. 10). Only one corner of the wall has been exposed, an L-shaped portion of a large trapezoidal enclosure, of at least 12 5 m (Whitehead, 1999a). This wall was built of in situ 70 30 cm red pillow mud bricks. The inner wall surface was washed with mud, having no sign of colored plaster (Whitehead, 1999a). A scattering of animal bone, lithic tools and ceramic fragments were embedded in the surface. Before 800 BC we have evidence for at least two civic areas that reect the ceremonies at Chiripa. Not only are there multiple burials in an enclosed sacred space, it is associated with a formal gathering place. While we do not know what was kept in the niche, there is evidence in the Andes for their use in ancestral presentation. The large middle terrace enclosure was another ceremonial gathering area. The architectural evidence illustrates the increasing concern with performance space for gather-
ings of up to 50 people at a time (population estimate using 3.6 m2 /person from Moore, 1996, p. 149). These ceremonies, perhaps with processions and certainly with feasting, would cement the social group, rearming lineage if not community identity. This dual ritual space of platform and sunken enclosure is the beginning of a trend that continues for two thousand years, until the end of the Middle Horizon (Kolata, 1993; Stanish, 1997). The Late Chiripa period Between 800 and 250 BC, Chiripa grew to 7.5 ha (Bandy, 1999). This was a dynamic time with an accelerated elaboration of the ceremonial precincts. Karen Mohr (1966), who completed an MA thesis on Kidders excavated ceramics separated the upper and the lower mound levels using ceramic style. These data, along with
Fig. 10. The Middle Chiripa enclosure excavation on the middle terrace.
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a series of absolute dates both on and o the mound, direct us to the two phases in this period, named the Lower and Upper Houses by Bennett. At this point we feel secure that the two phases on the mound do represent a scalar shift in social cohesion, and this shift is visible both stratigraphically and absolutely. We know of at least three new precincts from this time, a sunken enclosure at Llusco on the uppermost terrace, the Quispe enclosure and the canal at Alejo, both on the lowest terrace (Fig. 3). The carbon assays suggest that Llusco was built between 800 and 750 BC, contemporaneous with the Lower Houses (Whitehead, 1999b). The Quispe enclosure was in use later in phase 2, around 390 BC, when the Upper Houses were built (University of Arizona AMS Facility, 2002). Phase 1 The early Llusco trapezoid enclosure (800750 BC), 13 11 m, running northsouth,could comfortably hold around 40 people (Fig. 11; Hastorf et al., 1992; Paz, 1996; population estimate using 3.6 m2 /person from Moore, 1996, p. 149). While there is midden material
deposited on the oor, the evidence suggests non-domestic use. The structure was not roofed. A clay base was laid down after the stone foundation stones were packed into the sloping U shaped trenches cut into sterile soil. On top of this ll, there was a white plastered oor that is now only partially preserved (the shaded area on Fig. 11). The few artifacts that were found sitting on the surface suggest ritual and food consumption activities. Decorated ceramics were the most common, including a nice fragment of a trumpet with mottled camelid heads (Steadman, 1999, Fig. 27d). Trumpets are considered to have been blown in ceremonies, like the large Strombus shells portrayed in Moche iconography and found at the Formative (Early Horizon) site Chav n de Huantar (Lumbreras, 1989). Such a trumpet would have called people, both alive and dead to the ceremony designating ritual time as well as space. Fragments of braziers (incense burners) were uncovered on the oor, often used to cleanse as well as call the deities with the smoke (Groom, 1981). Cooking and food presentation vessels suggest feasting (Steadman, 1999).
Fig. 11. The Late Chiripa phase 1 Llusco enclosure foundation. Some foundation rock is present along the northern wall. Note the canal extending out from the northwest corner.
