Ritual and Architecture in a Context of Emergent Complexity: a Perspective from Cerro Lampay, a Late Archaic Site in the Central Andes

Ritual and Architecture in a Context of Emergent Complexity: A Perspective from Cerro Lampay, a Late Archaic Site in the Central Andes

Item Type text; Electronic Dissertation

Authors Vega-Centeno, Rafael

Publisher The University of Arizona.

Rights Copyright © is held by the author. Digital access to this material is made possible by the University Libraries, University of Arizona. Further transmission, reproduction or presentation (such as public display or performance) of protected items is prohibited except with permission of the author.

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Link to Item http://hdl.handle.net/10150/195041 RITUAL AND ARCHITECTURE IN A CONTEXT OF EMERGENT COMPLEXITY:

A PERSPECTIVE FROM CERRO LAMPAY, A LATE ARCHAIC SITE IN THE

CENTRAL ANDES

Rafael Vega-Centeno Sara-Lafosse

A Dissertation Submitted to the Faculty of the

DEPARTMENT OF ANTHROPOLOGY

In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements For the Degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

In the Graduate College

THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA

2 0 0 5 2

THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA GRADUATE COLLEGE

As members of the Dissertation Committee, we certify that we have read the dissertation prepared by Rafael Vega-Centeno entitled Ritual and Architecture in a Context of Emergent Complexity: A Perspective from Cerro Lampay, a Late Archaic Site in the Central Andes. and recommend that it be accepted as fulfilling the dissertation requirement for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy

______Date: 4/15/2005 Dr. Barbara J. Mills

______Date: 4/15/2005 Dr. Michael B. Schiffer

______Date: 4/15/2005 Dr. Izumi Shimada

______Date: 4/15/2005 Dr. Frances M. Hayashida

______Date: 4/15/2005 Dr. Ana M. Alonso

______Date: 4/15/2005 Dr. Richard R. Stoffle

Final approval and acceptance of this dissertation is contingent upon the candidate’s submission of the final copies of the dissertation to the Graduate College. I hereby certify that I have read this dissertation prepared under my direction and recommend that it be accepted as fulfilling the dissertation requirement.

______Date: 4/15/2005 Dissertation Director: Dr. Barbara J. Mills

STATEMENT BY AUTHOR

This dissertation has been submitted in partial fulfillment of requirements for an advanced degree at The University of Arizona and is deposited in the University Library to be made available to borrowers under rules of the Library.

Brief quotations from this dissertation are allowable without special permission, provided that accurate acknowledgment of source is made. Requests for permission for extended quotation from or reproduction of this manuscript in whole or in part may be granted by the copyright holder.

SIGNED: ___Rafael Vega-Centeno______4

AKNOWLEDGMENTS

A dissertation is intended to be an individual’s accomplishment. Nevertheless, I would have not been able to finish mine without the help and support of many people. First and foremost, I want to thank my parents Violeta and Máximo for their constant support during my graduate studies, the conduct of fieldwork, and the final writing. This dissertation benefited greatly from the direction, advice, and encouragement received from Barbara J. Mills. Her insights were fundamental in the final orientation and results of my work. I also had the opportunity to learn from the advice and comments of Izumi Shimada, Frances Hayashida, Michael Schiffer and Peter Kaulicke. During my time in Tucson, I was lucky to count on good friends, who not only gave me all their support, but helped me in several and concrete ways to get my degree. Thanks to Patricia Azuara, Jenny Cano, Hortensia Caballero, Thomas Fenn, Emiliano Gallaga, Julie Kunen, Amy Margaris, Jacqueline Messing, Gillian Newell, Zandro Villanueva, and specially, Aniko Bezur. During fieldwork in Peru, I was able to secure the professional assistance of Cristina Rospigliosi, who accompanied me throughout the six months of excavation at Cerro Lampay. Several times, when I was not able to be in the field, Cristina took in charge the project direction. Throughout those months, Carola Madueño, Natalia Guzmán and Cecilia Camargo helped me with specific excavation tasks, and towards the end, I also counted on the participation of Luz Bautista, Catalina Benavidez, Gabriela Cervantes, Natalí López, Alejandra Mendoza del Solar, Úrsula Muñoz, Claudia Pereyra, and César Trigoso; students from Catholic and San Marcos Universities. Laboratory analyses were conducted in the facilities of the Archaeology Seminar of the Instituto Riva Agüero. These facilities were kindly offered by Dr. Mercedes Cárdenas, my former professor at the Catholic University. During laboratory work, I was assisted by Natalí López, Roxana Lazo, and Gerbert Ascencios. In addition, the analyses and identification of archaeological remains were possible thanks to the professional collaboration of several scholars. Carmela Alarcón analyzed the botanic remains, while Luis Miranda did the same with fish bones, Maricarmen Vega with human bones, and Patricia Landa with textile remains. Radiocarbon samples were run at the AMS Laboratory of the University of Arizona. Samples were received and processed thanks to the support of Dr. A. J. Timothy Jull. I am also grateful for the support and collaboration of Mitzi de Martino, of the AMS Laboratory staff. I cannot finish without acknowledging the importance of Sandra, my wife, during this adventure. Sandra accompanied, supported, encouraged, and provided important insights to my work, all at the same time with a huge amount of patience to deal with my stress, bad moods and tiredness. It is because of her and all the mentioned people, that the work is finally done.

To my family: Sandra, Viole, Max, Pablo, Ceci, Sara, and Matías 6

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS…………………………………………………………... 9

LIST OF TABLES…………………………………………………………………..... 13

ABSTRACT……………………………………………………………………….….. 14

1. INTRODUCTION…………………………………………………………….…… 15

2 ARCHITECTURE AND RITUAL IN THE STUDY OF SOCIAL COMPLEXITY. 24 2.1 Social complexity, public architecture and archaeological research…………… 25 2.2 Social processes and social practices…………………………………………… 30 2.2.1 Social practice and social complexity…………………………………...... 34 2.2.2 Social practice and architectural design……...…………………………… 38 2.3 The social significance of ritual……………………………………………… ... 42 2.3.1 Self-referential messages…………………………………………………... 44 2.3.2 Canonical messages………………………………………………………... 45 2.3.3 Transmission and participation…………………………………………….. 47

3 THE ARCHAEOLOGICAL STUDY OF RITUAL………………………………… 50 3.1 Ritual activities…………………………………………………………………. 50 3.2 Ritual and material culture……………………………………………………… 55 3.2.1 Ritual objects………………………………………………………………. 55 3.2.2 Ritual facilities……………………………………………………………... 57 3.3 Ritual and archaeological correlates……………………………………………. 58 3.3.1 Ritual objects and discard processes………………………………………. 58 3.3.2 Ritual facilities and architectural design…………………………………… 64 3.3.2.1 Construction process……………………………………………………67 3.3.2.2 Spatial structure……………………………………………………….. 70 3.3.2.3 Perceptual structure…………………………………………………… 76 3.3.3 Summary ………………………………………………………………….. 80

4 RESEARCH ON THE ANDEAN LATE ARCHAIC PERIOD……………………. 82 4.1 The 1940’s and 1950’s. The identification of a “Preceramic” Stage…………... 86 4.2 The 1960’s. The identification of large settlements and public architecture…… 89 4.3 The 1970’s. New data and the definition of cultural patterns……………………93 4.4 The 1980’s and early 1990’s. Meetings, syntheses, and discussion themes…….100 4.5 Recent finds and contributions. The Caral Project and the North Central Coast. 105 4.6 Current Problems and Perspectives……………………………………………. 109

5 EXCAVATIONS AT CERRO LAMPAY…………………………………………. 121 5.1 The site………………………………………………………………………… 121 5.2 Excavation procedures………………………………………………………… 126 7

TABLE OF CONTENTS – Continued

5.3 Stratigraphy……………………………………………………………………. 129 5.4 Architectural sequence………………………………………………………… 137 5.4.1 The First Compound………………………………………………………. 138 5.4.2 The Sunken Circular Court………………………………………………... 143 5.4.3 The Second Compound……………………………………………………. 148 5.4.4 Possibility of a third compound………………………………………….. 151 5.4.5 The entombment process…………………….………………………….... 154 5.4.5.1 The first filling stage………………………………………………… 154 5.4.5.2 New rooms and spaces………………………………………………. 162 5.4.5.3 Activity remains in the new spaces…………………………………… 165 5.4.5.4 The second filling stage……………………………………………… 170 5.4.5.5 New spaces and activity remains…………………………………… 171 5.4.5.6 The last filling stage………………………………………………… 174 5.4.6 Post abandonment processes……………………………………………… 177 5.5 Activity femains………………………………………………………………. 179 5.5.1 Floor features……………………………………………………………… 179 5.5.2 Offering sets………………………………………………………………. 181 5.5.3 Burnt areas………………………………………………………………… 185 5.5.4 Trash deposits…………………………………………………………….. 185 5.6 Absolute chronology…………………………………………………………… 189

6 CONSTRUCTION EVENTS AND USE OF SPACE AT CERRO LAMPAY …… 200 6.1 Building and related activities…………………………………………………. 200 6.1.1 Construction stages and events…………………………………………… 201 6.1.2 Activity remains between construction events…………………………….. 203 6.1.2.1 Floor features…………………………………………………………. 203 6.1.2.2 Offering sets …………………………………………………………. 205 6.1.2.3 Burnt areas …………………………………………………………… 206 6.1.2.4 Trash deposits ………………………………………………………... 206 6.1.3 The nature and sequencing of activities…………………………………… 213 6.2. Constructed space and human interaction……………………………………... 216 6.2.1 Spatial organization and spatial experience at the First Compound………. 218 6.2.1.1 Spatial structure and space syntax…………………………………….. 218 6.2.1.2 Built space and sensory experience………………….……………….. 225 6.2.2 Changes and continuities with the construction of the Second Compound.. 230 6.2.3 Temple entombment and spatial reorganization with the first filling stage.. 234 6.2.4 The final configuration after the second filling stage……………………… 238 6.2.5 Architectural design and interaction. Behavioral perspectives……………. 239 6.3 Space building and space use. Social implications…………………………….. 244

