PUNO, PERU “”mdash; In the small community of Taraco on the high plains of southeastern Peru, a few Peruvian coins will cover the cost of admission to a single-room museum showcasing monoliths, potsherds and other cultural artifacts from the area.
And for those willing to throw caution to all ethical considerations, a swipe of the hand will score an ancient Peruvian skull from a storage shelf in the bathroom.
In a few locations throughout Peru and Bolivia, museums such as the Museo Municipal de Taraco display permanent exhibitions of ancient artifacts. Constructed and curated with the assistance of Peruvian and Western archaeologists, these museums frequently constitute the only record of ancient peoples available to the modern descendants of those cultures.
But the museums are a far cry from the sort of establishment most Westerners expect to house priceless artifacts, completely devoid of the standard sterile aesthetic.
“Every year when we are there, we go to the municipality and fix the museum. (The locals) are in charge; it’s not our project, (but) sometimes they don’t take care enough (of) the museum so they need money or help with the collection,” said Cecilia Chavez Justo, a Peruvian archaeologist and codirector of the UCLA affiliate Programma Collasuyo.
Lacking the funds and infrastructure necessary to install security cameras, hire staff or even maintain facilities year to year, most of these museums are understandably limited in their ability to to serve patrons.
Though many local and regional residents speak the indigenous languages of Quechua or Aymara exclusively ““ and most without the ability to read ““ the museums’ placards are authored only in Spanish. And of the lone doormen interviewed at each location, none were educated or trained enough to explain or re-articulate the accompanying text in whole or part.
Patrons of these establishments range from local residents to international tourists, but visitation rates ““ and thus revenue from admission ““ remain limited by the remote locations of the museums, many of which are not included in nearby tourist routes.
Justo, also a consultant, has been advocating to change this on behalf of the Taraco municipality.
But not all community exhibitions in the region are central enough to the routes to be included on the beaten path.
The municipal museums of Challa and Challapampa, for example, reside in places where paths are irrelevant, secluded in a space more than an hour’s boat ride from the mainland on Isla del Sol.
These establishments, organized and funded in part by the efforts of UCLA archaeologist Charles “Chip” Stanish when he excavated on the island in the mid-’90s, now provide a source of potential community income, if operated correctly.
Although they are separated by a distance shorter than two miles, the two communities see vastly different numbers of visitors, touristic or otherwise.
Challapampa, the larger of the two, is situated on the eastern shore of the island and is home to ancient pilgrimage routes first used by the Tiwanaku cultures and later adopted by the Inca.
The routes, which wind through the scenic hills that rim the small town, allow paying visitors the opportunity to explore Incan ruins against the backdrop of the island’s breathtaking vistas.
Though these scenic attractions have been a potential asset to the residents of Challapampa for thousands of years, excavations at the site have produced the historical narrative and context necessary to market the site to tourists.
Since the excavations finished, the town has grown, stimulated by the increased revenue and visitation from outsiders, said Elizabeth Klarich, an American archaeologist who worked at the site in 1995 and 1996.
“Back then there was no electricity, there were no phones, there was no Internet,” she said. “It was like we were all just there working and hanging out. It was super peaceful. It was so beautiful.”
Circumstances such as those in Challapampa show the potential for community and industrial expansion that can and frequently do develop as a result of archaeological work.
But this example stands in stark contrast to that in nearby Challa, where a small community center and museum was also built following excavations near the town.
The municipal museum in Challa is home to hundreds of priceless pottery vessels, detailed maps and a family of nine.
Her children play in the building’s single exhibition room, the walls of which are lined with uncased pots and other artifacts, while she hand washes her laundry on the museum’s concrete floor.
“I wanted to work here because I need money, and I want to help the community,” she said as she and her eldest daughter, Marisol, ushered the younger kids outside and moved her clothing to one end of the room. “I watch the door and clean.”
The scene inside the museum is one that would appall Western historians and museologists.
But Quispe did not seem to have any notion that what was going on was even out of the ordinary; the sound of her children resuming play could be heard as soon as the door to the museum closed.
But when she smiled at the sounds of the children’s laughter between interview questions, it was obvious that their enjoyment was a source of joy for her as well.
Surrounded by invaluable artifacts, the most important thing in the room was her children.
To her, that is all that matters.