If only it could stay this way Vilcabamba, Ecuador is an idyllic little town—and that’s its problem By Ruxandra Guidi Photographs by Santiago Arcos ‘Of ARMIJOS IS SITTING on a bench in the plaza, legs crossed. An unusual cane of ufia de gato (cat’s claw) wood—a local cure for aching bones—is propped up next to him. Don Noé is a 95-year-old native of Vilcabamba, a dreamy little town in the mountains of southern Ecuador that has long been reputed to be home to many men and women as old as as he is—and older even. This distinction, coupled with a beau- tiful natural setting of fruit orchards, pines, and tropical trees, has attracted tourists as well as American and European expatriates to Vilcabamba for four decades. Some 13,000 foreigners came here last year. Don Noé doesn't like that one bit. “We get both kinds of gringos: the kind that have so much money but won't spend any of it here, and the others who are so broke, they pick up the pennies that fall out of their pockets,” says Don Noé, taking a quick look around the plaza. To his right, a young, long-haired American wearing flip- flops walks by, gazing at the leafy surroundings. Back in the 1960s, this was a sleepy and remote village with dirt streets, crumbling adobe buildings, and little connection to the outside world. The only people coming through town were on their way to the border crossing with Peru. Locals bathed daily in the Yambala River, living off the land, growing coffee, cocoa, corn, sugarcane, and fruit trees year- round. “All you have to do is throw the seeds on the ground, and they will grow!” is a common saying around town. 60 SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS FALL 2015Yet despite such fertile soils, Vilcabamba's lush hills and valleys aren’t producing for the agricultur- al market like they once did, as most locals prefer to work in tourism instead of farming and land is being used for housebuilding. This reversal started in 1973, when a Harvard Medical School physician and researcher named Alexander Leaf, published an article in National Geographic magazine. In the article, Leaf presented his findings on what he referred to as the “most consistently disease-free and long-lived people on Earth:” the Abkhazians on the north shore of the Black Sea, the Hunzukut people in the Himalaya of Pakistan, and the residents of Vileabamba. But as more and more researchers began to descend on Vilcabamba, Leaf himself became suspicious. He invited Richard Mazess of the University of Wisconsin, Madison and Sylvia Forman of the University of California, Berkeley to help decipher the real ages of Vilcabamba’s elderly population. In “Longevity and age exaggeration in Vilcabamba, Ecuador,” published in the Journal of Gerontology, the two researchers concluded that “life 62 SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS FALL 2015 expectancy (corrected for exaggeration) at all ages in Vilcabamba (and Loja) is in fact less than in the U.S.” Despite the debunking, Vilcabamba continued to be depicted as the “Valley of Longevity” and a modern-day Shangri-La, drawing yet more re- searchers and visitors seeking that ever so ephem- eral secret to eternal youth. Stories of men living as long as 140 years began to make the rounds, along- side theories about the healthful impacts of miner- al-rich local water, every manner of vegetable, and perennial springlike weather. Bernie Uhe doesn't dismiss the theories; after all, he’s lived happily and healthily in Vilcabamba for 15 years. A meditation teacher and building con- tractor from Southern California, Uhe is nonethe- less frankly critical about many of Vilcabamba’s newcomers: “This town attracts lots of eccentric conspiracy theorists, New Ageists, and people who don't like the quality of life in the United States.” pe three ee don't always get along, he explains. ‘After their honeymoon with Vilcabamba ends and reality sets i i : ity sets in, foreigners must integrate with the TC ECunVilcabamba nestles in the lush “Valley of Longevity” (above), a region blessed bya spring-like climate and strong, productive soil. The village's remote location in Southern Ecuador attracts foreigners looking for a break from the hustle and bustle of modern living, local culture,” Uhe Says, switching from English to accented Spanish. “This doesn't happen enough.” Uhe is taking me in his pickup truck around Hacienda San Joaquin, an upscale gated