7 CULTURAL PATTERNS AND CHRONOLOGY………………………………… 250

TABLE OF CONTENTS - Continued

7.1 Construction practices………………………………………………………….. 250 7.1.1 Walls construction………………………………………………………… 251 7.1.2 Platform filling……………………………………………………………. 252 7.1.3 Activities between construction events…………………………………… 254 7.1.4 Cultural patterns and chronological implications…………………………. 256 7.2 The architectural design……………………………………………………….. 262 7.2.1 Áspero……………………………………………………………………… 262 7.2.2 Chupacigarro………………………………………………………………. 268 7.2.3 Caral……………………………………………………………………….. 272 7.2.4 Other Sites………………...……………………….………………………. 279 7.2.5 Design patterns in the Pativilca System…………………………………… 279 7.3 Architectural patterns in the Late Archaic. Comparison and perspectives…..… 286 7.3.1 Southwards. The Central Coast……………………………………………. 286 7.3.2 Northwards. The North Coast……………………………………………… 289 7.3.3 The highlands and the Mito Tradition…………………………………….. 292 7.3.4 Comparative perspectives………………………………………………….. 299 7.4 Architectural patterns development and chronological perspectives…………. 305

8 CERRO LAMPAY IN ITS TIME. SOCIOPOLITICAL IMPLICATIONS.……….. 320 8.1 The building process, feasting, and labor recruitment………………………….. 320 8.2 Architectural design and community dualism………………………………….. 330 8.3 Ritual entombment, abandonment, and landscape landmarks………………….. 338 8.4 The regional scenario. Inter-community interaction………………………….... 348 8.5 Beyond the region. The NCC and Mito architectural designs………………….. 359 8.6 Pathways to complexity. Final comments……………………………………… 363

9 CONCLUSIONS AND PERSPECTIVES…………………………………………. 369 9.1 Architectural design: The NCC Tradition……………………………………... 369 9.2 The building process…………………………………………………………… 370 9.3 The use of space and social dynamics…………………………………………. 372 9.4 Construction and design: Theoretical perspectives for the Late Archaic…..….. 373 9.5 Prospects for future study……………………………………………………… 374 9.5.1 The NCC Tradition………………………………………………………... 374 9.5.2 The growth of architectural complexes…………………………………… 375 9.5.3 Sociopolitical dynamics within the regional scenario…………………….. 377 9.5.4 Understanding a human community………………………………………. 379 9.5.5 Ritual spaces and practices in the context of emergent complexity………. 379

REFERENCES………………………………………………………………………... 381

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FIGURE 3.1, Graphic convention for Gamma-analysis of buildings (according to Hillier and Hanson 1984)……………………………………………………………... 72 FIGURE 3.2, Alternative scenarios of spatial organization of buildings with corresponding graphs (according to Hillier and Hanson 1984)……………………….. 73 FIGURE 3.3, Graphical convention for the appearance of alternative pathways in a spatial structure (According to Hillier and Hanson 1984)…………………………….. 75 FIGURE 3.4, Visual perceptions of width (1), depth (2), and height (3)……………... 79 FIGURE 4.1, Map of the Central Andes with major river drainages…………………. 83 FIGURE 4.2, Map of the Central Andes with major Late Archaic sites……………… 85 FIGURE 4.3, Map of the Middle Fortaleza Valley with indication of possible Late Archaic Period sites (Redrawn from Vega-Centeno et al. 1998:Figure 1)………. 110 FIGURE 4.4, Map of the North Central Coast with the identified Late Archaic sites with public architecture (based on Haas et al. 2004a:Figure 1; Shady et al. 2000: Figure 1; and Vega-Centeno et al.1998:221)……………………………………….….111 FIGURE 4.5, Map of Zone IV of the Middle Fortaleza Valley and Late Archaic Period sites (Redrawn from Vega-Centeno 2005:Figure 2)………………………..…. 114 FIGURE 4.6, Preliminary plan of the site of Caballete (Redrawn from Vega-Centeno 2005:Figure 13)……………………………………………………….. 115 FIGURE 4.7, Preliminary plan of the site of Porvenir (Redrawn from Vega-Centeno 2005:Figure 10)……………………………………………………….. 116 FIGURE 5.1, Map of the lower section of Zone IV in the Fortaleza Valley…………. 122 FIGURE 5.2, Air photograph of La Carbonera ravine and Cerro Lampay…………… 123 FIGURE 5.3, Sketch plan of Cerro Lampay architecture before excavation………… 124 FIGURE 5.4, Topographic plan of Cerro Lampay indicating excavation units……… 128 FIGURE 5.5, Plan of excavations at Sector 1………………….……………….……. 130 FIGURE 5.6, General stratigraphy at Sector 1…………………….…………………. 131 FIGURE 5.7, Stratigraphy of Levels 1-3 at Sector 1. ………………………………... 132 FIGURE 5.8, Stratigraphy at Unit 17, Sector 2 ……………………………………… 134 FIGURE 5.9, Stratigraphy at Units 18 and 26, Sector 2……………………………... 136 FIGURE 5.10, Detail of wall construction at Cerro Lampay…………………………. 139 FIGURE 5.11, Plan of the First Compound…………………………………………... 140 FIGURE 5.12, View of the northern corner of Room 1 of the First Compound……… 142 FIGURE 5.13, View of the northeast entryway at Room 1, First Compound………… 142 FIGURE 5.14, Plan of the First Compound and the Sunken Circular Court…………. 145 FIGURE 5.15, Plan and profile of the Sunken Circular Court area………………….. 146 FIGURE 5.16, View of the northwestern stairway of the Sunken Circular Court……. 147 FIGURE 5.17, Plan of the Second Compound……………………………………….. 149 FIGURE 5.18, View of the southwestern entryway of Room 4 from the outside……. 149 FIGURE 5.19, General plan of the original compounds at Cerro Lampay…………… 152 FIGURE 5.20, Isometric reconstruction of the First and Second Compound at Cerro Lampay……………………………………………………………………………….. 153 10

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - Continued

FIGURE 5.21, Plan of the first activities and remains related to the entombment process………………………………………………………………………………… 155 FIGURE 5.22, View of the three niches built at Room 4 front access……………….. 157 FIGURE 5.23, View of Offering Set # 1. ……………………………………………. 157 FIGURE 5.24, View of Offering Set # 2. ……………………………………………. 157 FIGURE 5.25, Plan of the first filling stage and related activity remains……………. 158 FIGURE 5.26, View of Offering Set # 3 in Niche # 1..………………………………. 160 FIGURE 5.27, View of Trash Deposit # 2……………………………………………. 160 FIGURE 5.28, Plan of the new spaces after the first filling stage……………………. 163 FIGURE 5.29, View of stairway at the Central Corridor…………………………….. 164 FIGURE 5.30, View of Room 5 from the northwest…………………………………. 164 FIGURE 5.31, Plan of the activity remains found in the new spaces after the first filling stage……………………………………………………………………………. 166 FIGURE 5.32, View of Feature 4...... 168 FIGURE 5.33, Plan of Room 3A and related activity remains……………………….. 168 FIGURE 5.34, Plans and profile of superimposed occupational surfaces in the Back Platform………………………………………………………………………………. 169 FIGURE 5.35, Plan of the second filling stage and related activity remains………… 172 FIGURE 5.36, Plan of the new spaces after the second filling stage and related activity remains………………………………………………………………………. 173 FIGURE 5.37, Plan of the last filling stage and related activity remains……………. 175 FIGURE 5.38, View of Offering Set 7 ………………………………………………. 176 FIGURE 5.39, Isometric reconstruction of the final configuration of Cerro Lampay architecture after the entombment process……………………………………………. 178 FIGURE 5.40, Projectile points found in Offering Set #1, Room 4, at Cerro Lampay. 184 FIGURE 6.1, Original architecture at Cerro Lampay and Gamma-analysis assuming a surrounding carrier space…………………………………………………………… 221 FIGURE 6.2, Original architecture at Cerro Lampay and Gamma-analyses assumming a northwest location of the carrier space…………………………………. 222 FIGURE 6.3, Hypothetical perspective view of Room 1 from the front access ….…. 226 FIGURE 6.4, Hypothetical perspective view of Room 2 from the front access…..…. 228 FIGURE 6.5, Hypothetical perspective view of the First Compound from the Northwest…………………………………………………………………………….. 229 FIGURE 6.6, Cerro Lampay architecture with Second Compound addition and Gamma-analyses………………………………………………………………………. 231 FIGURE 6.7, Cerro Lampay architecture with a hypothetical third compound and Gamma-analysis………………………………………………………………………. 232 FIGURE 6.8, Cerro Lampay first filling stage and Gamma-analysis ……………….. 236 FIGURE 6.9, Complete (a, d) and split (b-c, e-f) Gamma-analyses of the first filling stage scenarios ………………………..……………………………………………… 237 FIGURE 7.1, Detail of stone walls at the Castillo de Huaricanga site……………….. 258 11