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The stone lined canal in the northwest corner of this structure is only 24 cm wide and would not have moved much water (Fig. 11). Rituals surrounding water movement in canals are common in the Andes, enacted to bring the rains at the beginning of the planting season (Sikkink, 1997). The sound of water has been noted as important in rituals at sites like the contemporaneous Chav n de Huantar, where there is an elaborate under mound canal associated with the older temple area (Lumbreras, 1989). Evidence of ritual water movement is also present at Tiwanaku. Both of the major mounds, Akapana and Pumapunku have large, well constructed canals that move water only a short way down the mounds, while creating a rumbling sound from within. The middle terrace was redesigned around 800 BC with the building of a raised platform. The carbon assays date this Lower House level to 900600 BC (Whitehead, 1999b). The construction began with a pit oering of an adult with a foetus and a pregnant camelid, in a pit lled with ash and carbon, burnt oerings (locus 3511). The human was buried face down with its head removed from its spine. The llama was not butchered or consumed, but sacriced whole. On the platform a series of stone and mudbrick structures were built in two building sequences, with three structures superimposed in the northern area and two superimposed structures in the southern area (Fig. 12, ASD 13, 14, and 15; Bandy, 1996; Bennett, 1936; Cordero Mirando, n.d.; Kidder, 1956). There is a series of
ne water laid lenses external to these structures, demonstrating that there was some distance between these buildings (Goodman, 1999). In the northern group, the cobble walls and oors were covered with multiple layers of a light-yellow plaster. These structures are small, being only 2.5 m across holding only 35 people at any one time. Several small hearths were found on these oors. Some of these small ephemeral hearths were used for food preparation while others received oerings for burning, including a range of wild non-food taxa (Moore and Hastorf, 2000). There was a closing ceremony with each room renovation. After a thin cap of midden ll or sterile sand was laid down, a re was kindled across the surface with wood and straw. This re evidence is present on top of the ll in at least six of the eight oors in the sequence. The rst Lower House structure was constructed around 600 BC, and the last was abandoned by 400 BC (Whitehead, 1999b). Bandy notes that if we divide the 200 years of use by the eight oors, we nd that there was about 25 years of use for each oor, equal to about generational replenishment (1999b). Further south two superimposed structures were also uncovered. These had more sturdy double coursed walls and were not plastered. The lower structures that Coe excavated in 1955 on the northwest corner of the mound display yet a third type of construction. These structures have many round river cobbles embedded in a clay
Fig. 12. The Prole of Mound 1-A excavations. ASDs are structures, Ds refer to stratigraphic units. Note the sequence of thin oors between D-52 and D-62.
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matrix (Kidder, 1956, Fig. 14). While the architecture suggests a set of buildings on one platform, the buildings were not in the same style nor were they all rebuilt simultaneously. This separate construction is similar to the early levels at Kotosh (Izumi and Terada, 1972). Despite this fairly independent construction style, their angle of orientation and placement, along the sides and at the corners of the platform suggest that these lower structures were generally oriented in a ring around a sunken enclosure. Browman calculated a central sunken enclosure encircled by these structures, based on the excavation of an interior test pit (1978). These rooms around a court could have been for small, separate lineage rituals, suggested by the small oertory res. This standing architecture, replacing the pit tombs as the lineage memorial, would have helped make the dead visible on the landscape (McAnany, 1998). Beck (n.d.) has recently excavated a Late Chiripa phase 1 site, Alta Pukara, 4 km to the east of Chiripa. The ceramics, architectural attributes and absolute dates determine that these are contemporaneous with the Late Chiripa 1, ranging between 790 and 450 BC (Beck, personal communication, 2002). That ceremonial sector is a small platform with two rectangular rooms, one facing east and one west. These structures, most similar to the southern Lower House Chiripa architectural style, suggest a similar community ritual coordination operating, all be it on a much smaller scale than at Chiripa. The Chiripa mound architecture reects a new twotiered level of lineage ritual ceremonialism, moving away from