Article

Journal of Social Archaeology

2022, Vol. 22(2) 191–211
Narrating from landscape in © The Author(s) 2022
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DOI: 10.1177/14696053221094319

problem with the suni natural journals.sagepub.com/home/jsa

region

Gabriel Ramón
Department of Humanities, Pontifical Catholic University of Peru, Peru

Martha G Bell
Department of Humanities, Pontifical Catholic University of Peru, Peru

Abstract
Archaeologists use the landscape to explain the past, often referring to traditional or
indigenous knowledge to better understand that landscape. But how is this analogical
process performed, and how is indigenous knowledge understood and recorded? This
article examines Peruvian geographer Javier Pulgar Vidal’s concept of suni—a term with
several definitions in Aymara and Quechua, but which was transformed by Pulgar Vidal
into a “Natural Region,” in other words a meaningful portion of the landscape—as an
entry point into this broader issue. Suni is important because it is a poorly defined part of a
wider Andean landscape model supposedly based on indigenous knowledge and because
it is commonly used by archaeologists to explain precolonial land use and landscapes.
Through analysis of the creation and application of suni, we define major challenges faced
by archaeologists when interpreting sites and materials in landscape perspective and
present suggestions for moving forward.

Corresponding author:
Gabriel Ramón, Department of Humanities, Pontifical Catholic University of Peru, Av. Universitaria 1801,
Lima 32, Peru.
Email: glramon@pucp.edu.pe
192 Journal of Social Archaeology 22(2)

Keywords
Andean studies, landscape ethnoecology, indigenous and local knowledge, Andean
archaeology, Andean landscapes

Introduction
Technological advances have made it ever simpler to obtain accurate measurements of
absolute geographic location (altitude, latitude, longitude). Yet to locate archaeological
evidence and to narrate the precolonial past, establishing precise geographical coordinates
is just the beginning. Ecological zonation models allow archaeologists to categorize sites,
artifacts, and other remains, and to link them to narratives about past events, practices, and
processes. However, uncritically “placing” sites within zonation models, without a clear
understanding of how these were constructed and what data supports them, can result in
misleading explanations of the past, an issue rarely discussed. In mountainous regions
such as the Andes, there are at least two ways to define ecological zones: those that apply
Western scientific criteria and those based on categories used by local people (Mayer,
2002: 244). This article deals with the latter, to consider how indigenous and local
landscape knowledge may be incorporated into archaeological explanation. To do this, it
examines a specific case within one of the most popular Peruvian zonation systems: the
concept of suni, one of the “Eight Natural Regions” identified and publicized by the
renowned Peruvian geographer Javier Pulgar Vidal (1911–2003) as part of his geographic
model of Peru’s national space. This concept is frequently deployed in archaeological
studies to explain land use and landscape organization in diverse parts of Peru and in
various precolonial periods from a supposedly indigenous perspective.
Pulgar Vidal conceived of the Peruvian landscape as a series of vertically stacked
zones, which he called “Natural Regions.” These zones are distinguishable mainly by
altitude, but also by climatic features, presence of flora and fauna, and significantly, by
cultural features: “traditional” human land uses (particularly related to cultivated crops)
and toponyms in indigenous languages (Pulgar Vidal, 1987). Pulgar Vidal’s model
explicitly presents the major subsistence and economic activities associated with each
“Natural Region.” He argued that this landscape model was applicable to the entire
national space and called it an example of “traditional indigenous knowledge” (Pulgar
Vidal, 1941: 149, 160). Pulgar Vidal distinguished his model from earlier simplistic coast-
highlands-jungle models, which he later argued to be a legacy of the Spanish conquest,
created without incorporating local knowledge and traditions (Pulgar Vidal, 2014). The
term suni has several meanings in Aymara and Quechua, but Pulgar Vidal defines suni as
the zone located 3500–4000/4100 m above sea level (hereafter m.a.s.l.), just below the
puna and just above the quechua.1 Suni is characterized as cold and dry, with strong
diurnal temperature variation and seasonal precipitation. High-altitude crops like quinua,
oca, and olluco may be cultivated in this zone, and pastoralism is also common (Pulgar
Vidal, 1941: 155–156). Until recently, this model was used in territorial planning and
included in national education curricula (Zimmerer and Bell, 2013).
Ramón and Bell 193

Preliminary exploration of the definition of the term suni alerts us to complications

surrounding Pulgar Vidal’s use of the term. In an Aymara-Spanish dictionary from 1612,
the Jesuit Ludovico Bertonio included the following equivalence: “puna [=] suni”
(Bertonio, 1612: 388), and other associated definitions, such as “suni [=] tierra
desploblada (uninhabited land)” (Bertonio, 1612: 327). Four centuries later, Arnold,
Jiménez, and Yapita suggested a definition of the Aymara term: “Suni. The highest part of
the altiplano. Puna in the Quechua language” (Arnold et al., 2014: 255).2 These two
definitions summarize one of the conclusions of this article: that suni is equivalent to puna
and not an independent zone or “Natural Region.” In addition, both definitions are related
to Bolivia and to the Aymara language, while Pulgar Vidal’s model pertains to Peru,
begging the question of whether it is possible to generalize Bolivian Andean evidence for
the rest of the Andes, or at least for Peru. Pulgar Vidal’s model thus exemplifies the
complications that ensue when detailed ethnographic research on specific places is
subsumed into a grand regional- or national-scale narrative.
This article explores the case study of the original creation and later application(s) of
the suni concept within Andean(ist) archaeology, to address two major theoretical issues.
The first draws on literature on landscape ethnoecology to highlight the challenges of
understanding, recording, and using indigenous and local knowledge about landscape.
The second relates to the idea of intra-regional variability. An interdisciplinary field such
archaeology, which assimilates data and theories from ethnography, geography, and
history, among others, confronts the persistent dilemma of attempting to generalize
without erasing difference. The archaeologist endeavoring to understand landscapes of
the past confronts both difficulties. After presenting these broader issues, this article
considers the historical context of the original creation of the suni concept through
analysis of the milieu in which Pulgar Vidal worked. It then analyzes major patterns in the
uses of suni in both the ethnographic and archaeological literature, presents critiques of
Pulgar Vidal’s model by ethnographers, and discusses recent archaeological applications
of this concept. Finally, the conclusions summarize some of the challenges faced by
archaeologists narrating the precolonial landscape and present suggestions for better ways
forward.