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - Continued

FIGURE 7.2, Detail of stone walls at the Cerro Blanco Sur…………………………. 258 FIGURE 7.3, Plan of the Áspero site (redrawn from Feldman 1980:27)…………….. 263 FIGURE 7.4, Plan of Huaca de los Ídolos summit (redrawn from Feldman 1985:74). 265 FIGURE 7.5, Plan of Huaca de los Sacrificios summit (redrawn from Feldman 1980:91)………………………………………………………………………………. 269 FIGURE 7.6, Plan of the Chupacigarro site (redrawn from Shady 2000:43)………… 270 FIGURE 7.7, Scale-model of the Templo Mayor building of Chupacigarro (after Shady 2001:15) ………………………………………………………………… 270 FIGURE 7.8, Plan of the Caral site (redrawn from Shady et al. 2003a:148)…………. 273 FIGURE 7.9, Plan of the Templo de la Banqueta structure at the site of Caral (redrawn from Shady 1997:38)……………………………………………………….. 274 FIGURE 7.10, Plan of the Templo del Anfiteatro structure of Caral (redrawn from Shady et al. 2003c:294)…………………………………………………………. 275 FIGURE 7.11, Plan of the “Atrium” of the Templo Mayor structure of Caral (Redrawn from Shady and Machacuay 2003:171)…………………………………… 278 FIGURE 7.12, Plan of the Sunken Circular Court of the Templo Mayor structure of Caral (redrawn from Shady et al. 2003a:150)………………………………………… 278 FIGURE 7.13, Plan of the site of Cerro Blanco, in the Supe Valley (redrawn from Shady et al. 2000: 47)…………………………………………………………………. 280 FIGURE 7.14, Comparative chart of architectural compounds of the North Central Coast………………………………………………………………………………….. 282 FIGURE 7.15, Plan of the site of El Paraiso (redrawn from Quilter 1985:280)……… 288 FIGURE 7.16, Plan of Unit 1 structure at the site of El Paraiso (redrawn from Quilter 1985:283)……………………………………………………………………... 288 FIGURE 7.17, Plan of platform structure at the site of Gavilanes (redrawn from Bonavia 1982:64)…………………………………………………………………….. 290 FIGURE 7.18, Plan of platform with hearth at the site of Huaynuná (redrawn from Pozorski and Pozorski 1999:175)…………………………………………………….. 290 FIGURE 7.19, Plan of mound at a hill slope in the site of Huaynuná (redrawn from Pozorski and Pozorski 1999:176)…………………………………………………….. 290 FIGURE 7.20, Plan of sunken circular court at the site of Alto Salaverry (redrawn from Pozorski and Pozorski 1977:38)………………………………………………… 290 FIGURE 7.21, Plan of Unit A structure at the site of Salinas de Chao (redrawn from Alva 1986:150)……………………………………………………………………….. 291 FIGURE 7.22, Plan of Unit B structure at the site of Salinas de Chao (redrawn from Alva 1986:154)…...…………………………………………………………………… 291 FIGURE 7.23, Plan of Unit F structure at the site of Salinas de Chao (redrawn from Alva 1986:161)……………………………………………………………………….. 291 FIGURE 7.24, Hypothetical reconstruction of a Mito structure (after Bonnier 1997:138)……………………………………………………………………………… 294 12

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - Continued

FIGURE 7.25, Plan of Mito structure at the site of Piruru (redrawn from Bonnier 1997:142)……………………………………………………………………………… 294 FIGURE 7.26, Plan of the TM Mito occupation at the site of Kotosh (redrawn from Izumi and Terada 1972:131)………………………………………………………….. 296 FIGURE 7.27, Plan of the TM Mito occupation at the site of Kotosh (redrawn from Izumi and Terada 1972:131)………………………………………………………….. 296 FIGURE 7.28, Synthetic section of the North Mound at the site of La Galgada (redrawn from Grieder et al. 1988:36-37)…………………………………………….. 298 FIGURE 7.29, Hypothetical reconstruction of Floor 30 architecture in the North Mound of the site of La Galgada (after Grieder et al. 1988:38)………………………. 298 FIGURE 7.30, Plan of the room with central hearth found at the Templo Mayor of Caral (redrawn from Shady and Machacuay 2003:176)………………………………. 300 FIGURE 7.31, Plan of the room with central hearth found at the Templo del Anfiteatro of Caral (redrawn from Shady et.al. 2003b:241)………………………….. 300 FIGURE 7.32, Comparative chart of NCC structures from Cerro Lampay and Mito structures from Kotosh………………………………………………………….. 303 FIGURE 8.1, Isometric reconstruction of the massive platform produced after the burying of architectural compounds at Cerro Lampay……………………………. 345

LIST OF TABLES

TABLE 3.1, Ritual object categories and expected archaeological correlates….……. 62 TABLE 3.2, Set of behavioral units conducted during construction ………..……….. 69 TABLE 5.1, Remains identified in features at Cerro Lampay………………………... 180 TABLE 5.2, Remains identified in offering sets at Cerro Lampay…………………… 182 TABLE 5.3, Artifact remains identified in trash deposits at Cerro Lampay………….. 186 TABLE 5.4, Faunal remains identified in trash deposits at Cerro Lampay…………... 187 TABLE 5.5, Botanical remains identified in trash deposits at Cerro Lampay………... 188 TABLE 5.6, 14C dates of the samples taken from Cerro Lampay…………………….. 192 TABLE 5.7, Chronological distribution of 14C dates of samples taken from Cerro Lampay………………………………………………………………………………... 195 TABLE 6.1, Relation of activity remains from food processing and consumption with construction events ………………………………………………...... 215 TABLE 6.2, Sequence of activities from earliest (bottom) to latest (top) during the entombment process at Cerro Lampay ………………………………………………. 217 TABLE 6.3, Gamma-analyses results for the original architecture of Cerro Lampay……………………………………………………………………….… 224 TABLE 6.4, Gamma-analysis results for Cerro Lampay architecture with the inclusion of lateral compounds……………………………………………………….. 233 TABLE 7.1, Main architectural traits of architectural compounds with separated rear and front rooms………………………………………………………………….. 283 TABLE 7.2, Main architectural traits of architectural compounds with integrated rear and front rooms………………………………………………………………….. 285 TABLE 7.3, 14C dates from architectural compounds at the site of Áspero (from Feldman 1980:246)………………………………………………………………….… 309 TABLE 7.4, 14C dates from architectural compounds at the site of Caral and Chupacigarro (from Shady et al. 2001:726)…………………………………………... 311 TABLE 7.5, 14C dates from architectural compounds assigned to the Mito Tradition (Bonavía 1982:75; Burger and Salazar-Burger 1985:122; Grieder et al. 1988:69; Izumi and Terada 1972:307; Pozorski and Pozorski 1999:177; Ziolkowski et.al. 1994:230-231, 274-276, 423-424)………………………………….. 315 TABLE 8.1, Scale and number of architectural units in Late Archaic sites of Fortaleza Zone IV (From Vega-Centeno 2005:Chart 2)…………………………….... 351 TABLE 8.2, Scale of Late Archaic architectural units of Fortaleza Zone IV (From Vega-Centeno 2005:Chart 3)…………………………………………………... 352

ABSTRACT

This dissertation addresses the role of ritual practices in the emergence of complex forms of social organization during the Late Archaic Period of the Central

Andes (ca. 3000 – 1500 B.C.). This theme is approached through description and analysis

of ritual architecture remains recovered in excavations at the site of Cerro Lampay,

located in the Fortaleza Valley, within the North Central Coast of Peru.

The emergence of social complexity is approached from the perspective of

Practice Theory, noting the relevance of ritual practices in the generation, reproduction,

and/or transformation of social conditions of existence.

Following these theoretical principles, archaeological information is analyzed

through a methodological frame built to understand the performative aspects of ritual and

its material manifestations. A particular emphasis is put on the analysis of architectural

remains, which are analyzed from proxemics and space syntax perspectives, in order to

define the patterns of human interaction produced during the conduct of ritual.

The inference of behavioral patterns conducted within construction events and ritual performances have allowed me to propose a scenario of a community with emergent leaders and a dual organization, which was responsible for the building, use, and closure of the architectural compounds found at Cerro Lampay. Ritual practices such as conspicuous consumption and feasting played a key role in the development of social dynamics and might have been a significant power source for the emergent leaderships. 15

Chapter 1

INTRODUCTION

Throughout the twentieth century, the Central Andes was a major focus of

research and discussion about the emergence and nature of social complexity. The

information on Andean complex societies was used to support general theories of

sociopolitical evolution (e.g., Carneiro 1970; Steward 1963:206), as well as to propose

the existence of singular evolutionary developments (e.g., Moseley 1975a, 1992b). The role of irrigation agriculture and the rich maritime biomass of the Peruvian coast have been key issues within the debates on the nature of Andean social complexity.

More recently, the study of the emergence of social complexity in the Central

Andes has focused on the cultural manifestations of the Late Archaic Period (3000-1500

B.C.). This period is characterized by the existence of sedentary settlements that subsisted on the basis of a consolidated agricultural economy complemented by fishing and shellfish collection. However, the main characteristic of the Late Archaic Period is

the appearance of large-scale buildings, usually considered of a ritual nature. The size

and elaboration of several of these buildings have brought special attention from scholars

who seek to define the degree of complexity of the societies that built them.

The increasing prominence of the Late Archaic Period information in the study of

the rise of complexity in the Andes is undoubtedly related to the recent finds produced at

the site of Caral (Shady 1997, 2001; Shady and Leyva 2003; Shady et al. 2001), which 16

have brought about a reevaluation of the scale, economy, and regional dynamics of Late

Archaic societies, particularly in the North Central Coast.

There is a significant accumulation of recent literature on the Andean Late

Archaic Period for this region, and elaborated explanatory models have been proposed to characterize the North Central Coast societies (Haas et al. 2004b; Shady et al. 2000,

2001). Shady and her colleagues propose the existence of a pristine state, developed in the Supe Valley, with Caral as its capital (Shady et al. 2000:26-29), while Haas and his

colleagues argue for several hierarchical polities spread throughout the North Central

Coast (Haas et al. 2004b). It is significant that these models have been built on the basis

of surface surveys. Such a situation can be explained because these models are based on

the assumption that public architecture is a product of centralized decision-making

entities, and consequently, the scale of the buildings have been classified as

manifestations of centralized and hierarchical societies.

The assumption of a correspondence between the Late Archaic Period societies

and a given type of society has several consequences. One of them is that the Late

Archaic Period is treated as a chronological unit of synchronic value, in order to address

its evolutionary status. Thus, archaeological remains that come from a 1500-year time

span are often considered as contemporary. Moreover, surface accounts of Late Archaic

Period sites are often treated as accounts of the whole sites’ occupations, and even of the

whole period, without considering whether those accounts correspond to the end of the

sites’ occupations. There is little concern about the specific trajectories that ended in the

final configuration of the archaeological complexes that characterize this period. 17

The described models also show a lack of interest in the archaeological study of the social practices that generated and reproduced the sociopolitical contexts in which public buildings appear. For example, whereas most scholars accept the social significance of public architecture within the Late Archaic Period, this kind of architecture has been only analyzed in quantitative terms, measuring its volume as a means of estimating the amount of labor invested in construction. Based on the assumption that a centralized authority was required, these assessments are used to indicate the scale of the society involved (e.g., a chiefdom, a state), despite the social practices that were generated before, during, and after the building was constructed. It is significant that even though the mentioned scholars agree about the religious or ritual nature of the Late Archaic Period public buildings, the characteristics of ritual activities have not been considered as relevant for studying how complexity developed.