the more collective nature of one enclosure (Moore, 1996). This evidence implies a segmented organization of ritual space, with the dierent lineages having discrete, private chambers. It further reects a dierence of knowledge and access within the lineages not between them, as all of the rooms are more or less the same. The clean plastered oors with their lack of domestic evidence suggests periodic ritual use. The architecture implies that some items were curated above ground, as with the earlier Choquehuanca niche. These buildings could hold only a small number of people at a time. Did the whole lineage meet together in the inner courtyard? Llusco provides us with contemporaneous evidence for larger ritual performances, perhaps even receiving processions from the mound. We still do not know if Llusco was only for one lineage group, was it used serially by the dierent lineages, or used only before the Lower House platform mound was completed? Phase 2 Around 400 BC this architectural trajectory becomes more formalized. The mound was renovated, a new enclosure was built on the lowest terrace. The Quispe enclosure on the lowest terrace also dates to 390 BC, initiated in this new phase of building and ritual elaboration (Paz Soria, 1999). A new addition to this
architectural style is an internal chamber, approximately 2 m in size (Fig. 13). While now melted, the mud walls probably originally formed an inner compartment for we can see the corners in the slump (Roddick, 2002). Although the gray clay base was trampled and exposed, it was homogeneous and bioturbated, suggesting that it was unroofed and not heavily used (Goodman, personal communication, 2001). On the oor surface, Paz Soria found quite dense material, including ceramics, food remains, bone tools, and lithics. There were polychrome incised ceramics reecting ceremonial presentation and evidence for food presentation in the enclosure. In the inner chamber stone working tools and exotic turquoise clustered, suggesting that long distance wealth items were curated and processed there. Directly to the east of Quispe, a well-formed drainage canal that slopes down at least 7 m was found in the Alejo sector (Paz Soria, 1999; Fig. 14). At the beginning of the canal there is a large worn out grinding slab through which the water entered the canal. We found no evidence for a preserved enclosure associated with the canal. Similar subterranean canals exit in the ceremonial precinct of Tiwanaku. This area extends the ritual precinct across the eastern part of the lower terrace in this Late Chiripa phase. At the same time as the Quispe enclosure was in use, the people of Chiripa rebuilt the mound in a uniform, coordinated manner, increasing the sense of hierarchy. It was in use between 400 and 250 BC, contemporaneous with the Titicaca Basins Yayamama Religious Tradition (Mohr Ch avez, 1988). Based on recent Chiripa mound excavations, it is now clear there were two openings, one to the north, down slope, and one to the south, upslope (as Bennett originally thought) with seven structures on each side (Fig. 3). The 14 coordinated, rooms are uniform in construction style, some sharing outer walls. The rooms encircle a large 25 m wide sunken enclosure, larger than all other recorded sunken enclosures at the time (Moore, 1996, p. 148). This area could have held about 200 (population estimate using 3.6 m2 /person from Moore, 1996, p. 149), more than what the 14 rooms could hold. Each room was larger than the earlier structures, measuring on average 8 5 m. More elaborate as well, these structures had nine interior bins, making each interior space only about 6 3 m (Fig. 15). The oors and cobbled walls were plastered with several colors. Unlike the earlier level however, these structures were not renovated or rebuilt throughout their use. Given that they were built as one, their architecture reects how the participating groups planned and worked together in this central construction. Their conception and use of ritual space is clear, with some of it designated for communal activities in the center, with the smaller rooms for more secretive activities. Like the previous phase these data strongly suggest a two-tiered level of ritual activity at Chiripa. Further
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Fig. 13. The Late Chiripa Quispe enclosure with canal extending to the northwest.
evidence of a shift from collectivity to selective control at Chiripa is seen in the rooms entrances. These structures have doorways with slots for sliding woven mat (or
less likely wood) doors. This sealing o entrances is unusual in the Andes. This could be to keep people out, restricting who could enter. Likewise, it also could be to
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Fig. 14. The Alejo Late Chiripa canal. Scale is 1 m long.
