Chiguata

High in the Andes, where the air is thin and the sun fierce, lies the village of Chiguata. A hush falls over our group as we take in the scene. Chiguata clings to the slopes of the volcano Pichu Pichu, a name that echoes the ancient reverence for this place. “Chiri wata,” the Quechua people called it, “cold year,” a testament to the biting winds that whip through the valley. Imagine the emissary, Diego Hernández de Córdova, arriving in 1540. He brought with him the weight of the Spanish crown and the promise of a new order. He began laying out the small plaza, the heart of what would become the new Chiguata. The jewel of Chiguata is undoubtedly the Templo del Espíritu Santo, the Church of the Holy Spirit. Its construction, begun in 1739 according to Dominican records, spans generations. Picture the artisans painstakingly carving the two angels in feathered nightwear, their arms raised in perpetual supplication. Their images are separated by twelve delicate fringes of rectangular flowers, a subtle detail that speaks volumes about the care taken in its creation. Cherubs dance around the circular cornice, their playful forms a counterpoint to the four solemn saints depicted in full-length reliefs. These saints occupy the “pechinas,” the curved triangular sections of the dome’s supporting columns. This architectural marvel, a unique blend of indigenous and European styles, stands as a testament to the artistry of the colonial era. Tourists now journey to Chiguata, drawn by the allure of this original masterpiece. The descendants of the original inhabitants, the mestizo people, have largely migrated to the bustling city of Arequipa. They return to Chiguata for holidays, drawn back to the roots of their ancestors. They come to camp beneath the watchful gaze of the volcano, to walk the ancient plaza, and to offer prayers in the hallowed halls of the Templo del Espíritu Santo. Chiguata celebrated its 465th anniversary in 2005, a marker of its enduring presence in the heart of the Andes. The echoes of its history whisper through the stones of the plaza, carried on the wind that sweeps down from the slopes of Pichu Pichu.