As a consequence, despite the current reliance on public buildings to explain the nature of Late Archaic societies, there is a general lack of detailed analyses of the construction processes that went into the building and maintenance of public architecture.

There is also a lack of attention to the spatial organization and design of this kind of architecture and to the activities that took place within it. As the architectural phenomenon is treated as a simple quantitative index of “degree of complexity,” there has been little attempt to obtain detailed accounts on design and construction processes.

To address this lack of attention, I conducted research to re-evaluate the role and nature of so-called “public architecture” during the Late Archaic and its sociopolitical relevance. I chose to conduct this research at a specific site in the Fortaleza Valley, Cerro 18

Lampay, located in the North Central Coast. This is a zone that, due to the recent finds at

Caral, has acquired a particular relevance in the Late Archaic Period studies (Haas and

Creamer 2004; Haas et al. 2004a; Vega-Centeno 2005).

I chose to study public architecture as a means of addressing the role and nature

of social practices in shaping and reshaping a social order. Consequently, several

questions appeared at the beginning of my investigation. First of all, I considered it

important to understand what was built, i.e., to define the architectural design of a typical

Late Archaic public building, including its access system, and how this design regulated

or influenced human interaction.

Second, I also considered it necessary to understand how it was built. It was important to get a comprehensive view of how the construction activities were organized, and how people participated in such activities to address the sociopolitical relevance of

these social practices.

Third, in order to address the social significance of the architectural design, it was

necessary to understand how it was used. In other words, it was necessary to understand what kind of activities were conducted within the architectural space and how this kind of space was designed in accordance with those activities. As mentioned above, most

scholars agree that the buildings were of a ritual nature. A consensus does not imply

accuracy, and consequently, it was necessary to evaluate the architectural design in terms

of the specific characteristics of ritual as significant social practices and their relationship

with the built environment. 19

Finally, I thought that it was important to answer when it existed. This question

goes beyond the broad chronological assignment of buildings to the Late Archaic Period,

but seeks to understand the timing of the construction process, as well as the duration of

its use and the factors of its abandonment. It also places the architectural unit within a

chain of events occurring over the 1500-year time span of the Late Archaic Period, in

order to address its role or significance within the cultural developments and processes

that characterized this epoch.

The consideration of Late Archaic public buildings as ritual architecture is a

reasonable hypothesis that is often based on accounts of the degree of architectural

elaboration and formality. Nevertheless, this hypothesis requires systematization, testing

and refinement, starting with a comprehensive understanding of ritual as a significant

social practice and its archaeological correlates. If the ritual function of Late Archaic

public buildings is confirmed and characterized, we might be able to obtain new insights into the nature of ritual practices, ritual spaces, and their role in the development of

complexity.

In order to test this hypothetical scenario, I decided to conduct excavations at a

Late Archaic site of the North Central Coast, as a means of obtaining relevant data to

answer the outlined questions. Previous survey in the Fortaleza Valley of the North

Central Coast (Vega-Centeno 2005; Vega-Centeno et al. 1998) revealed the existence of

a distinctive architectural pattern of platform mounds and sunken circular courts, which

also characterized the Late Archaic architecture of the Supe Valley (Shady et al. 2000).

Thus, I decided to excavate a site that had both kinds of architectural features in clear 20 association. The chosen site was Cerro Lampay, located on the south bank of the Middle

Fortaleza Valley. This site was chosen among eight other sites with similar characteristics, due to its reduced (and thus, manageable) size, its state of preservation, and its accessibility from the city of Paramonga, the major town in the region.

Excavations at Cerro Lampay were designed to understand the original architectural design of the building, as well as its transformations through time. They were also designed to account for the nature of the construction processes that took place and the organization of building activities. Excavations were also designed to recover archaeological remains that allow the definition of the activities that took place within the built spaces. Finally, the excavation also sought the recovery of a large sample of organic remains for radiocarbon dating, in order to determine the sequence and timing of the building events and their duration within the site’s history.

In the succeeding chapters, I present the theoretical, methodological, and empirical observations that oriented my research, as well as their results. In Chapter 2, I review the development of archaeological thought on social complexity and architectural analysis. I evaluate current problems and perspectives and address the relevance of the study of social practices to expand our understanding of how complexity was achieved.

Special emphasis is given to the role of the built environment within this kind of phenomenon. Finally, I discuss the significance of ritual as a social practice that allows me to address both sociopolitical dynamics and architectural design within a context of emergent complexity. 21

In Chapter 3, I develop a methodological framework to study ritual from an archaeological perspective. I address the behavioral dimensions of ritual and evaluate its relationship to material culture, as well as the expected archaeological remains that are produced through ritual activities. I analyze separately the role and nature of ritual objects and ritual facilities, including architectural design.

In Chapter 4, I evaluate the development of the archaeological study of the Late

Archaic Period of the Central Andes. This evaluation includes an overview of both empirical and theoretical contributions as they were presented during the second half of the twentieth century. Using this revision, I note the current problems and perspectives in the study of this period, explaining the need for a field project like the one that I conducted at Cerro Lampay.

In Chapter 5, I present the results of the excavations at Cerro Lampay. This presentation includes a general description of the site and the excavation strategy.

Following this description, I present the stratigraphy and the sequence of construction and occupation of the site, including a complex process of “entombment” of the architectural compounds before the site’s abandonment. The explanation of this sequence is followed by an account of the material remains found within the architectural contexts.

Finally, I present the occupational history for the site based on radiocarbon dating.

Chapter 6 consists of the different analyses conducted on the basis of the recovered data. It includes an analysis of the organization of the building process, as well as the remains recovered within the architectural contexts, in order to infer the activities that took place and formed part of the construction processes. This chapter also includes 22

an analysis of the visual and spatial structure of the different architectural compounds and

units documented after the excavations, as a means to determine the interaction patterns

generated through the architectural design. This chapter concludes with a discussion on

the behavioral and social implications of the analyzed data.

In Chapter 7, I establish a comparison of the different finds of Cerro Lampay with

the published information of related sites of the North Central Coast. On the basis of this

comparison, I propose several architectural patterns that allow characterizing the material

culture of the Late Archaic Period occupations of the North Central Coast. Based on this

characterization, I compare the North Central Coast patterns with other Late Archaic

architectural manifestations such as the Mito Tradition of the Highlands, defining their

commonalities and differences. Finally, I review the existing data on the absolute

chronology of the described sites, noting the perspectives of establishing a sequence of

architectural development for the North Central Coast buildings during the Late Archaic

Period.

In Chapter 8, I evaluate the sociopolitical implications that can be inferred on the

basis of Cerro Lampay’s data. This evaluation considers the characteristics of the

building process at Cerro Lampay, and the kind of social entity that might be able to

accomplish it. It also discusses the nature of the architectural design, and its relevance in the reinforcement of a given social order through the regulation of human interaction.

The evaluation includes a discussion of the significance of the entombment process that

marked the end of its use. I also address the regional and macro-regional context in which

Cerro Lampay was constructed and occupied, proposing a scenario to explain the inter- 23 community dynamics that might have been generated between Cerro Lampay and its neighboring sites, as well as among different sites within and outside the North Central

Coast region.

Finally, the major results and observations are summarized in the conclusions

(Chapter 9), which are followed by a discussion of the prospects for future research in the study of the nature of complex societies in the Central Andes. 24

Chapter 2

ARCHITECTURE AND RITUAL IN THE STUDY OF SOCIAL COMPLEXITY

The development and nature of complex societies is one of the major topics of research in Andean archaeology. For decades, these concerns were addressed within the study of the presumed first Andean civilization or “high culture” known as Chavín.

Today, research in the Andean area has demonstrated that significant and complex social formations developed long before Chavín. Most scholars agree that the beginnings of complexity took place in the Late Archaic or Late Preceramic Period, during the third millennium and the first half of the second millennium B.C. (e.g., Feldman 1985; Haas

1987; Lumbreras 1987; Moseley 1975; Shady et al. 2000)

The archaeological identification of social complexity is often related to differential burial treatments, the variable quality and scale of residential architecture, the appearance of luxury or exotic goods, a conventionalized or formalized symbolic system of communication (usually associated with religious contents), and the appearance of public architecture.

In the Andean case, and especially during the Late Archaic Period, discussions of emergent complexity have mainly relied on the presence of public architecture. Despite different theoretical orientations, the emphasis on architectural data can be explained by the prominent and apparently simultaneous appearance of large-scale buildings with 25

elaborate designs throughout the Central Andes during the Late Archaic, while other

indices of complexity have not been clearly identified.

This characteristic makes the Andean region a promising place to study the

relationship between social complexity and the construction of public spaces. Several authors have addressed this issue and different proposals have been developed in order to understand the Andean sociopolitical process (See Chapter 3). In this chapter, I review archaeological theories about the relationship between social complexity and architecture, evaluating current problems and perspectives in these studies. On the basis of this review,

I discuss the relevance of the study of social practices in order to expand our understanding of social complexity and the role of constructed space. Finally, I discuss the significance of ritual as a social practice that allows archaeologists to address the relationship between social dynamics and architectural design within the context of emerging complex societies.

2.1 Social complexity, public architecture, and archaeological research.

The anthropological and archeological study of complexity in ancient societies was originally conceptualized as the study of the origin and evolution of civilizations

(e.g., Childe 1952; Steward 1963). Since the 1960’s, neo-evolutionary approaches have emphasized the study of the sociopolitical nature of complex societies (e.g., Carneiro

1970, 1981; Earle 1977, 1978; Flannery 1972; Fried 1967; Friedman and Rowlands 1977;

Haas 1982; Lumbreras 1987; Manzanilla 1987; Service 1962, 1975). Despite their differences, these approaches shared the use of stage-oriented classificatory systems to 26

cope with the differences among societies considered to be on the path towards

complexity. They also shared a similar approach to the study of public architecture in

relation to social complexity.