keep those inside in, reminiscent of subterranean tombs. These entrances reect a social control as well as a sacred hierarchy. This size dierence between the small rooms and the mound courtyard supports the notion of inequality in access to the memorials. There were those who could go into the rooms and be with the most sacred, but the majority participated or watched in the plaza, or perhaps even o the mound. Niches are regularly placed throughout each room, like the Kotosh and La Galgada rooms (Fig. 15). Different from these sites are the well-formed antechambers (bins) with constricted openings at Chiripa. Archival photographs from Kidders excavations illustrate that these openings were restricted not only by raised lips but also by at stone slabs on the top, making them almost impossible for an adult to enter without some dismantling (Kidder, 1956, Fig. 15). These basal ledges were not worn, suggesting what was kept inside tended to remain there. These above ground chambers, like other small, dark places, could have held wrapped mummy bundles. The niches could have held small, carved stones like in the Pre-Pukara phase niches at Pukara. Such storage would allow for the smaller sacred items to be taken out periodically, similar to the later rooms
and niches at many of the Inka sites like Coricancha or Machu Picchu. Six otation samples analyzed from a chamber in house 5 indicate that they had sparse charred plants relative to the middens, but included tubers, Chenopodium quinoa, and wild seeds (Whitehead, 1999c). None of the taxa were in dense enough quantities to be the remains of burnt food storage but could have been burnt oerings that are regularly burned in ceremonies today, or simply be the remnants of the closing res. Kidder reported that at least three of the structures were burnt at the end of this phase. Perhaps, like the earlier mound structures, these rooms were purposefully burned before they were closed for the next ceremonial construction. While we do not have any direct material evidence for mallki storage in these antechambers, many lines of evidence suggest that these were above ground chambers for the sacred. As Julia Hendon notes in Mesoamerica: these rooms combined the material with the moral in a specic and highly signicant place (2000, p. 47). Thirty-four Late Chiripa burials have been excavated from sub-oor pits (Bennett, 1936, 1948; Kidder, 1956; Portugal Ort z, 1992; Portugal Ort z, 1992; Portugal Zamora, 1940). Two of the burials excavated by Bennett were associated with the closing of the lower structures (CH-H2-C and CH-H2-A in Fig. 15). Bennett excavated 17 Upper House burials (12 complete and 5 fragmentary, Fig. 15). Kidders team excavated seven sub-oor Upper House burials and Portugal Zamora unearthed 10 burials. Their reports provide data from three of the Upper Houses. Each house had at least ve burial pits. Some of these were multiple body burials with elaborate and exotic goods, including one double adult burial under House C (Portugal Zamora, 1940). Most pits were unlined. Some pits held only crania. Some of the bodies received quite elaborate grave goods, including golden plaques, copper, beads, and decorated Late Chiripa vessels. Bennett noted straw lined graves on the mound, which was probably the reed wrapping of the bodies, as noted in the Early and Middle Chiripa burials. Without secure sexing I cannot say if these were female focused burials or not. The bodies were placed near the structure entrances and in the corners of the inner rooms. There is no evidence that bodies were buried beneath the bin chambers. Given that the rooms were probably in use for over 100 years (400250 BC), the multiple burials and disturbed bones suggest that the pits were reopened periodically to add oerings. Several of these burials had extra crania. Contemporaneous cranial oerings have also been found on the Chilean coast in a Formative Alto Ramirez site in the Azapa Valley, a continuation of the Chinchorro tradition (Rivera, 1976). This phase ends around 250 BC when the central enclosure was expanded, but the encircling separate rooms for the dierent lineages were not rebuilt. Now there is only a well-formed stone lined sunken enclosure.
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Fig. 15. Upper House 2 on the Chiripa mound with the suboor burials. Based on Bennetts Figures 22 and 23 (1936, pp. 127 and 128).
