|
Postcards from:
|
Hello from Ipiales Colombia, The bus trip through the guerrilla infested mountains between Popayan and Ipiales with a brief stop in Pasto took six hours. Two older boys boarded the twelve passenger minibus each carrying anxious chickens. Immediately, the rooster started announcing dawn and continued well into our trip. All the window curtains remained closed most of the time throughout both legs of the trip. Through a crack in mine I could see military patrols and sentries visible along the way and six checkpoints stopped our bus for searches and passenger questioning. A couple times dogs were employed; once a Cocker Spaniel being used looked too cute to have been a real sniffer dog. The cop who handled him, clad in a black uniform used a stiletto with an eight inch blade to probe one passenger's bags of food stuff and other soft belongings... smelling the blade and wiping it clean between probes. Why the cop didn't let the dog smell the blade I don't know. However Rover nervously pranced around paying close attention to everything its handler did. Our mini-bus driver seemed determined to break the speed record for the run and took chances at every blind curve. On one occasion I had the opportunity to see what happened when traffic suddenly and unexpectedly(?) appeared in the oncoming lane. Both vehicles quickly braked and moved as far to the right as they could, our bus swerving back into its proper lane in the nick of time. Our safe recovery must be a common occurrence considering the way people drive here. Still, every mile or so commemorations of lost lives appear along the roadside. The ubiquitous crosses and other memorials might signal the results of mortal combat between the government troops and the guerrillas in this particular region, but more than likely mark the location of fatal traffic accidents. In any case I am grateful one has not been erected for me... yet. The arrival bus terminal in Ipiales is situated in a depression some distance from the town center located high on a hill. I investigated two hotels adjacent to the terminal, either of which might have served for a single night emergency and the $9 room rate with breakfast suggested these places would be popular with the pack-packer crowd. An hour later, tired from the hill climbing with a heavy pack I finally found the commercial center and a plaza. People on the street informed me the best hotels would be found near the "Otra Plaza" a few blocks away. Sure enough, the newly constructed Hotel El Nogal with a $16 room-rate while small and simple, passed my first night quality test and I checked in. Travelers come to this typical mountain town for two reasons; to be near the border crossing point for Ecuador at Rumichaca or to visit the pilgrimage site of El Santuario de las Lajas en Ipiales (translated: SANCTUARY OF OUR LADY OF LAS LAJAS). I arrived late Sunday afternoon, located my hotel and immediately dashed over to the famous shrine to join throngs of pilgrims and tourists making the kilometer trek down a steep canyon path to the site of a shallow grotto, now enclosed within an elaborate church. On either side of the alter inside the church are bare rock walls that some say bare religious images. According to the legends the mute child of an illiterate Indian woman spoke immediately after looking at the wall. I stared at the walls for five minutes as a priest recited mass for a standing room only congregation of pilgrims, some anxious for miracles of their own, no doubt. My imagination failed to reveal any obvious holy images on the walls, just ordinary rock walls discolored by centuries of weathering. Fortunately, the church has provided an artist's rendering of what viewers are "supposed" to see in the natural cracks and colorations of the rocks. Using that as a guide I too then saw the form of a human figure that might have been a woman holding a child. The whole scene is a monument to the power of faith. That personal miracles are believed to occur is amply demonstrated by hundreds of testimonial plaques affixed to the canyon walls along the path down to the shrine. At one point a small rock ledge holds the discarded crutches and braces of "miracle" beneficiaries. That most of the healings and spontaneous remissions no doubt have medical explanations surely would be unimportant to individuals who have suddenly freed themselves of inflictions in the presence of this psychosomatic catalyst. In my own studies of the significance of faith I have found a long list of concrete benefits of blind faith, irrational beliefs with important personal and social consequences. A growing number of medical professionals acknowledge the extraordinary power of unshakable faith in promoting healing. Psychosomatic medicine is no longer restricted to dealing with hypochondriacs, nor is the practice of "bedside manner" solely considered a palliative. The human mind exercises a powerful control over our health and longevity and what we fervently believe determines whether our thinking will help or hinder the workings of our body. It appears from the research that it is the removal of all doubt, all psychological stress, all worry that provides the benefits rather than any specific object of belief. So, being in close proximity to "angles or saints" believed to heal, is good enough to vanquish doubt for some and the vision reported at Lajas is as good as any. As I looked back up the steep path and the effort it would take to make it to the top again, the thought involuntarily crossed my mind, "God, I hope I can make it." Many others, some very old and feeble, some assisted by younger relatives slowly trudged up along the paved walkway, pausing frequently to rest. Halfway up I remembered the long climb up hundreds of steps required to reach the Great Wall in China a decade ago. That nearly killed me; this effort exceeded the earlier challenge. I did make it, of course and figure I am entitled to install another plaque commemorating yet another miracle to be attributed to the spirits of the shrine. The area near the highway around the start of the path down into the canyon is a virtual carnival. Religious souvenirs, cotton candy, fast food stands, clothing stores, helium filled balloons, ice cream vendors, a photographer with a pair of Llamas, street entertainers all added to the gaiety. Throngs of excited, noisy kids dashed about while bored shop keepers looked on. Here and there among those returning from their pilgrimage I did see occasional expressions of peace, possibly the result of a significant religious experience. Ipiales is situated at an altitude of 2961 meters (over 8000 feet) and the night time temperature drops to 5 degrees Centigrade. The hotel didn't bother to install heaters and the chilly room made speedy visits to the bathroom desirable throughout the night. The next morning a quick walk around the town convinced me I'd seen everything of value and off I went in a city bus to the Ecuadorian border in Rumichaca. A cliff face lines the road near the border and I paused to study the colorations and cracks in that stone wall. Sure enough, there for anyone to see were the outlines of more holy figures! As no extraordinary revelations presented themselves to me I didn't bother to report the discovery. Border crossing formalities on both sides were quick and simple. A short taxi ride got me to the terminal in Tulcan where I bought a ticket for the four hour bus ride to Quito that left in ten minutes.
Peace,
|
|
 Reference photo:
authorAugust 2002 |