As mentioned above, the existence of large-scale buildings with a design that

suggests supra-household functions has often been considered a manifestation of social

complexity. Such structures are commonly called “public architecture” in contrast to the domestic buildings associated with the household realm.

Evolutionary approaches gave particular emphasis to the study of public architecture as a relevant index of complexity. For example, Elman Service said that one of the most significant traits of chiefdoms was their capacity to deploy labor in building public works, mainly of a theocratic nature such as temples or burial mounds (Service

1962:170, 1975:96). Following Service’s statement, several authors have considered public buildings, often of a religious nature, as prominent archaeological correlates of chiefdom societies (e.g., Kaplan 1963; Peebles and Kus 1977:432).

The consideration of public buildings as the archaeological correlates of chiefdoms was systematized by Colin Renfrew, who outlined that temples aways have a purposive nature. Consequently, he noted that temples or other religious buildings often reflect unifying (i.e., centralizing) concepts and notions. These traits indicate the existence of a corporate body (i.e., a chiefdom) capable of conceptualizing, designing, and mobilizing a labor force, as well as exercising construction and artistic skill (Renfrew

1974:77). 27

A significant characteristic of evolutionary approaches to the study of public architecture was the emphasis on the construction process. Public architecture was often addressed as an outcome of energy flows (expressed in labor power and craftsmanship skills) within a socio-cultural system.

Thus, large-scale buildings were regarded as the manifestation of an agent’s control over a set of energy flows within the social system (Adams 1975: 12-13). The centralization of this flow of energy, a primary factor for explaining the occurrence of monumental buildings, was measured as a function of technological level and labor mobilization within a centralized decision-making system (Adams 1975:14-15).

This proposal has been elaborated by Elliot Abrams, who notes that the amount of energy expended in a building episode reflects several phenomena. First, it reflects the involvement of large numbers of people. Second, it implies an organization capable of directing those individuals. Third, it reflects the presence of a centralized political power for labor force mobilization. Fourth, it reveals the presence of craft specialists sufficiently skilled to contribute to the building process. And fifth, it reflects a social system that can afford the loss of energy implied in the construction process (Abrams 1989:60).

The emphasis on the construction phenomenon and the buildings’ scale provided a new perspective on the study of public architecture, which was previously restricted to perspectives developed from art history, with its emphasis on formal and aesthetic dimensions. In contrast, evolutionary approaches address the social significance of the building process within a given human group. 28

A consequence of this new theoretical orientation was that archaeological research on public architecture became mainly oriented toward the measurement of the scale of labor mobilization in order to define the scale of the society involved in construction. Based on the assumption of a centralized decision-making body, the building’s scale was the most significant variable in defining the evolutionary stage of the society responsible for its construction (e.g., Haas 1982; Kaplan 1963). These considerations propelled the development of methods and techniques to measure the scale of energy flows involved in construction activities (e.g., Erasmus 1965).

This perspective on architectural analysis developed at the same time as archaeological thought on sociopolitical complexity experienced a significant shift.

Instead of searching for types and definitions of universal value – usually within an evolutionary sequence - research on complexity started to emphasize variability and the occurrence of alternative trajectories in the evolution of complexity. Critical assumptions of evolutionary approaches have been called into question, and this questioning has opened a new set of possibilities to explain the dynamics of differentiation and integration within societies through history.

This shift began in the early 1980’s with the observation that evolutionary categorizations tended to ignore variability in societies within stages, as well as the similarities across stages (Feinman and Neitzel 1984; McGuire 1983; Yoffee 1979,

1993). It was also noted that several levels of hierarchy (a trademark of social complexity) are present in the so-called “egalitarian societies” (Flanagan 1989:248, 262), and that these levels of hierarchy precede the institutionalization of conditions of 29

inequality (Paynter 1989:387). Therefore, simple societies, ruled by egalitarian relations,

appeared more as a hypothetical construct than an empirical reality. Egalitarianism as a concept describes a specific situation, but does not exist as a permanent condition. One important implication of these ideas is that if the notion of complexity describes a process

of differentiation in society, its origins should be traced to pre-existing institutions of the so-called “simple societies.” These considerations have brought new perspectives to the study of complexity, especially by focusing on the contexts of “intermediate societies”

(Arnold 1996) or “transegalitarian societies” (Clark and Blake 1994; Hayden 1995).

The new concerns about where and how social complexity appears have brought about new questioning of the theoretical limits of common rigid evolutionary-typological

approaches. During the late 1990’s, the pre-eminence of hierarchy as an exclusive and

necessary form of organization in complex societies was challenged. New approaches

have proposed the concept of heterarchy, as an alternative principle of social organization

(Crumley 1995). These approaches have been expanded by recent accounts of complexity and power structures in Sub-Saharan Africa (McIntosh 1999) and Southeast Asia (White

1995), and the nature of ancient states (Blanton 1998).

These recent studies have inspired new approaches and perspectives in the study of public architecture and its role in the formation of complex societies. It has been noted that reducing the architectural phenomenon to an energy outcome makes it difficult to evaluate the role and social relevance of a building’s function and its correspondent design. Moreover, the role of design in the organization of energy inputs was seldom

addressed. In addition, the assumption of centralization as a constant generated 30

quantitative methods and techniques, which did not address the possibility of qualitative

differences in the processes of labor organization.

Based on the above critiques, the study of construction processes has expanded

beyond the energy flow perspective by addressing the issue of labor organization. This

perspective accounts for variability in construction materials and construction techniques,

as well as their distribution and structural relations within an architectural unit (e.g.,

Cavallaro and Shimada 1988; Moseley 1975b; Wills 2000). Based on these contributions,

the study of construction processes is increasingly examaining issues beyond the

quantitative dimensions of the phenomenon by looking at qualitative differences in how

construction was organized.

While several authors criticized the quantitative bias of evolutionary approaches

to architecture, other authors have criticized the treatment of architectural phenomena as a passive reflection of social reality. These authors (e.g., Moore 1996; Nielsen 1995;

Smith 1996) call attention to the active role that public architecture may play in the

reproduction of a society. The claim for addressing a more active role of architecture in looking at social change requires that we consider and develop more dynamic conceptualizations of the social realm. These conceptualizations are discussed in the

following section.

2.2 Social processes and social practices.

Critiques of evolutionary approaches to social complexity and architectural

analysis underscore the need to go beyond the use of typological or taxonomic 31

approaches, and turn instead toward the study of trajectories and differentiated pathways

to complexity.

A concern with trajectories requires a more detailed account of how history and process took place. To get this account requires an understanding of how social relationships were negotiated and sanctioned, how economic and political goals were attained, how power was obtained, and finally, how the social order was reproduced and/or contested. In other words, a concern with trajectories implies an emphasis on the study of social practices as a means of reproducing and/or transforming a social order.

The study of social practice is usually related to the role and relevance of social

agency. Consequently, it has had to cope with two radically opposed perspectives on how social practices are generated. One perspective, which can be defined as “objectivist,” considers that social practice is directly and mechanically generated under certain

material conditions of existence, and will change only if these conditions change. The

other perspective, which can be defined as “subjectivist,” outlines an inalienable

individual’s freedom of choice, and states that social practice is the product of voluntary or spontaneous human action.

In order to surmount this dichotomy, Pierre Bourdieu proposes a theoretical framework to study the generation of practices. His proposal starts with the recognition that social life is ruled by different kinds of structures, which correspond to certain material conditions of existence within a human group (e.g., family, tribe, social class).

These structures merge in what Bourdieu defines as habitus; a system of durable and transposable dispositions. Within the habitus system, structures are recognized as being 32

structured by practice within the material conditions of existence, but in addition, they

also worked as “structuring structures.” This means that structures also work as principles

of the generation of practices and social representations, and more important, are not

followed as a conscious option (Bourdieu 1977:72). Consequently, Bourdieu defines the

habitus as the “durably installed generative principle of regulated improvisations

(Bourdieu 1977:78).

The role of consciousness within social practice is a critical issue in the study of social practice, as objectivist and subjectivist perspectives often rely on the unconscious or conscious nature of human action. In relation to this issue, I consider that Bourdieu’s proposal complements Anthony Giddens proposal to understand what he calls the

“structuration of society” (Giddens 1984).

Giddens distinguishes between a discursive and a practical consciousness.

According to him, practical consciousness lies between discursive conciousness and an unconscious level (Giddens 1984:6-7). Practical consciousness includes “all the things that actors know tacitly about how to “go on” in the context of social life without being able to give them direct discursive expression (Giddens 1984:xxiii).” Following

Bourdieu’s proposal, the “regulated improvisation” of the habitus can be understood as manifestations of the “practical consciousness,” as it is defined by Giddens.

Using a diachronic perspective, Bourdieu states that, while producing individual and collective practice, the habitus produces history in accordance with the schemes generated by history. Thus, through habitus, the past survives in the present and is perpetuated by being brought into life in the practices that become structures under its 33

principles (Bourdieu 1977:82). In other words, habitus is a principle of continuity and regularity, within which change and process have to be understood.

The relationship of continuity and change within the habitus is understood within the dialectical relationships between the objective structures (i.e., the material conditions of existence) and the cognitive and motivating structures that they produce. Cognitive structures tend to reproduce the objective structures, but these objective structures are themselves products of historical practices, and are also constantly produced and potentially transformed by such practices. Nevertheless, this transformation is always monitored by the existing and previously produced cognitive structures (Bourdieu

1977:83).

Consequently, change and process are neither mere mechanical outcomes of changes in material conditions of existence, nore are they the product of free will. They are the product of human agency developed within the limits of the habitus, understood as a system of durable, but not unchanging dispositions for social action, which are rooted in the practical consciousness of agents.