Landscape ethnoecology and intra-regional variability in

archaeological interpretation
The value of Indigenous and Local Knowledge (ILK) for landscape-based studies is of
growing interest in diverse areas of territorial management and governance, with many
studies focusing on South America (Adade Williams et al., 2020). While the majority of
this work analyzes applications of ILK for current and future sustainability and con-
servation, applications for archaeological research are also evident (Stump, 2013).
Landscape ethnoecology is an interdisciplinary framework useful for understanding ILK
about landscapes, which specifically seeks to study “landscape as perceived and imagined
by the people who live in it, the land seen, used and occupied by the members of a local
community” (Johnson and Hunn, 2012: 1). This goes beyond study of toponyms and
specific places (sometimes called ethnogeography), or study of specific species of plants
194 Journal of Social Archaeology 22(2)

and animals (ethnobiology), to identify “folk ecotopes,” understood as “elements dis-

tributed repetitively across the landscape, conceptual elements that constitute the biotic
and physical space in which people live” (Johnson and Hunn, 2012: 2). Specifically
highlighted are the “features of the landscape useful for people making a living off the
land” (Johnson and Hunn, 2012: 3). In Peru, landscape ethnoecology studies have focused
on the Amazon, with less attention to the Andes, although several studies examine
landscape units or “ecosystem-like concepts” prevalent in Andean agropastoral spaces
(Mayer, 2002: 244; see also Boillat et al., 2013; Zimmerer, 1999). While proponents of
landscape ethnoecology recognize that landscape knowledge develops over time and has
deep historical roots, how exactly current knowledge can be applied in archaeological
contexts is a complicated issue (Johnson and Hunn, 2012: 6).
A second dilemma arises when site-specific local knowledge of landscape is gener-
alized to broader regional or even national scales. Considerable effort has been devoted to
identifying the peculiarities of the Andean through deep ethnographic research in remote
communities, but few discuss the difficulties of subsuming this diversity within a grand
narrative (e.g. Why can’t an example from Bolivia or northern Argentina be used to
analyze a Peruvian case? How might we move from describing a specific case to de-
scribing traits that are pan-Andean?). Related to this issue of intra-Andean variability, we
must recognize the enormous influence of anglophone ethnographies from southern Peru
on archaeological interpretations for the northern part of the country. With what criteria
can the Cuzco ethnographic experience be used to understand archaeological material
from Ancash, Cajamarca, or La Libertad? (See Figure 1 for map of places mentioned.)
The problem of understanding landscape knowledge (or folk ecotopes) is thus combined
within the perpetual search for how to situate local or regional peculiarities in relation to
the whole.
While archaeological excavation continues in the Andes, new discussions on the
possibilities and limitations of using local landscape knowledge and of regional com-
parison are lacking. Close examination of the suni concept, a term Zimmerer (1996: 138)
found to be “inconsistently applied” and “difficult to define,” will illuminate some of the
main obstacles faced by archaeologists in the attempt to understand, order, and narrate the
precolonial landscape. To this end, this article explores the genesis and later application(s)
of the suni concept within Andean(ist) archaeology and ethnography.

(Dis)playing (with) the ethnic voice: Tello, Pulgar Vidal, and the
origins of suni
Julio C. Tello (1880–1947), the most famous Peruvian archaeologist of all time, was born
in a campesino community called Suni, in the highlands outside of Lima (Huarochirı́
province), where his surname is still one of the most common (Lecaros, 1996: 290).
Pulgar Vidal, one of the best-known Peruvian geographers, was born in the town of
Panao, in the Pachitea province of Huánuco. Neither came from Lima, Peru’s capital,
which helps explain their respective positions regarding the production of academic
knowledge. The two met at the Catholic University in Lima, where Tello was Pulgar
Vidal’s professor.
Ramón and Bell 195

Figure 1. Map displaying locations mentioned in the text.