There was at least one sunken enclosure and a platform mound in each Late Chiripa sub-phase. There is an architectural precedent for ritual precincts to have sunken enclosures and mounds, the earlier coastal sites of Aspero and Huaynun a have them, as do the later centers in the Tiwanaku phases in the Titicaca Basin (Kolata, 1993; Stanish, 1997; Wheeler and Mujica, 1981). This pattern suggests a tiered set of rituals that build from small family or elder gatherings in the inner chambers with iconic memorials, on up to large community events that could be seen if not joined. This provides us insight into the form of socialization at least some in the community were envisioning, stressing a closed lineage through the small memorials, while also desiring larger group solidarity with the larger events.
Iconography at Chiripa Accompanying this architectural elaboration in the Late Chiripa phase 1, Browman (1972), Cordero
Miranda (1977), and Ponce-Sangines (1990) note that stone carvings began to enter these ceremonial precincts. These stone carvings are most dense around the southern lake, beginning with surreal animal images that suggest an interest in wet areas, with frogs, lizards, snakes, and suchi lake sh (Browman, 1972), called the Asiruni style by (Ch avez and Mohr Ch avez, 1976). Ethnographic inquiry suggests that these images link to agricultural fertility, through their association with water and wetness, water bringing growth and fertility (Denise Arnold, personal communication, 1999). These images, along with the water canals, show an increased concern about water in ritual performance if not in the subsistence cycle. Later, the carved stones become more anthropomorphic, with the main motif an enlarged head on a small body. These images are carved on standing stones. The androgynous heads and dual engendered bodies all have a stylistically prominent T for the nose and eyebrows. The most renowned Chiripa carving found on the mound is illustrated in Fig. 16. This head has two
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suggesting that the beings (heads) have special sight. It has been suggested that the shift from animals to anthropomorphic images reects a more hierarchical political structure, as the ultimate elders (humans) become the messengers between the deities and living rather than the water animals, who swim in the rivers and lakes (Roe, 1982). This is so, we see this shift occurring between 800 and 400 BC in the southern Titicaca Basin, exactly when the architectural subdivisions begin in the sacred space of the Chiripa mound. Later, between 100 BC and AD 300, around the lake there is another major shift in iconography. Human heads are now held by powerful kneeling felines, as in the chachapuma stone gures. This imagery is of overt power over human life, well beyond life force fertility, emitting a raw sense of power over others lives.
In memory of the dead The height of the autonomous ritual architectural and material culture elaboration occurred in the Late Chiripa phase. Rather than nding more substantial dwellings through time however, we have found increased architectural expression for ceremony and social memory. The Chiripa data present a picture of the important placement of the ancestors and associated rituals at the core of the earliest altiplano settled communities. These buildings, with their visited ancestors and ceremonial paraphernalia are the material manifestation of the groups idea of itself. The architecture reects the changing social world of community relations. In each phase we see that the placement of the dead remained central to the architectures layout and integrity. Artifactual evidence in these enclosures, especially the painted ceramic serving and consuming vessels, suggests large, periodic gatherings, where food was consumed, to feed both the living and the dead. The idea of the community was nurtured in ceremonial time as shared rituals of memory and meaning, unied the group in these collective experiences. Voluntary collective action expressed in the events was in honor of lineage. The data inform us about the size of gatherings as well as the types of performances and activities, including processions, music, feasting, and oering. The architectural elaboration displayed both the ideal of communitas but also a sense of stratication. The increased visibility and memorialization of group on the landscape reects a cultural dissonance described by Pauketat (2000). As noticeable memorials to the dead were built, the masses received more elaborate ceremonies of community to rearm lineage membership. While most people probably participated in the building of the mound and its chambers, they were at the same time restricted from all levels of participation as few
Fig. 16. The Formative PAjano carved stone from the Chiripa mound. Currently in the UNAR Museum, La Paz, Bolivia.