commu- nity catering to well-to-do foreigners. He’s built many of the houses here. We drive past perfectly manicured lawns and extensive backyards with horses, llamas, and guard dogs. The buzz of lawn mowers and leaf blowers can be heard all around— once a rare noise in these parts. At the end of a main road, we reach an enor- mous three-story house at the top of a hill; it’s sell ing for over $1.5 million. With its grand atrium, all glass walls, and incredible views of the valley, this mansion is representative of some of the lavish life styles that can be created here fora fraction of their The e is also a re cost in the United States. The house is als as changed, to the minder of how much the town has change e to the locals. point that it is almost unrecognizable to th ‘ ely to slow It’s a transformation that’s not likely ¢ | don't think the housing 1e soon. down anyti a vs t roing to burs! market for ex{ 5 as long as there are people who keep getting tired of the U.S.” For those coming from the US. or Europe, Vilcabamba grants a respite from a fast-paced, consumerist life, while still offering the creature comforts of cheese, baguettes, and wine. With for- eigners representing a quarter of the population, the town retains its Ecuadorian character. The nearest city, picturesque Loja, with a population of roughly 200,000, is an hour away. And with the ex ception of Hacienda San Joaquin, land is still cheap. Initially, foreigners moved to Yamburara Alto, a neighborhood overlooking the town along nar- row dirt roads. These days they are spreading out to San José, where Victor Macas—a lifelong resident—lives with his family His house, an orange two-level, concrete-block home surrounded by fruit trees and coffee plants, is also where he runs a small-scale coffee-roasting operatior completely when an hanped tion changed An 1 to buy up my land ays the IAN JOURNEYA Spanish colonial church anchors the south side of Vilcabamba’s small main plaza. 79-year-old Macas. He won't reveal the sale price, but boasts that he was paid at least four times what he would have received from a local buyer. With that money, Macas was able to jump-start his coffee business. Sitting out on his porch, with birds chirping loudly in the fruit trees of his garden, he admits to disappointment over the changes in Vileabamba. Dangling a little plastic bag of pills in his left hand, he complains about the prescriptions he now takes: “Back in the day, we would never go see a doctor. We just used herbal medicines, bathed in the Tiver, and worked hard all day in the field, drinking the coffee and eating the food we produced ourselves.” Such changes, Macas argues, are why few cen- tenarians are left in Vilcabamba. “But go see Don Timoteo Arboleda,” Macas says as | leave his porch. “He's one of our oldest, and he's still out there har- vesting coffee.” Don Timoteo is napping when I show up at his house at the end of a dirt road in Yamburara Alto, on a hill overlooking the river. He emerges from his room after 15 minutes, wearing a fedora and a 66 SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS FALL 2015 baby-blue cardigan sweater. At tor years of age, he moves slowly and carefully. He hasn't been able to pick his coffee lately, but he's still perfectly lucid, ‘Tm from the days when Vilcabamba was all agricultural land, but we peasants had no Tights to it. Back then, if you wanted to grow, you had to lease your patch from the big landowners.” Ina single lifetime, Don Timoteo has witnessed his neighborhood going from being one big haci- enda to small-plot farming to where it is now: an area with less and less land and more and more houses. His eldest daughter, Lastenia, is even more nostalgic than he is; she resents this much growth, this fast. She and her family have received multiple Offers for their patch of land by the river, but they won't budge. “We may not have to lease our land from the big landowners anymore. But we cant afford to buy anything around town,” she say’. Food and housing prices in Vilcabamba can be among the highest in Ecuador, as high as thos¢ !" big cities like Guayaquil and Quito. But just sho" drive away from the Arboledas’ home, inside #mmune called Shambhalabamba, the residents an idyllic life is possible with little or no money. There are few rules in Shambhalabamba. No ne pays rent. People can build their own houses n the lush 14-acre property by the