196 Journal of Social Archaeology 22(2)

Much literature is devoted to Tello (e.g. Burger, 2009; Daggett, 2016; Padilla Deza,
2018), so here we only emphasize that one of the original features of his work was that it
tried to incorporate the indigenous voice. This represented a dramatic shift in an academic
setting dominated by Lima-born scholars. With respect to Andean landscapes, Tello’s
approach was more sophisticated than that of most of his colleagues, probably given his
personal experience in the highlands (e.g. Tello and Miranda, 1923). It would be an
exaggeration to call his approach decolonial, but the issue was in the air: he wanted to
interpret the precolonial past by drawing on ILK. This posture in a university professor
impressed the Huánuco-born Pulgar Vidal, who accompanied Tello on fieldwork trips.
Pulgar Vidal applied Tello’s method to landscape classification. In the 1930-40s,
several classifications for the Andean landscape were being used (see Pulgar Vidal, 1941);
however, Pulgar Vidal insisted on a more detailed version, one that emphasized both the
complexity of the Andean landscape and ILK (Zimmerer and Bell, 2013). He developed a
model of the “Eight Natural Regions” of the Peruvian national territory (described above),
conceived as series of stacked tiers, taking on the appearance of a layer cake. As part of
this classification, he incorporated a “Natural Region” not previously mentioned as such
in geographic texts: suni. In an early publication Pulgar Vidal included helpful “Necessary
clarifications,” indicating that the nomenclature employed “… is, in part, that taught by
traditional indigenous wisdom, that still survives, and it is customarily used by the Indians
from the diverse regions of the country, that are the toponyms: yunga, quechua, suni, jalca
or puna, janca and ruparupa” (Pulgar Vidal, 1941: 149). He also recognized that he
originally identified the “Eight Natural Regions” along a single transect crossing the
northern part of the Department of Lima (Chillón valley, province of Canta, La Viuda
cordillera, etc.) (Pulgar Vidal, 1941). (See Figure 2.) With these clarifications he es-
tablished the indigenous source of his nomenclature and recognized that his data came
from a specific area of the central Andes. In the following 10 editions of the book the first
point was emphasized, becoming its most attractive asset. Meanwhile, the second
clarification became increasingly blurry.
The empirical basis of Pulgar Vidal’s model has not been explored in detail. However,
it has been suggested that Tello proposed the use of the term suni to Pulgar Vidal, in order
to establish a clear difference with previous nomenclatures (Córdova and Bernex, 1999:
16). Pulgar Vidal also followed Tello’s example when he directed the fieldwork of his
Catholic University students. Like Tello, Pulgar Vidal encouraged students to research
their hometowns and write descriptive geographical essays about them. The best essays
were published in three edited volumes. Within this fascinating collection, the essays most
relevant here are those that include the term suni, particularly Morocho (1938) on the
Chillón valley (central Lima); Mercado (1941) on the district of El Mantaro (Junı́n); and
Iturrizaga (1941) on Tupe (Yauyos, southern Lima). In none of these works was the
category suni observed in the field; rather, it was incorporated later according to what the
authors themselves termed “Pulgar Vidal’s theory.” The most intriguing article is
Iturrizaga (1941), which was written in both Spanish and Cauqui-Jacaru, a variety of
Aymara from Tupe. The version of the text written in the indigenous language includes the
word suni several times, but it seems to be proposed by the author and not by the in-
terviewees. On further examination of the use of suni in Jacaru, we find that Belleza’s
Ramón and Bell 197

Figure 2. Cross section of Perú, from Lima to Pucallpa (west–east), showing the stacked or layer
cake conception of the “Eight Natural Regions.” Redrawn and translated from Pulgar Vidal (1941).

dictionary (1995: 164) defines suni as long or elongated (preferably horizontally), but
mentions nothing related to ecology or landscape. Similarly, Yolanda Payano Iturrizaga,
an official translator of Jacaru and native of Tupe, confirms this definition of suni (long)
and discards any use of the term as an ecological zone, mentioning instead that the term
shallqa is used to refer to puna. In sum, the supposedly vernacular basis for suni as
landscape nomenclature is absent.
Finally, how did Tello himself use the term suni? It is absent from his most ethno-
graphic text about the Lima highlands (Tello and Miranda, 1923). Complicating the
situation, in three of his most well-read archaeological publications he equates suni with
puna. In his early synthesis on Ancient Peru, he wrote, “The aborigines distinguished
these zones with special names. They called the cold mountains and plateaus Suni or
Puna; Keshua to the warm lands of the ravines and valleys; and Yunka to the hot [zones]
…” (Tello, 1929: 12). He later observed, “… there is an intermediate warm zone, that the
Indians call keshwa, which is not as cold as the Puna or suni, nor hot like the deep dry
ravines that they call Yunga” (Tello, 1942: 9). Finally, his book on the precolonial site and
society of Chavı́n, posthumously co-authored with his collaborator Mejı́a, states: “A
region like Pukcha, endowed with enormous natural resources in its three climatic
zones—yunga, keshwa and suni or puna—, must have drawn the attention of the Andean
man to establish his settlements …” (Tello and Mejı́a, 1960: 42). In these examples he
always uses suni as an equivalent of puna (e.g. Arnold et al., 2014; Bertonio, 1612);
however, he refers to “the aborigines” and “the Indians,” like Pulgar Vidal, to validate his
findings. This validation is not only in reference to ecological zones in the present, but
also in relation to the remote past, which was Tello’s actual target. Overall, it is surprising
that, despite having suggested the term to his student (Córdova and Bernex, 1999: 16),
Tello was still equating suni with puna, never considering it as an independent entity.
The definition and equivalences of suni varied throughout re-editions of Pulgar Vidal’s
textbook. He started by equating jalca and puna (Pulgar Vidal, 1941: 156), then switched
to jalca or suni (Pulgar Vidal, 1967: 12, 14). Next, he proposed a combined solution trying
to adapt to latitude, a feature that he never handled especially well: “jalca is used in the
north [of Perú] instead of suni” (Pulgar Vidal, 1973: 244, n. 1), and, “Sometimes, the term
‘jalca’ and also ‘jallca’ is used in central [Peru] as a synonym of ‘puna’” (Pulgar Vidal,
1973: 244, n. 2). Finally, he used suni as equivalent to jalca (Pulgar Vidal, 1987: 79).
198 Journal of Social Archaeology 22(2)

