Saturday, January 27, 2007

The Legend of Amancay*

The truth is, once I got to Bariloche, the urban center of Argentina’s Patagonia region, I was not so sure I wanted to continue exploring. I was having one of those moments that happen during extended travel when things just feel yucky. I missed my family and friends, the solo travel wasn’t all that fun yet and I just didn’t feel like going out there to meet new people, see new sights and expand my mind. Plus I was tired of answering, "Vos, de dónde sos y por qué hablàs tan bien el castellano? (Where are you from and why do you speak Spanish so well)"

But after a day or two of down time in the hostal and aimless wanderings around a town that reminded me a bit of a bigger version of South Lake Tahoe, with it’s blue lake and large snow capped mountains, I decided to get motivated and sign up to go with a group to see el Volcán Tronador. I figured this way I would see something, do a little hiking and maybe meet some new friends and get rid of the deep blue funk.

The next morning, we set off in the in yet another mini-van, filled with 8 Argentineans, a Peruvian, an Israeli, a German, an English girl, myself and our two Argentinean guides and before I knew it, we were all friends planning our adventures for later that night.

Throughout the day, we hiked, chatted and got to know one another in one of the most beautiful areas of Argentina. While the mountains are not as tall as Aconcagua, the diversity of plant life, the glaciers and the crystal blue of the lake come together to leave you feeling as though you stepped out of reality and into a nature show.

It was during the third mini-hike of the day that we came across the Amancay flowers, bright yellow, floppy petals with bits of red splattered on the inside.

“Do you know the legend of Amancay?” Our guide Martín inquired. But not one of us did and so, like a good guide, he began to tell us the tale . . .

“Once upon a time, in the frigid Patagonia region of Argentina, there lived a princess named Amancay. Amancay, the daughter of the Mapuche tribe´s cheif, was well loved and respected by the members of the tribe. She was known for her selfless nature, her kindness and her truthfulness. Amancay always kept her word.

Around the time of her 15th birthday, Amancay´s father became very ill. For weeks the local medicine men, witch doctors and anyone with any remote knowledge of how to cure rare illnesses, came to visit the chief to see if they could cure his ailment. But to no avail. It seemed, for all everyone tried, the chief was dying.

Amancay was devastated. She and her father were very close and at such a young age, she was not ready for him to leave her alone in the world. Tearfully, she went to see the medicine man and ask if there weren’t any more he could do for her father.

“Honestly, Amancay, your father is deathly ill. Unfortunately his sickness is so grave that the only thing that could save him is a special plant that grows in the upper most regions of the Tronador Volcano.”

“What?” shrieked Amancay, “There is something that I can do to save him? I must go at once!”

The medicine man shook his head slowly, “Sadly, I think that it will not be possible for you to obtain this special plant. It is virtually impossible to find not to mention the many dangers along the route.”

“Danger will not stop me, nor a challenging search. If there is something I can do to save my father´s life, I will do it. I must go and find this plant!” Amancay exclaimed and off she went to climb up Tronador Volcano and save her father´s life.

Amancay climbed for hours and hours, over ice and snow, lifting herself up from rock to rock, hand over hand, until blisters began to form on her finger tips. She was tired, hungry and she had barely reached the halfway mark to the summit. It was there that she encountered the condor.

“Stop right there little girl,” the condor shrieked in an evil voice akin to the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz. “You may not pass by me. I will rip your heart from your chest.”

“Please condor, let me by,” implored Amancay, “I am on a mission to save my father, a very important chief of the Mapuche tribe. He is gravely ill and the only thing that can save him is a special plant that grows on the summit of Tronador.”

The condor, touched by her bravery and sense of selflessness decided to let her pass, under one condition. After bringing the plant to her father, she must return to sacrifice herself and her heart to the condor. Amancay agreed without hesitation and continued laboring up the mountain to find the plant that would save her dying father.

Days later, back at home, her father quickly began to recover with the help of this special plant and the community rejoiced. A party was made in Amancay´s honor and the entire tribe attended the ceremony. Amancay was gracious and clearly relieved to see her father´s health improve, but now she had something else she had to do.

She kissed her father good bye, and true to her word, returned to the condor to fulfil her promise to him for letting her continue her journey early that week.

As the legend goes, after ripping out Amancay´s heart, the condor flew all over the Patagonia region, the heart clutched in his claws, her blood falling like rain, staining the earth below. Which is why today, whenever you come across the yellow Amancay flower, drops of the Princess Amancay´s blood remain, forever a testament to her sacrifice and her honesty.”


The end

*disclaimer: I have been volunteering for the last week at a school and for the last two weeks have spoken very little English. . .I am thinking that it shows in the narration of this legend and will probably be apparent in the next few entries. Bear with me folks.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

thanks for sharing. -- i've heard another version of that story though...where the woman is going to get a special flower that will save a man's life with whom she is in love. the man is a son of a chief or something and she goes and gets the flower and then some condor stops her on her way back down, after she has the flower. i don't know. funny how stories can morph in to all sorts of things. it's nice when the woman is the hero. although...saving a man's life is often the only time she is in that role. ever heard of a female heroine saving other women's lives? hmmmmm. : )