legs and four snakes unfurling out from the face, like rays. Camelids also join the image. Ch avez and Mohr Ch avez (1976) call these gures Yayamama (a Quechua term), due to some of the carvings having a malefemale Janus-like conguration. Portugal Ort z (1989) calls them PAjano (an Aymara term). All agree that these portraits are of super-humans harnessing the malefemale energies (Browman, 1972; Ch avez and Mohr Ch avez, 1976; L emuz Aguirre, 2001; Portugal Ort z, 1981, 1988, Portugal Ort z et al., 1993). The Chiripa phase gures have an element of fecundity and natural power. The standing stones that have been found in situ are within sunken enclosures or mounds (Portugal Ort z et al., 1993). Complete bodies as well as bodies without heads have been found carved on standing stones at Chiisi (Ch avez and Mohr Ch avez, personal communication, 2000). At Titimani, on the eastern shore of the large lake, Portugal Ort z (1981, 1988) found some head sized carved stones, suggesting the mobile stone enqaychus were being brought into enclosures for rituals. Perhaps the small, carved stones were kept in the chamber niches while the larger PAjano heads and body standing stones were in the sunken enclosures. These carved images become more realistic in the Tiwanaku I and III times, but continue to have superhuman qualities. Now the rays emanate out of the eyes,
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people could have entered these closed rooms for communion with the ancestors. This material sequence allows us to view the changing scale of society as well as the experimentation with collective memory in the Formative times on the Taraco Peninsula. Sometime after 1500 BC, the people who rst lived around Chiripa placed themselves and their ancestors more rmly on the peninsula with burials in walled enclosures. The data suggest that the residents began to hold regular and protracted rituals surrounding a few burials. Females might have been the initial focus in this process with the veneration of their powers of fertility and sustenance. The spatial layout of marked tombs within a large enclosure allowed for visitation, providing a place of communion between the dead and the living. The multiple pits could have allowed for the recognition of several family lines, honored in sequence or separately. The stone lined pits were reopened to add oerings, including other members. Human oerings are clearly part of the ritual equation, seen in the oertory burials placed at the start of each platform construction. Around 1000 BC a sunken community enclosure was built in association with the ancestral ground. This allowed for more complex gatherings as the ritual ceremonies that honored the dead expanded from the walled enclosures to the nearby semisubterranean space. Up to 60 residents could have attended a ceremony at the same place and time. After 800 BC there is a raised mound with at least one sunken enclosure. The artifacts in these edices inform us about the types of performances and activities that occurred within. In the Late Chiripa 1 phase, lineage networks must have expanded as some of the familys authority grew. This is seen in the new place for special activities on a raised platform mound within small buildings. With Llusco in use in this phase, some 70 m away, there was more than one type of ritual space available for supra-familial groups to meet and worship with perhaps dierent types of ceremonies held in the dierent places. The lineage mnemonic culminated around 400 BC in both multiple body pit burials as well as above-ground bins that held sacred items and possibly lineage ancestral mummy bundles for the 14 ocial lineages. The two sets of seven structures demarcate a dual ayllu structure at least by 400 BC. Interestingly, this same social structure continues today in Chiripa, materially displaying a direct historical link with or a return to the social structures that were being codied in these Middle Formative times. The social organization of the group, two moieties each with 7 lineages is clearly placed on the ceremonial landscape. These 14 groups were living in and around Chiripa and likely included some of the lineages of the surrounding area. Neighboring Alto Pukara abandoned their two chambers on their platform mound at the end of Late Chiripa Phase 1, perhaps these lineages joined some of the Chiripa lineages.