Unfortunately, previous studies of Pulgar Vidal’s works have not explored the potential
significance of these terminological short-circuits (e.g. Zimmerer and Bell, 2013).3

The presence of suni in archaeological and

ethnographic publications
In the Andes, ethnography and archaeology are historically connected: data collected by
ethnographers has been used as a source to propose analogies for precolonial targets. In
that sense, it may be highly illustrative to compare differences in how both groups treat
specific topics. In the case of suni, we may start by examining the uses of this concept in
both fields. In ethnographic work, understood as research conducted through close
observation and dialogue with local populations, the term suni is absent. Systematic
review of ethnographic publications has not revealed the use of this term among Andean
populations of the 20th–21st century. (See Supplemental Material for a list of authors/
works reviewed.) There are rare exceptions to this trend, (e.g. Bolin, 1998: 17 [Cuzco]),
but in these cases suni is never reported as a word said by interviewees, but as reference to
other authors or through Pulgar Vidal’s influence. Personal communication with three
well-known scholars from different academic backgrounds with extensive Andean
experience—César Itier (Andahuaylas, Ayacucho, Cuzco), Juan Javier Rivera (Lam-
bayeque, Lima), and Joshua Shapero (Ancash)—confirm that the term suni is not used by
local populations to refer to an ecological zone. Finally, in our own experience of almost
three decades working in northern Peru we have never heard the term. The term suni
appears in several ethnographies from Bolivia, but as a synonym of puna. Meanwhile, in
the case of archaeologists, who also travel to remote Andean places and interact with local
populations but focus on precolonial evidence, the term suni appears frequently, as an
ecological zone useful for classifying sites (see Supplemental Material for references
including suni).
Additional information can be derived from bibliometric analysis of the presence of
three terms related to Andean ecological zones (puna, punas, and suni) in the most
emblematic journal of Peruvian humanities, the Revista del Museo Nacional. This journal
of 51 volumes (1932–2016) was created and directed for several decades by the eth-
nohistorian Valcárcel, a scholar who fundamentally shaped Andean studies. While this
journal is currently out of circulation, during its golden era (1930s–1980s) it published
texts written by the most renowned archaeologists, ethnographers, and historians of the
Andes. It thus serves as a database to explore trends in landscape terminology across
fields. Figure 3 summarizes analysis of this publication, showing the massive presence of
the terms puna and punas, always as synonyms, and the rare presence of the word suni.
Considering the rare examples of suni, we can see that the term is used in four ways.
First, suni appears as equivalent of “long” or “big” (1941, 1942, 1955, 1970). Second, it is
included as a synonym of puna (1946, 1971) (as described above). Third, it serves as part
of a place name or a surname (1950–1, 1953, 1954, 1963, 1974). In this third group the
term appears 18 times as the name of Tello’s hometown. Fourth, suni appears for the first
and only time as an ecological zone in the last issue of the journal (2016), in an eth-
nographic article on Ayacucho (Muñoz, 2016). The same author published a similar report
Ramón and Bell 199

Figure 3. Presence of the terms puna, punas, and suni in articles in the Revista del Museo Nacional
(1932–2016). From 1932–1964 the Revista del Museo Nacional published one issue per year
(except for the double issue 19–20 published 1950–1951). After number 34 the publication
becomes increasingly inconsistent.

on the same topic and village (Muñoz, 2014) where suni does not appear. It is possible that
this represents Pulgar Vidal’s influence and not evidence directly collected by Muñoz.
Several final points about the Revista del Museo Nacional are also relevant. This journal
included multiple texts by the linguist José Farfán, who collected, transcribed, and
published in Aymara, Jacaru, and Quechua from different parts of Peru, none of which
include the term suni (Farfán, 1944, 1946, 1947, inter alia). In addition, the special issue
devoted to Andean ethnography (1971), which includes nine works by well-known
scholars about different villages, does not include suni as an independent zone distinct
from puna. Lastly, Duviols’ (1973) landmark article published in this journal, which
combines ethnographic and historical information from the central Peruvian Andes, and
which has had enormous impact on precolonial archaeology to explain the different
lifeways of the inhabitants of the quechua and puna zones, does not include the term suni.
This final detail adds an additional facet to the discussion: suni is not only absent in the
ethnographic literature, but it has also not been recorded in colonial sources (Zimmerer
and Bell, 2015).
Several hypotheses may be drawn from this preliminary analysis of the ethnographic
and archaeological literature. First, the model that supports the existence of a suni
“Natural Region” (hereafter the suni model) seems to be popular among archaeologists,
but not ethnographers. Secondly, the term does not appear to exist in the field, or at least
the term has not been in common use by Andean populations during the last half century.
The third hypothesis is that, with rare exceptions, there is limited dialogue between local
populations and archaeologists regarding landscape. Fourth, perhaps archaeologists do
not closely read ethnographic publications in Spanish when considering these kinds of
topics.
Why then is the suni model so popular among Andean archaeologists? It appears that
archaeologists need to deal with landscape names and categories, but either do not possess
the necessary tools for this project or do not devote sufficient time to it. Pulgar Vidal’s
200 Journal of Social Archaeology 22(2)

proposal, which is simple in comparison with others (e.g. Tosi, 1960), and lists a series of
stacked zones identifiable by a diverse suite of environmental and cultural features,
provides a key for directly linking altitudinal ranges with more complicated narratives
about landscape, resources, and land use activities. For instance, if we take the site
Wañucoto, which is located within the altitudes associated with the suni level in Pulgar
Vidal’s textbook (3500–4000/4100 m. a.s.l.), we can use Pulgar Vidal’s model to add a
whole series of features to the narrative about precolonial Wañucoto even without ex-
cavation (e.g. Wañucoto inhabitants grew quinua, herded llamas, etc.). However, before
discussing the potential problems with this kind of operation, we will present an early
ethnographic critique of the suni model.