The theoretical proposals outlined by Bourdieu and Giddens can be particularly useful in archaeological inquiries on processes, changes, and continuities for several reasons. First, within these proposals, the diachronic dimension is particularly significant, as it is important to understand how social activities become extended in time and, therefore, become institutions, and generate structures or dispositions for action (Giddens

1984:xxi). In other words, social structures are not seen as changeless, but developed in time, and it is necessary to understand how they become “structured.” I consider that 34

Gidden’s notion of “structuration” is more applicable to archaeological scenarios than the

common notion of structure, as such scenarios always cope with social activities and their

development through time and space, within changing social and cultural contexts.

A second reason to consider the usefulness of Practice Theory is that it stresses the importance of identifing and understanding social practices, which are often recorded

in specific human activities. Only after a clear understanding of such activities and their

continuity in time are practices identified, and consequently, it is possible to define

institutions and structures within a social realm. Archaeology is the study of human

behavior through material culture, and consequently, its methodology is centered on the

inference of human activities from material remains. The proposals developed by

Bourdieu and Giddens provide important theoretical tools to expand the linkages between

human action, social structure, and social process.

In the succeeding sections, I discuss some recent contributions that outline the

relevance of the study of social practices for understanding changes in social complexity

and the nature and role of architecture in this process.

2.2.1 Social practice and social complexity

Michael Shanks and Christopher Tilley (1987) noted that change and process in a

given social realm have to be understood within an order that is constituted by a

conceptual scheme of signs and codes that regulate human existence and determine

patterns of action. The schemes are related to strategies that are developed according to

certain individuals or groups interests (Shanks and Tilley 1987:179). Shanks and Tilley

stressed the role of power strategies and ideology in the reproduction and transformation 35

of a social structure. According to them, such strategies are materialized in certain

practices and actions that can either contribute to the reproduction of a given social

reality, or might contribute to its transformation (Shanks and Tilley 1987:182-184).

Several authors have also outlined the role of power strategies as a prime mover

of social practices that contribute to changes in social complexity. In contrast to common evolutionary or functional approaches, Paul Roscoe (1993) states that the potential for political centralization exists when humans have needs that can be best (or only) satisfied through the agency of others. Such a scenario provides the conditions for struggles for dominion. Therefore, power concentration is not necessarily an adaptive response to material conditions, but a product of human interests within their social group. The variations in the degree of political centralization might reflect the different material, social, and cultural contexts in which this process operated (Roscoe 1993:114-115).

In a similar perspective, John Clark and Michael Blake proposed a model to understand the shift from egalitarian to ranked societies. According to these authors, this transition occurred at a regional scale, “under specific historical and techno- environmental circumstances” (Clark and Blake 1994:17). In this context, the main factor was the self-interested competition among political actors to gain prestige and social esteem within their own social groups. Clark and Blake define these actors as

“aggrandizers,” and note that their social practice is marked by a constant competition for prestige in order to get public recognition and support, as a condition to gain social power

(Clark and Blake 1994:18). Therefore, aggrandizers are characterized by power strategies that imply specific actions, including the use of resources, as a means to gain prestige 36

within their own societies. Consequently, only certain kinds of environments and

resources will sustain escalating exploitation by aggrandizers and the corresponding shift

from egalitarian to ranked or stratified societies (Clark and Blake 1994:19).

Clark and Blake note that these scenarios should be developed before

sociopolitical entities such as chiefdoms are instituted. Consequently, they consider that

the beginnings of complexity should be present in “transegalitarian societies.” This term

has been developed by Brian Hayden (1995), who considers that transegalitarian entities

were mainly of a communal scale. Hayden proposes an evolutionary scheme for community development that precedes the rise of ranked entities at a regional scale such as chiefdoms. In his view, transegalitarian communities can be classified into despotic, reciprocator, and entrepreneurial communities (Hayden 1995:25). Due to the complicated and variable scenarios in which manifestations of inequality or heterogeneity might appear, Hayden’s proposal can be questioned in the same way as other evolutionary schemes and classifications. Nevertheless, he provides important insights into what he considers one of the most critical strategies developed by aggrandizers: competitive feasts (Hayden 1995:25). Hayden follows Clark and Blake’s idea of the use of resources as a key element of aggrandizers’ practice. But according to Hayden, these resources are not produced for wealth accumulation, but in order to acquire symbolic capital, through the organization and hosting of feasts that will generate prestige and the accrual of debts.

Such a strategy might also motivate technological development, in order to increase specific resources used by the aggrandizers. 37

The above theoretical proposals can be criticized for assuming that all leaders are

aggrandizers and, more important, for placing little emphasis on the social constraints

that affect leaders’ action. According to Bourdieu’s proposal, the role of agency in social

practices cannot be understood outside the frames of the habitus. What are the characteristics of the habitus system in the context of emergent complexity? Richard

Blanton (1998) develops a theoretical framework that includes these considerations in the study of sociopolitical processes.

According to Blanton, social life implies an interaction between a given social structure, which is carried from generation to generation, and social actors that pursue varied goals. This scenario implies that political leaders are influenced by a prevailing social structure and make use of it. This use, however, does not necessarily imply an acceptance, but can also be conducted against the structure or can elaborate on it in accordance with the specific political aims of the actors (Blanton 1998:140). Under these conditions, Blanton outlines the importance of what he calls “egalitarian behaviors,” as a main attribute of the so-called “simple societies.” Blanton defines egalitarian behaviors as the actions and practices oriented to establishing and upholding restrictions on the concentration of wealth and power (Blanton 1998:151-152).

The recognition of egalitarian behaviors as a major structure of social orders in a context of emergent complexity implies important restrictions on the actions of individuals. If we follow Clark, Blake, and Hayden’s statements on the role of aggrandizers in the emergence of social complexity, we should also consider that

“aggrandizers” needed to negotiate with their social groups in the context of constraining 38

structures like egalitarian behaviors in order to develop their self-interest strategies.

Blanton notes how the development of complexity might have involved different

pathways, according to the way in which rising leaderships coped with communal

structures. In other words, the pathways to complexity vary according to the way in

which power strategies were developed, emphasizing either exclusionary or corporate

power mechanisms, depending on the degree of concentration in decision-making

(Blanton 1998:147-152; Blanton et al. 1996).

The approaches outlined above illustrate the potential relationships between social practices and social complexity. They also show that in order to understand specific cases of emergent complexity, it is necessary to understand both the practices that generate inequality, or hierarchical relations, as well as those that regulate, constrain, or control their development. From an archaeological perspective, it is necessary to evaluate the

relations between material culture and both kinds of practices.

2.2.2 Social practice and architectural design

The relationship between social practice and material culture is particularly

intriguing in the case of architecture and its design. An architectural unit is not only the

outcome of specific human practices, but also a frame for social behavior and interaction,

and thus may become a generator of new practices.

The role of architecture and the built space in the construction of a social and a

cultural realm has been studied by Edward Hall (1969), who notes that human behavior is

permanently related to the experience of space. Hall focused his studies in this

“experiencing of space,” understood as “proxemics.” According to the proxemics 39 approach, the perception of space is a synthesis of many sensorial inputs: visual, auditory, kinesthetic, olfactory, and thermal (Hall 1969:181). These inputs are molded and patterned by culture in such a way that it is possible to affirm that people of different cultures live in different sensory worlds. Hall remarks upon the relevance of these sensory worlds as the settings for human behavior and interaction. They can be decoded in three different kinds of spatial features: fixed (like buildings or walls), semi-fixed (like furniture arrangements), and informal (mainly personal distances) features (Hall

1969:101).

Hall’s ideas were expanded by Amos Rapoport, who also considers the constructed space (called by him the “built environment”) as a behavioral setting

(Rapoport 1976:9). According to Rapoport, this setting is a catalyst or releaser of latent behavior.

Being a behavioral setting, the constructed space provides a sensory field experience, which is perceived and processed through the decoding of meanings displayed in the materials, forms, and details that constitute the constructed space. People read their environment through inherited or apprehended cues, which allow them to decode information from buildings.

According to Rapoport, the meaning embedded in the environment is critical for an individual’s self-representation, as well as establishing group identity and the enculturation of children. Furthermore, he stated that the human mind basically works trying to impose meaning on the world through the use of cognitive taxonomies, 40 categories, and schemata. Thus, built forms, like other aspects of material culture, are physical expressions of these schemata (Rapoport 1990:15).

The ideas developed by Hall and Rapoport are particularly significant in relation to the generation of practices. While any building is a product of specific human actions, it also becomes a regulator of new actions. In that sense, the built environment acts like

Bourdieu’s “structuring structures” or dispositions that regulate social action as well as people’s interaction.

Hall’s and Rapoport’s contributions also revealed the importance of understanding the mode in which human interaction among people operates within a given built space. The understanding of this issue has been addressed by Bill Hillier and his colleages in a number of publications (Hiller and Hanson 1984; Hillier et al. 1976).

According to them, human interaction is regulated through the relationships among spatial units, rather than by the individual attributes of architectural elements. The architectural space is understood as a set of relations, and thus, is considered as a syntactic system (Hiller and Hanson 1984; Hillier et al. 1976), whose relations are combined through specific rules (Hiller et al. 1976:150). People and societies interact within these spatial systems, and their patterns of interaction are materialized in the spatial arrangements and units that they build. These units can be continuous or vacant, as well as areas occupied by objects that impede movement. Thus, spatial organization generates continuities and discontinuities (Hiller et al. 1976:153-154). These discontinuous units are defined as cells, and allow one to distinguish between the inside and the outside (Hillier and Hanson 1984:18-20). 41

Hillier and his colleagues note that the formation of spatial arrangements is not

only a reflection of society, but a set of strategies in relation to social form. As such, these strategies do not offer an alternative basis for encounters other than those dictated by the social structure (Hillier et al. 1976:180). Indeed, the spatial organization of buildings creates various kinds of boundaries and permeabilities, which generate specific

categories of space and forms of control (Hillier and Hanson 1984:143-175).

Consequently, through the control of the possibilities of human interaction, the built

space strongly influences and regulates the social behavior of individuals. Furthermore,

while spatial organization is clearly perceived but not necessarily totally cognized, the

influence of the built space on the social practice mainly operates at the level of what

Giddens calls “practical consciousness.”