river as long as yall get along. The settlement is the lifelong dream of --old Tom Osher, also known as Mofwoofoo a gentle, blue-eyed man, self-described itter as a “dimensionless center of perception love in action.” Osher says he made a fortune running a moving company in San Francisco in the ities and nineties, before retiring to Vilcabamba create a model “ecovillage.” “Lpay for everything here, except for the food,” Osher. “All 1 ask is that people donate four sa day to agriculture and to building.” Shambhalabamba has already erected at least a en homes, a circus stage, a recording studio, an al lake, a carpentry workshop, and plots to etables, fruit trees, and herbs. In the works or a kids’ circus, where Osher hopes to intermingling between commune resi- 1e families in town. 's “anarchism in action” model hasn’t the locals, no matter how hard he ng in rudimentary Spanish, Osher says t Vilcabamba to get out the word une’s activities. Noé Armijos is sitting on his up the sun. | ask him wheth- bhalabamba. “No, what's that?” ‘I tell him about the place, the the property, the communal stage. | explain, as best I can, it to become someday. ptical; then, as if he has ition, he smiles. “You shouldn't g people in Vilcabamba tell you. been told by the others here, The other Vilcabamba hen American explorer Hiram Bingham stumbled upon the tuins of Machu Picchu in 1911, he was actually looking for the ancient city of Vilcabamba—in what is now present- day Peru. Hidden deep in the Amazon's thick jungles—just 22 miles away from where Bingham made his accidental discovery—Vilcabamba was the last ‘stronghold before the Inca Empire fell. In 1532, Spanish conquistador Francisco Pizarro defeated Inca Emperor Atahualpa and his 80,000 warriors with less than 200 men. Atahualpa was slaughtered, and Pizarro seized the capital, Cusco. That would have marked the end of the Inca, but Atahualpa’s younger brother, Manco Inca, rebelled. He tried to take back his city but ultimately failed. So Manco and his followers fled into the jungles of Vilcabamba Valley and declared Vilcabamba the new Inca capital in 1537. From there, the 21-year-old emperor launched guerrilla warfare that lasted decades. He targeted merchants and Spanish soldiers in the countryside. Pizarro sent more than 200 men ona hunt for the rebel. At several thousand feet below Cusco, Vileabamba didn't give Manco the elevation advantage he'd wanted. But it turned out to be incredibly difficult for the Spanish cavalry to find. Even when they got close, steep hills, slippery rocks, and overall rugged terrain made entering his makeshift royal city nearly impossible. Manco couldn't fend off the invaders for long. In 1539, Gonzalo Pizarro, Francisco's younger hot- headed brother, launched a full frontal attack on the Inca just outside Vilcabamba. Gonzalo’s men hacked pass the barricades, and Manco fled as they ransacked his city and captured the queen. Once Gonzalo retreated, Manco hid out in Vilcabamba for the first half of the 1540s. A civil war had broken out ‘among the Spaniards in Cusco, and Francisco Pizarro was betrayed and killed. Elated, Manco made the grave mistake of granting the assassins refuge. The men soon turned on Manco and killed him in an attempt to gain pardon from the Spanish monarch. That left the last of the Inca Empire in the hands of Manco’s three sons, one of whom gave up his throne to join the Spanish and another who mysteriously died. The youngest, Tupac Amaru, assumed the throne in 1571. But in the 38 years since Cusco was captured, the Spanish had become better equipped, with more advanced strategies. “The only real question for the invaders was: would the Inca emperor escape and in so doing, live to fight another day?” writes anthropologist Kim MacQuarrie in his book The Last Days of the Incas. Tupac Amaru fled with his pregnant wife, and it didn’t take long for the Spanish to find them. The emperor was ‘executed in the main square of Cusco where, according to MacQuarrie, Pizarro's forces had set up camp the first day they arrived in the city. Abandoned for centuries, Vilcabamba was rediscovered in 1964 by the American explorer Gene Savoy, who doubted Hiram Bingham’s claims that Machu Picchu was the last Inca capital. Today a trek to the site follows the very path that once determined the fate of Peru's largest empire. —Linda Poon SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS 67