Ethnographic critique of Pulgar Vidal through a dialogic

approach to landscape
Anthropologists and ethnographers working in the Andes have rarely used the concept of
suni and have also critiqued Pulgar Vidal’s model in direct and indirect ways. An in-
teresting example is found in the work of anthropologist John Murra. While Pulgar Vidal
was cementing his model, Murra focused on the Inca empire. Murra placed great em-
phasis on the relation between people and landscape in both his doctoral dissertation and
his multidisciplinary team project studying Inca provincial life at the site of Huanuco-
pampa and the region of Huánuco as a whole (Murra, 1972, 1977). Here, he developed the
concept for which he is best known: “The vertical control of a maximum of ecological
levels” (Murra, 1972). This work was the result of a spectacular methodological inno-
vation in Andean studies: the systematic comparison of early colonial documents on land
use with ethnographic and archaeological evidence. Through this process Murra’s team
noticed the value and limitations of Pulgar Vidal’s model.
Murra provided his collaborators in Huánuco with a theoretical frame for collecting
detailed information on the structure of indigenous communities (Fonseca, 1966: 22).
One of the members of the team was ethnographer César Fonseca, from Llata, Huánuco,
who published two reports based on fieldwork in the community of Cauri and the
Chaupiwaranga area (1966, 1972). Fonseca spoke with people from both areas about local
names for the different ecological zones, among many other topics. Comparing Fonseca’s
reports with those published by Pulgar Vidal’s students, it is clear that Fonseca carried out
more sophisticated interviews, asking the same sets of questions to people living at
different altitudes within the same area. In these interviews he asked about local landscape
terms instead of imposing his own. Fonseca never included the names of the interviewees,
but he always identified where they were from, and he also incorporated direct quotations
from local testimonies in his publications.
Fonseca began his first report by situating his study area in relation to Pulgar Vidal’s
model, identifying it as kechwa. He then performed a deeper multivocal analysis: “For the
people of Cauri, Chaupiwaranga is in a kechwa zone, and its inhabitants are called
kechwaruna or kebrada runa [people of the quechua or people of the valley], meanwhile,
those from the valley know the people of Cauri as jalga runa [people of the mountain]”
(Fonseca, 1966: 26). He was able to further distinguish two sub-zones within the kechwa
Ramón and Bell 201

and the jalga, thus questioning the supposedly diagnostic agricultural products used by
Pulgar Vidal to define the “Natural Regions.” For instance, with respect to the tuna cactus
(probably Opuntia streptacantha), which Pulgar Vidal identified as typical of the que-
chua, Fonseca registered two different varieties, a kechwa tuna and a jalga tuna (Fonseca,
1966: 28). In his second report, Fonseca expanded his critique of Pulgar Vidal’s model:

During my fieldwork in the “indigenous communities” of the different provinces of the Central-
Northern part of the country I have observed that the campesinos use concepts in runasimi [the
quechua language]: kichwa and jalka to refer to their home base. In other words, it is not about
two geographical regions arranged parallel to the coastline, with exact and rigidly determined
limits. These concepts appear to be rather elastic. (Fonseca, 1972: 318)

Here Fonseca is questioning the diagrams presented by Pulgar Vidal, where the “Eight
Natural Regions” are drawn as a perfectly defined layer cake (these diagrams are repeated
in textbooks referenced below: Burger, 1992; Quilter, 2014). Fonseca never registered the
term suni among his interviewees. The only time the word appears is in a footnote
comparing suni and jalka, although his table on ecological nomenclature seriously
questions any potential equivalence (Fonseca, 1972: 319). In his study area the categories
kichwa and jalka seem to work as relational and complementary elements: every
community has a lower part (kichwa) and a higher part (jalka), and several crops have a
kichwa and jalka variety (Fonseca, 1972: 322; see also Mayer, 1974: 31–32 for Tangor,
Pasco Department).
Considering the information collected by his team, it is interesting to examine Murra’s
opinion of Pulgar Vidal’s model. While Murra was fond of Tello’s work (Murra, 1982),
his opinion of Pulgar Vidal evolved. He recognized the geographer as a pioneer of
ethnoscience in the Andes, calling attention to the importance of the research that led to
the initial model. However, he also observed:

Unfortunately, the various editions that have come out since then include no further work. I
frequently urged Professor Pulgar to continue, because it seems to me, if you think about, for
the late 30s, for somebody to do what very much later was done, the whole idea of an
ethnoecology, of an ethnogeography, appeared only in the 50s in this country [USA]. (Murra,
[1969] 2017: 7)

Pulgar Vidal never followed Murra’s advice and continued publishing new editions of his
textbook without making significant additions to its empirical base. Murra never used the
term suni in his publications. Interestingly, some scholars use the two models in parallel,
seemingly uncritically, to discuss precolonial vertical socioeconomic organization using the
“Natural Regions” identified by Pulgar Vidal (e.g. Quilter, 2014: 18, 32, 43–44).