The contributions by Hall, Rapoport, and Hiller reveal that the study of

architectural remains can be particularly insightful in the identification and understanding

of social practices. Therefore, it is necessary to give more emphasis to the different

dimensions of architectural design and the formal and relational characteristics of the

built space, in order to understand the role of such space in the generation and

reproduction of a social order.

The preceding discussion has outlined the possibilities of expanding our

knowledge of the emergence of complexity through the study of social practices and their

relationship to architectural design. Most scholars agree that the first public buildings

associated with emergent complexity were of a ritual nature. Thus, in order to clarify the

role of this kind of architecture in the rise of complexity, it is important to discuss the 42

study of ritual, understood as a social practice with particular significance in the

development of sociopolitical processes.

2.3 The social significance of ritual

Ritual has always been a major subject of anthropological inquiry. During the first

half of the twentieth century, it was commonly addressed as a manifestation of religious

beliefs, whose study could not be detached from the understanding of religion and myth

(Segal 1998). This kind of approach often associated ritual practices with “traditional

societies” in opposition to more rational behaviors associated with “modern societies”

(see Díaz 1998 for a critical review). In addition, they underestimated the social

significance of ritual, which was considered epiphenomenal to the religious system that

generates it. These approaches have been challenged by the identification and analysis of

contemporary ritual behaviors, which show the relevance of ritual as “an expanding arena

for resistance, negotiation and the affirmation of identity” (Hughes-Freeland and Crain

1998:1). Consequently, several authors have stressed the need to unpack the religion-and-

ritual phenomenon and address ritual as a social practice with its own dynamics and

cross-cultural regularities (Kertzer 1988:2; Walker 1995:67).

As a social practice, ritual can be defined as a set of formalized, standardized,

repetitive, and sequentially ordered acts (movements, gestures, and postures) and

utterances through which meaningful information is transmitted and communicated

among its participants (Connerton 1992:44; Kertzer 1988:9; Rappaport 1999:3, 24). 43

Almost a century ago, Émile Durkheim outlined the significance of ritual,

defining it as a mode of action that recreates society (Durkheim 1995:532). Further studies have continued to expand upon this idea, noting that the ritual recreation of

society is manifest in the construction of conventional orders invested with morality, which compel participants to accept a “social contract,” often established within a singular time frame invested with eternity (Rappaport 1999:27, 30).

As a result, ritual is recognized as a powerful means to mobilize and congregate collective entities. Through participation in ritual people develop ideas of membership, but also of dependence on the social group (Kertzer 1988:82). Furthermore, people are often threatened by the possibility of being marginalized or seeing their social position

weakened because of an absence or lack of participation in a concerted ritual act (Hayden

1995:74).

Ritual not only congregates collectivities, but it also intervenes in their social

dynamics. It brings about feelings of solidarity and conviction even in social groups

where, due to inequalities or competing agendas, consensus is lacking. In those contexts,

ritual develops and communicates ideas of appropriate qualities, institutions, and

leaderships (Kertzer 1988:78-79).

Consequently, ritual becomes a scenario where persuasive power is developed

through performances and displays that enhance and communicate social authority.

Nevertheless, such a scenario does not just serve to maintain existing power relations. It provides an arena where power positions are claimed and degrees of power can be calibrated (Kertzer 1988:29-31). Furthermore, ritual can become a scenario for the 44

canalization of competition for power (Mills 2000:8). Finally, ritual can also provide the

means and the scenario for social change and revolution (Kertzer 1988:40).

The effectiveness of ritual in shaping and reshaping social relations and power

positions lies in its communicative power. Rituals are displayed and received through schemes of perception that are deeply rooted in material conditions of existence

(Bourdieu 1977:116). According to Roy Rappaport (1999), during ritual practices such

schemes of perception receive and decode two classes of messages. One class is related

to messages about the participants’ (either individuals or groups) physical, psychic, or

social states and conditions, while the other class is related to messages encoded in the

“liturgical order” which are related to conventions, morality, and ultimate meanings.

Rappaport defines these classes as self-referential and canonical messages, and notes that

both are interwoven in ritual displays and are dependent upon each other (Rappaport

1999:52-58).

2.3.1 Self-referential messages

Rappaport notes that self-referential messages are not only informational but overall meaningful. Moreover, he outlines that there are different levels of meaningfulness. While information – understood as the distinction of phenomena through taxonomic processes – pertains to a low-order level of meanings, rituals are more related to higher order meanings, which include the discovering of usually hidden similarities among phenomena through metaphor. Furthermore, ritual is associated with a higher order of meaning, grounded in the discovery of identity and unity of the self with different kinds of phenomena (Rappaport 1999:70-72). 45

It is important to note that the process of identification and union at this level is

accomplished through indexical, rather than symbolic means (Rappaport 1999:82). This characteristic is particularly important as indexicality implies a stronger tie between sign and signified than symbols. In addition, ritual displays produce indices that are predominantly substantial (i.e., concrete physical acts and utterances), but indicate basically non-substantial messages such as social prestige and authority, honor, and maturity. Consequently, unlike common communication means, which speak about substantial phenomena through non-substantial devices (e.g., language), ritual indices outline non-substantial phenomena through substantial devices. Moreover, they often transmit those messages in digital and metrical ways (e.g., the counting of food provided by a participant or the time taken for a run during a race). This substantiation of non- substantial (but meaningful) phenomena with self-referential contents is one of the characteristics that makes ritual a unique and powerful means of social re-creation

(Rappaport 1999:85-89).

2.3.2 Canonical messages

Rappaport (1999) notes that canonical messages are conventions rooted in the

liturgical order of ritual displays. This order implies a regulation of time and space, which

establishes a sequence of mundane periods interlocked with extraordinary intervals where

rituals take place. Similarly, space is divided into mundane and extraordinary spheres

similar to Eliade’s distinction of profane and sacred spaces (Eliade 1959; Rappaport

1999:209-210). 46

Rappaport outlines that extraordinary time, signaled by ritual, implies a

“destructuration” of social structure or organization, as well as a dilution of social identities (Rappaport 1999:219). This state is what Victor Turner defined as the experience of “communitas.” According to Turner, most rituals include a stage defined as liminality, which implies the detachment of daily existence and the creation of common bonds by participants. In a liminal state, social structure and organization are ignored, and an undifferentiated community (i.e., communitas) is generated (Turner 1969:95-96).

Rappaport adds that the experiencing of communitas not only alters society, but alters consciousness, with the inhibition of rationality and an increase in emotional aspects.

Consequently, communitas also becomes a state of mind in which canonical messages are transmitted (Rappaport 1999:219-222).

Unlike self-referential messages, canonical messages are mainly transmitted through symbolic devices. As a result, several meanings can be transmitted through symbols due to their multivocality (Rappaport 1999:263). In addition, Rappaport notes that messages can also be hierarchically organized, starting with the more changeless, immutable ones, related to supernatural beings. At a lower level, he distinguishes cosmological axioms and the paradigmatic relations that construct the cosmos. Finally, he includes a level of messages about specific rules that govern relations among people, social qualities, etc. Ritual has the capacity to merge and interweave meanings of the three levels, creating links among specific and episodic issues with more perennial, changeless ones (Rappaport 1999:263-266). 47

Consequently, ritual canonical messages imbue social phenomena with a sense of morality; that is, what is right and wrong, appropriate or inappropriate, correct or incorrect; and present those phenomena as changeless, and rooted in higher orders

(cosmological and/or supernatural).

In addition, through this process, ritual also becomes a mnemonic device. As body postures and movements - as well as reciting - are not free but restrictive, predictable, and repetitive. These characteristics make them easily recognizable,

communicating continuity with the past and placing messages in a timeless dimension

(Connerton 1992:45, 58, 61).

2.3.3 Transmission and participation

The outlined transmission of messages cannot be totally understood without

taking into account the nature of participation in rituals. Ritual does not describe actions

or phenomena, but constitutes an action and puts something into practice (Connerton

1992:57-58). This action, unlike dramas, which involve performers and observers,

implies that all participants are - although in different ways - performers. Indeed, it is

through this active participation that individuals and groups not only transmit messages

about their state, but also transmit themselves in those messages. Moreover, in ritual the

transmitters of messages are often the most important receivers of those messages.

Finally, through ritual participation, individuals and/or groups get outside their private

self and enter into a public, canonical order, where they might acquire a social category

that will frame their own private process (Rappaport 1999:51, 106). 48

Rappaport also notes that ritual participants, while becoming both transmitters and receivers, are fused with the messages displayed in ritual. As a consequence, there is an intrinsic acceptance of such messages by those who participate in it – although acceptance does not necessarily mean belief or total compliance (Rappaport 1999:119).

Therefore, ritual becomes a fundamental act of acceptance of certain messages and, in that way, ritual forms the basis for a public order (Rappaport 1999:122-123).

Another important characteristic of ritual participation that explains its communicative power is that ritual performances often employ special dynamics for acts and utterances. Rappaport distinguishes among organic (individual), social and cosmic times and rhythms, and notes that social time, expressed in days, weeks, months, or years, dominate mundane existence. In ritual performances, however, the interaction among individuals resembles more the characteristics of organic or individual tempos, as they often employ physical coordination of participants that homogenize organic rhythms such as breath or heart beats. These processes are clearly manifested in musical displays, but are also present when long sequences of silence are required. In addition, the invariance and repetitiveness of such displays provides a notion of immutability that transfers individuals from the organic timeframe to the cosmic one (Rappaport 1999:223-230).

These links among different temporal frames, as well as the dilution of the borderline between the private self and public sphere, are the factors that generate the experience of “communitas” in ritual participation. This experience enables the transmission and acceptance of meaningful messages (self-referential and canonical) concerning individuals’ social existence and the rules that might govern such existence. 49

In summary, the social significance of ritual is explained by its capacity to transmit, in a persuasive way, several meanings that reinforce social and political relations. Such a capacity lies in ritual’s performative nature that merges convention with behavior (and substance). In this way, ritual presents the conventional and its morality as factual and, consequently, as natural phenomena (Rappaport 1999:153-167). Thus, the study of ritual as a social practice with a significant role in the generation and reproduction of a sociopolitical order appears as a promising scenario to expand our knowledge of the emergence of social complexity.