The increasingly elaborate architecture suggests not only the re-enforcing of a local cultural identity but also the construction of a larger social group in the area. More people were residing at the settlement, helping in the construction and joining in the ceremonies. The carved stones placed on the mound provided mnemonic devices for the living to communicate with the greater powers that had jurisdiction over the land. The messengers were the selected dead, who were called by trumpets and propitiated with food, drink and smoke. Large processions of up to 200 people could have walked up onto the mound and into the inner courtyard, still a human scale of interaction. It was likely that only a very few entered through the closed doors into the small roofed rooms during their ceremonies (Moore, 1996). Most would have watched and listened in the interior courtyard as the sacred objects were brought out and the ceremonies were enacted. There were both restrictive rituals in the small lineage houses of the Lower Houses and also inclusive gatherings in the enclosures. The mound enclosure, with a series of ritual structures neatly surrounding the center was designed for access but also closure and protection of the things stored in the inner chambers. The sunken enclosures were more democratic, perhaps harkening back to the earlier social orders. These large spaces were gathering points for a whole lineage, bringing them together for strategic, situated sensory performances of music and trumpets (sound), incense (smell), and food (taste) (Bell, 1992, p. 81). In sum These structures containing the whole community and the ancestors, marked the place of membership rearmation on the landscape (Bell, 1992; Gillespie, 2000; Levi-Strauss, 1982). Ceremonies create communitas as they construct social identity and delimit a corporate group. These events would have been meaningful and memorable performances that children and adults alike would recall throughout their lives. This collective memory made through recurring veneration would renew a persons links to family, to group, as well as to territory. Ritual performances became more codied at Chiripa over time as the group created an exclusivity and hierarchy in the living. The experiment of larger group cohesion worked while people connected with the telluric spirit world through their ancestors. As groups became larger through familial extension, the people born or recruited into each generation encouraged more elaborate rituals and ritual cycles. As the events grew more elaborate, they opened up the possibility to expand control in other realms, perhaps with ownership of lake resources, elds, or herds. While this nested ceremonial knowledge at Chiripa developed for over one thousand years, around 250 BC it was overtaken by a neighboring
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community which, like Alto Pukara 200 years earlier, incorporated the lineages of Chiripa into a larger ceremonial center and political entity. Chiripas ceremonies were now in one communal enclosure on top of the mound. The ceremonies had a new, more overt political edge to them, as seen in the iconography. I began by asking how far back and of what sort might community creation be archaeologically visible? When did this process begin in this region and what do the material changes suggest about the type of societal cohesion? Through architectural and burial evidence we have learned how leading lineages at this ceremonial center claimed group cohesion through ritual participation. The patchy material at Chiripa illustrates how the materiality of living energy essence and the mediation with the ancestors, transmitted a sense of community from one generation to the next. This meaning was constituted and retained in the memory of the dead. These sacred places re-enforced social memory not only by participatory performances but also through the daily experiences of living among them on the landscape. Such memorials to group lineage and ancestor helped form the Chiripan individual. We can also see the workings of leadership and social restructuring in the data. Without membership participation in construction and ceremony, these rituals would not have been maintained. An audience was as important to the dead as the ceremony was to the living. This spiral of action perpetuated the cultural memories through each generation creating and recreating the group as it coalesced into emotionally connected society. The clever elder consolidated his or her lineage through these rituals of inclusion while separating his or herself out as the direct conduit to the ancestors (Aktinson, 1989). Tuan (1974), the geographer, tells us that public architecture is a powerful medium that contains information about social relations, group formation and individual place through shared activities and beliefs. Chiripa gives us a clue into this world of community creation through their use of memorials and ancestry.
with the Archaeological Research Facility of the University of California-Berkeley. The eld project operated under the permission of the National Institute of Archaeology (UNAR), the Secretariat of the Institute of Culture for Bolivia, and the community of Chiripa.
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Acknowledgments I would like to thank Matthew Bandy, Ian Hodder, Bill Isbell, Jerry Moore, Lee Steadman, Chip Stanish, all the members of the Taraco Archaeological Project, in addition to three reviewers for thoughtful and perceptive comments on this subject. Bill Whitehead crafted the gures. The archivists of the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Anthropology and Clark Erickson graciously allowed me to study Alfred Kidders artifacts and eld records. The Taraco Archaeological Project has been supported in part by the National Science Foundation (SBR-94-96251), The National Geographic Society, the Department of Anthropology, and the Stahl Foundation
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Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 22 (2003) 305332 www.elsevier.

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

Fig. 1. The Taraco Peninsula study area.

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

Fig. 14. The Alejo Late Chiripa canal. Scale is 1 m long.

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

C.A. Hastorf / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31 (2003) 305332

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