Shades of suni in recent archaeology

Even given the above-mentioned complexities in ethnographic information, the concept
of suni is frequently employed by archaeologists (see Supplemental Material). In most
202 Journal of Social Archaeology 22(2)

Table 1. Representative sample of publications that list altitude ranges attributed to suni, in
chronological order.

suni (m.a.s.l.) Reference

3500–4100 Pulgar Vidal (1941: 18, 11) [Perú]

3500–4100 Pulgar Vidal (1946: 105) [Perú]
3500–4000 Pulgar Vidal (1973: 90) [Perú]
3500–4000 (suni or jalca) Pulgar Vidal (1987: 25, 79) [Perú]
3500–4000 (suni or jalca) Pulgar Vidal (2014) [Perú]
3200–4000 Burger (1992: 20–1) [mostly Ancash]
3300–3910 Bolin (1998: 17) [Cuzco]
3500–3850/3500–4000 Parsons et al. (2000: 14, 32) [Junı́n]
3800–4000 Stanish (2003: 34) [Puno]
3800–4000 Janusek (2008: 38) [Puno]
3000–4000 Lane (2009: 178) [Ancash]
3600–3800 Wernke and Withmore (2009: 428) [Arequipa]
3000–4000/3500–4000 Lau (2011: 24, 44) [Ancash]
3000–4000/3200–4000 Lau (2013: 13, 14) [Ancash]
3000 and 3500–4000 Quilter (2014: 32) [all Perú]
3600–3850 Parsons et al. (2013: 10) [Junı́n]
3800–4000 Stanish et al. (2014: 10) [Puno]
3000–4000 Lau (2016: 29, 224) [Ancash]
3600–3900/3100–3600, 3600– Lane and Grant (2016: 140 “upper suni,” 141 “Suni/Jalka,” 144
4100/3000–4000 “Suni/Páramo”) [Ancash]

cases, it is applied simply as an altitudinal equivalence: a site located between 3500–4000/

4100 m.a.s.l. is said to be found in the suni, supposedly adding ILK to altitude. Identifying
the “Natural Region” in which a site is located means that Pulgar Vidal’s descriptions of
human activities can be applied to the archaeological remains and hypotheses can be
formulated about precolonial livelihoods and land uses. The problem is that the equation
of altitude with “Natural Region” is often made uncritically. For starters, one of the most
curious outcomes is that the altitude range attributed to suni varies between authors
without strictly following Pulgar Vidal (see representative sample in Table 1).
Given the general confusion represented in Table 1, in the following we examine
several specific cases of the use of suni among influential archaeologists, to better un-
derstand why this concept has proven attractive for the narration of the precolonial past,
and to show how quickly complications arise when this term is applied. These four cases,
presented in chronological order, were selected because they each link the usage of suni to
broader and more complex dilemmas relating to the interpretation of precolonial
landscapes.
The first is from one of the members of Murra’s team, the archaeologist Matos, from
Acobamba, Huancavelica. Like Fonseca, Matos was raised speaking Quechua, and was
also curious about landscape nomenclature. In his book on Pumpu, Matos defines puna as
the zone between 3700–4500 m.a.s.l. (Matos, 1994: 22, 29), and later in the text defines
Ramón and Bell 203

specific levels: llampu-jalca (3900–4200 m.a.s.l.) and jatun jalca, also called sallca,
salga or jalca (4200–4500 m.a.s.l.). He assumes jalca and puna as equivalent while
recognizing that the term puna is not used in Huancavelica (Matos, 1994: 42–51, also like
Itier and Ortiz, 2019: 168). He does not mention the term suni. In a subsequent
publication—the comprehensive two-volume work on the archaeology of the upper
Mantaro and Tarma drainages of Junı́n, published by Parsons, Hastings, and Matos—the
word suni is basically absent. While in the first volume the word puna appears 179 times
and kichwa 515, suni is included just three times and is mostly used when referring to
works of other people (Parsons et al., 2000: 14, 32). In volume two, puna appears
192 times, kichwa 349, and suni just once, as an equivalence of upper kichwa, “sometimes
referred to as the suni” (Parsons et al., 2013: 10). It is notable that three authors with so
much experience in the central highlands do not use the term.
The second case can be found in the work of Burger, where the term suni appears
frequently. In his book on Chavin (Burger, 1992), he presents the layer cake diagram and
performs the validation step:

The complex highland setting is economically described in the indigenous Quechua lan-
guage of Peru by a series of terms which correspond to distinct zones of agricultural
production. This native nomenclature has been adopted by Peruvian geographer Javier
Pulgar Vidal and will be employed here. (Burger, 1992: 20, emphasis added)

Nevertheless, Burger includes an insightful observation about the layer cake model,
something few of his colleagues notice, which relates to the potential shifting of the limits
between these ecological zones due to climate changes during the Initial Period and Early
Horizon (Burger, 1992: 24). While Burger does not explore this interesting point in more
detail, upslope shifting of vegetation in Andean landscapes as a response to recent
anthropogenic climate change has been documented (e.g. Morueta-Holme et al., 2015),
and the impact of cooler temperatures during the Little Ice Age has been shown to result in
glacial expansion and downslope shifting of ecological zones (Jomelli et al., 2009; see
also Zimmerer and Bell, 2015). Clearly these observations indicate that the elevation
ranges of ecological zones fluctuate over time, calling into question the direct application
of the ranges published by Pulgar Vidal in other time periods.
The third case comes from Stanish’s research on Tiahuanaco, near the Bolivia-Peru
border. Even citing the Aymara equivalence of suni and puna suggested by Bertonio
(Stanish, 2003: 297), Stanish states: “I generally follow the work of Pulgar Vidal (n.d.),
who divides the Titicaca Basin into two broad agricultural and ecological regions called
the suni and puna” (Stanish, 2003: 33). He proposes limits for the suni, different to those
used by Burger (see Table 1), and states that suni is the “upper limit of plant agriculture,”
although shortly thereafter adds that potatoes are cultivated in the suni and puna. Later in
the text, he declares:

The classifications of Pulgar Vidal, Troll, and so forth were not designed for anthropological
research. The basic puna/suni distinction of Pulgar Vidal is a good first approximation of the
broad agricultural/pastoral zones and is the most useful of the existing classifications. From a
204 Journal of Social Archaeology 22(2)

cultural perspective, however, a variety of distinct geographical zones are important in

understanding the region’s prehistory. A very useful alternative to the ecological classifi-
cations is the indigenous categories of land. (Stanish, 2003: 35, emphasis added)

This text summarizes several misunderstandings. Pulgar Vidal explicitly proposed his
model as based on “indigenous categories of land,” so it is not that this disciple of Tello
did not intend his model to be used in anthropological research. As Murra stated, Pulgar
Vidal was proposing ethnoscience. Even with this discussion, as in Burger’s case, Stanish
does not go beyond the application of suni as an altitudinal marker (Stanish, 2003: 35–36,
38, 135). Moreover, in a book about Puno, an area with a large number of Aymara
speakers, it is extremely confusing to refer to suni as an ecological zone that is not puna
(see also Janusek, 2008: 38). Overall, this example suggests the (potential) incompati-
bility of general national-level landscape models with local, specific cases.
Finally, more recent developments in the archaeological application of Pulgar Vidal’s
model can be found in Lau’s work on Ancash. Lau uses suni to describe the Ancash
landscape, presenting a different altitudinal range than the aforementioned authors and
locating many of the precolonial sites that he surveyed in that zone (Lau, 2011: 52, cf. with
Lane and Grant, 2016: 140–141, 144). Unlike Burger and Stanish, he does not introduce
the term as indigenous, although this is assumed. Ancash is an interesting area since it is
close to the region where Pulgar Vidal proposed his concepts and to where Fonseca
demonstrated its limitations. Like other authors, Lau (2011, 2013) classifies sites as suni
based on altitude, but he also goes a step further. In his valuable book on ancient alterity,
Lau explores Duviols’ (1973) proposed dichotomy huari/llacuaz (described above). This
concept presents two different and complementary lifeways associated with the quechua
and puna ecological zones. These zones are home to two distinct social groups, maize
cultivators and herders, respectively (Duviols, 1997: 34). The huari/llacuaz dichotomy
has provided an extremely powerful source to establish comparisons with the precolonial
past: it associates landscape with economy, thus with ways of living. However, in an
unexpected switch, Lau (2013: 84) located the llacuaz in the puna but placed the huari in the
suni (contra Duviols, 1997: 34 and Parsons et al., 1997: 322, among others). Lau’s move
raises several questions, especially given that the term suni is not currently used locally in
Ancash (personal communications, Giner Aranda, Elvis Crisóstomo, George Lau; see also
Shapero, 2019). Given that suni, according to Pulgar Vidal, is also called jalca/jallqa/hallqa
(Pulgar Vidal 1973: 244, 1987: 79), a term which in Ancash is equivalent to puna, Lau
unintentionally locates both the huari and the llacuaz in the puna. Quilter later refers to
Lau’s work to explain that the Recuay people living in Ancash were “highly successful” at
exploiting “the high altitudes between the suni and puna life zones” (Quilter, 2014: 174).
Again, the application of Pulgar Vidal’s model causes enlightening short-circuits.

Conclusions
Through this exploration of the genesis and application of the suni model, we may define
three major challenges faced by archaeologists when attempting to incorporate their sites
and materials into landscape narratives that consider ILK. In the Andes, these difficulties
Ramón and Bell 205

are related to using Pulgar Vidal’s model analogically as a source to better understand the
targets, which in this case are the landscapes and land uses of the precolonial past. We
present these challenges or difficulties as a caution to archaeologists and as a provocation
for additional research.
The first complication relates to intra-regional variability, more specifically ecological
variation with respect to latitude. Despite his cautious beginnings, it is evident that Pulgar
Vidal’s main objective was to generalize his model for the entire nation. However, one of
the main dilemmas that haunted his scheme was Andean latitudinal variation, specifically
the difference between paramo and puna Andes (Troll, 1968). Looking closely at the
terminological complications in Pulgar Vidal’s publications over time with respect to
jalca/suni/puna, it becomes clear that latitudinal variation is a major weakness in this
model, which has resulted in a terminological conundrum (as evident in the work of
archaeologists presented above). Any application of Pulgar Vidal’s model to archaeo-
logical interpretations must incorporate latitude: the Andes should not be considered a
series of uniformly stacked zones in a layer cake formation across the entire range from
south to north. At a micro level, such layer cake models of ecological zones do not
necessarily reflect local realities, which may be quite complex (Itier and Ortiz, 2019;
Zimmerer, 1999), and which may in fact be relational (Fonseca, 1966).
The second difficulty is that the limits between Andean ecological zones have been
shown to vary over time, as mentioned by Burger (1992). Up- and downslope shifts of
flora and fauna, and consequently human land uses, respond to changing climatic
conditions. Historically important shifts occurred during the Little Ice Age (downslope
with colder conditions) and are ongoing because of anthropogenic global warming
(upslope in response to warmer conditions). The boundaries between Pulgar Vidal’s
“Natural Regions” correspond to the period of his field observations (mid-20th century)
and are not directly applicable to other periods. In this sense, archaeologists should review
climate models and reconstructions for the periods in which they are interested before
attempting to equate an altitude measurement with precolonial activities (e.g. agricultural
practices).
Finally, it is not an exaggeration to say that the human activities described by Pulgar
Vidal for each zone have been understudied and grossly overgeneralized. While his
descriptions can provide an initial hypothesis for human use of the landscape in the
precolonial past, they cannot be the justification for more advanced explanations. Pulgar
Vidal’s observations were historically contingent and must be applied with this quali-
fication. Further complicating the scenario, the identification of types of productive
activities does not necessarily tell us much about the historicity of the economy associated
with varying prestige of ecological zones, the exchange value of the products from each,
economic and power relations, or social organization over time.
Analysis of Pulgar Vidal’s model also allows us to further the discussion of how
landscape ethnoecology may be pursued in archaeological contexts. Seemingly one of the
most attractive features of Pulgar Vidal’s model for archaeologists is that it apparently
recuperates and systematizes ILK (presumably of precolonial origin). The origins and
applications of suni synthesize all of this but represent the weakest link in Pulgar Vidal’s
model. New field studies and further systematization of data already collected will allow
206 Journal of Social Archaeology 22(2)

us to refine understandings of the relation between ecological zones and local categories
or folk ecotopes. If the dozens of archaeological projects that annually explore diverse
areas across the Andes collected local names and definitions instead of imposing Pulgar
Vidal’s model, a valuable database could be collectively constructed. This would actually
be more in accordance with Pulgar Vidal’s initial proposal, prior to its stagnation. While
we are still far from having a detailed map of local names of the ecological zones from
which we might establish pan-Andean comparisons, it is never too late to dialogue and
take seriously the voices of the people living close to archaeological sites. Decolonization,
ontology, and phenomenology must never avoid dialogue with those who know more
about their own landscapes. This will also help to advance the discussion on regional
difference in the Andes.
In conclusion, Pulgar Vidal’s model of the “Eight Natural Regions of Peru,” identified
in the 20th-century landscape, has been used as a direct analogy for diverse precolonial
moments without significant discussion or critique. The application of this model to the
precolonial past is limiting in terms of the potential to recognize difference and the model
incorporates ILK into landscape analysis in an oversimplified manner. While this model
may serve to formulate introductory hypotheses for precolonial land use and landscapes,
archaeologists must also improve dialogue with local populations about their under-
standings and uses of landscape. This case shows that despite increasing inter-
disciplinarity in Andean studies, there is still much room for improvement in terms of
understanding and narrating past landscapes.

Acknowledgements
The authors thank Luis Andrade, Giner Aranda, Luis Condori, Elvis Crisóstomo, Francisco Ferreira,
Luis Flores Blanco, César Itier, George Lau, Yolanda Payano Iturrizaga, Manuel Perales, José Luis
Pino, Juan Javier Rivera, Joshua Shapero, Karl Zimmerer, and the three anonymous reviewers for
sharing valuable information and commentary. Cartography by Stephanie O. Yépez.

Declaration of conflicting interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/
or publication of this article.

Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this
article.

Supplemental material
Supplemental material for this article is available online.

Notes
1. We can only provide general (not absolute) definitions of the other high elevation ecological
zones referenced here. The first clarification is latitudinal, and refers to the distinction between
Ramón and Bell 207

puna and paramo Andes as the highest inhabited zone, with the transition zone in Cajamarca/
Piura, and the consequent cultural variations (Troll, 1968). The term puna predates Pulgar
Vidal’s model and is recognized as the highest inhabited zone in the puna Andes (see colonial
authors like Bertonio, 1612, and more recently Duviols, 1973, and Murra, 1972). Typical
livelihood activities include herding and high-altitude agriculture. This label and its description
vary across time and space. Temporally, connotations differ in indigenous and Spanish colonial
accounts (Zimmerer and Bell, 2015). Geographically, the term itself changes. In Huamanga-
Huancavelica puna is known as sallqa (Itier and Ortiz, 2019: 168); in Huánuco, it is jalka
(Fonseca, 1972), with alternate spellings jalca, jalga, etc. However, jalka is something of a false
friend: in the puna Andes it is equivalent to puna, in some parts of the paramo Andes it is
equivalent to paramo. The major zone below puna/jalka is called kichwa (alternate spelling
quechua); this is a warmer zone, characterized by maize agriculture.
2. All translations of citations originally in Spanish are our own, as is the emphasis added to
citations.
3. In a recent interview, Cerrón Palomino (Geldres Garcı́a, 2018: 117) praises Pulgar Vidal’s selection
of the term suni (proto Aymara) to name a natural region, as an equivalent to sallqa (proto Quichua).
Nevertheless, this results in a triple equivalence—suni=sallqa=puna—basically following Bertonio
(1612) and not Pulgar Vidal’s explicit proposal. The renowned linguist is correct, the term exists as a
toponym; however, it has not been used as a distinct “natural region”, which is the issue discussed in
this article. Not all toponyms become ecological levels or natural regions.

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Author biographies
Gabriel Ramón is Associate Professor in the Department of Humanities at the Pontifical
Catholic University of Peru (PUCP). He earned a PhD in Archaeology from the Uni-
versity of East Anglia and was a postdoctoral researcher at the British Museum and
Leiden University. He specializes in ceramic analysis and ethnography, and the history of
archaeology.
Martha G Bell is Associate Professor in the Department of Humanities at the Pontifical
Catholic University of Peru (PUCP). She holds a PhD in Geography from the Penn-
sylvania State University (PSU) and was a postdoctoral researcher at PSU and Leiden
University. She specializes in historical landscape models and resource management.