The study of ritual organization and its social significance from an archaeological perspective requires a characterization of the material manifestations of ritual behavior.

Such a characterization implies a comprehensive definition of the different types of ritual activities and their related material culture. It also requires an evaluation of the use and discard processes of ritual material culture. Finally, it needs to take into consideration the relationship between ritual performances and constructed spaces. These issues are addressed in the next chapter. 50

Chapter 3

THE ARCHAEOLOGICAL STUDY OF RITUAL

The social significance of ritual has been addressed in the preceding chapter, noting its role in the shaping and re-shaping of social relations and a certain social order.

In this chapter, I address the behavioral dimensions of ritual and propose a methodological framework to identify and study ritual practices through the

archaeological record.

3.1 Ritual activities.

In order to transmit meaning, ritual involves utterances and acts (Rappaport

1999:139). These utterances and acts are highly formalized and even stereotyped (Kertzer

1988:9), as a means to ensure that such performances will be conducted in a correct way

(Rappaport 1999:115-116). Utterances and acts have differentiated roles in the transmission of messages. While utterances are more useful in the specification of canonical messages, physical displays are more relevant in signaling the participation and acceptance of such messages (Rappaport 1999:152).

Although ritual contents are basically idiosyncratic and specific to certain cultural

realities, it may be possible to identify cross-cultural commonalities of basic ritual

behaviors and activities. In a comprehensive study of the religious phenomenon, Anthony

Wallace proposed that religious behavior could be observable in 13 behavioral 51

categories: prayer, music, physiological exercise, exhortation, reciting the code,

simulation, manna, taboo, feasts, sacrifice, congregation, inspiration, and symbolism.

Wallace outlines that these categories are materialized in sequential orders that characterize ritual practices (Wallace 1966:83).

Wallace’s proposal provides insightful ideas for classifying ritual activities.

Nevertheless, and perhaps due to its emphasis on religious phenomenon, it mixes categories that identify concrete acts (such as physiological exercises or sacrifice) with categories that speak about dispositions or concerns (such as manna, taboo, inspiration or symbolism). On the basis of Rappaport’s distinction between utterances and acts, it is possible to re-organize these categories.

Utterances are not only related to verbal discourses, but also include exclamations, shouts, singing, and even quietness. Similarly, physical acts include

gestures, postures, and body movements, from standing, kneeling or bowing to

displacement through walking or running, and even rhythmical movements. Furthermore,

these displays include the interaction among individuals, as well as the interaction

between those individuals and different objects and artifacts.

I propose that the outlined manifestations (both utterances and physical acts) and

their interactions generate eight categories of ritual behavior: congregation, code reciting,

musical display, simulation, physiological exercises, consumption (of both intoxicating

and edible substances), offering, and competition.

Congregation implies the displacement and meeting of participants in the space

for ritual, including long walks and processions. The activities involved in this category 52

are particularly significant as rituals are not only concerned with the performances

conducted within the ritual space, but also with the way in which participants enter a

ritual space. Congregation acts provide meaningful information on participants through

the observation of the rhythm of displacements, their directionality, the pathways and

entryways that participants need to pass through, and finally, the positions and/or

locations they get immediately before the beginning of the activities within the ritual space. It is important to note that while the ritual sphere is marked by the dilution of social structure through the experience of “communitas,” such a structure is often outlined immediately before or after getting into the communitas state. Consequently, congregation acts are particularly informative on the nature of the social structure of the participant group.

Code reciting is strongly related to the transmission of canonical messages through different kinds of utterances. Reciting the code has different levels of complexity or elaboration. They can be simple verbal repetitions or the reading of long texts. Within those levels, contents may vary in certain forms. They can be grouped, however, into three kinds of discourses. First, they can be defined as evocations, as they address the remembrance of past (or mythical) events and their significance in the present. They can also be exhortations, when the discourse is oriented to participants, attempting to stimulate certain dispositions to act. Finally, they can also be defined as prayers, when they are oriented to supernatural beings, also attempting to get certain dispositions from such beings. 53

Musical display involves several performances such as singing and dancing as well as playing different kinds of instruments that may accompany and set the stage for both utterances and body movements. As seen before, one of the characteristics that gives ritual a communicative force is the establishment of certain timing and rhythm during ritual performances. Musical displays enhance these characteristics and facilitates their transmission among participants.

Simulation is a category that involves physical performances closely related to evocation utterances. They mainly consist of enactments that reproduce past (often mythical) events or narratives. They may be displayed as dramas, with the possible inclusion of aspects of comedy and parody.

Physiological exercises involve activities or performances that demand different degrees of physical stress on the part of participants. These stress situations contribute to the “alteration of consciousness” that Rappaport finds as a means of achieving the

“communitas” experience. Physiological exercises include acts such as being in rigid postures for long times (e.g., being standing or kneeling for several hours), physically demanding displacements such as long walks or runs, as well as different kinds of controlled body injury.

Consumption refers to the ingestion of solid or liquid substances during ritual activities. Consumption acts can be divided in two different classes. The first one is related to edible substances, such as food or drink, and is often labeled as feasting. The

second one is related to intoxicating substances, such as tobacco, beverages, or aromas

that contribute to alteromg participants’ consciousness. Although both classes of 54

consumption can be performed in different circumstances, there is no clearcut boundary

between them, and some acts might include the consumption of both edible and

intoxicating substances (i.e., the consumption of food and alcohol). Furthermore, some

substances, being edible, may impart some degree of intoxication and satisfy both

requirements during ritual acts. In any case, consumption acts are usually conducted in a

context of sharing valuable goods, and therefore, are strongly related to the reinforcement

of ties and relationships among participants.

Offering can be defined as the “privation of consumption.” Indeed, it includes acts

in which valuable goods that keep their properties intact are discarded in different ways.

Goods can be of different kinds, from food or artifacts to animals or human beings. In

addition, discard acts can also be of several kinds, such as burying, burning, and drowning. Whereas consumption acts imply the reinforcement of humans’ relationships,

offerings are often related to the reinforcement of ties with supernatural beings.

Competition involves the display and confrontation of individual or collective

capabilities (e.g., intelligence, strength, wealth) during different kinds of ritual

performances. Competition might appear in the conduct of congregation acts, in musical

displays, during physiological exercises, or even in acts of food sharing and consumption.

The accomplishment of collective tasks is often ritualized as scenarios for competition

among human groups. Similarly, competition can be materialized in physical

confrontations, such as games or even combat. Competition is particularly significant in

the transmission of self-referential messages among participants. 55

The archaeological study of these categories requires a definition of their material correlates. It is noteworthy that all of them, in some way, include objects and facilities that might be identified in the archaeological record. The relation of ritual and material objects is reviewed in the next section.

3.2 Ritual and material culture

Rappaport outlines how ritual includes special objects and substances that are manipulated during its conduct. According to him, these objects (including artifacts and facilities) help to substantiate aspects of ritual that cannot be substantiated by physical acts (Rappaport 1999:139, 144). They are therefore necessary for message and meaning transmission. Consequently, ritual’s material culture becomes a unique means to get insightful information on the characteristics of ritual practices and their encoded meanings. The material culture involved in rituals can be classified as objects and facilities.

3.2.1 Ritual objects

According to Rappaport, while canonical messages are contingent upon words, material culture is required for the indexical transmission of the current state of participants. Indeed, there is a special role of objects or valuables in the substantiation of self-referential messages, and sometimes, in the transmission of canonical orders

(Rappaport 1999:145, 153). Due to their role in the successful transmission of social rationales, ritual objects are often considered as “prestige goods.” Nevertheless, according to their original definition, prestige goods are produced in order to get into 56

exchange networks, having a significant role in the economy that produces them

(Friedman and Rowlands 1977:224-226). In contrast, ritual objects are seldom exchanged, but are more often treated as inalienable possessions of collective or individual ownership (Mills 2004). Thus, their social relevance cannot be dissociated from the ritual act in which they participate.

Based on Rappaport’s considerations, it is possible to place ritual objects in certain categories. In the first category, we might include those objects that, due to their intrinsic characteristics, are destined to participate in a single ritual event. These are goods that are capable of being consumed by participants, even if consumption does not take place. Objects of this category include different kinds of edible and intoxicating substances (both solid and liquid), as well as living beings, which are the center of rituals of consumption or rituals of offering and sacrifice.

A second category corresponds to different kinds of artifacts that provide means for a correct performance of ritual activities. According to the behavioral categories described above, these kind of objects include books, musical instruments, knives, pipes, cooking and serving vessels, weapons, and light sources (such as candles). It is important to note that these kind of objects can be used in more than one ritual event, but sometimes may allow only one use, with discard required after the end of the ritual (or as part of it).

A third category are objects and artifacts in direct association with the human’s body, such as clothes, head-dresses, crowns, or other kinds of body ornaments. These kinds of objects provide two different sets of messages. As Rappaport notes, being specially made for ritual events, they might encode canonical messages. On the other 57

hand, being ascribed to specific individuals, they provide significant self-referential messages about those individuals.

Finally, we might consider a fourth category, related to objects that have certain performance characteristics (e.g., visual, acoustic, aromatic) that are often imbued with significant symbolic meanings and, consequently, substantiate canonical messages.

Objects such as idols, figurines, images, semi-precious or precious stones, correspond to this category.

3.2.2. Ritual facilities

Ritual practices not only involve mobile objects or artifacts, but also fixed

elements that define spatial units in which rituals might be conducted. These elements are

defined as ritual facilities, and seem to substantiate canonical messages and materialize

the liturgical order (Rappaport 1999:145).

Ritual facilities include buildings such as shrines or temples, as well as monuments such as obelisks or statues. All of them are referents for the spatial

organization of ritual and, furthermore, provide a means to indicate the role or position of

participants through the creation of spatial divisions, access systems, and different kinds

of displays that generate different experiences of the spatial scenario where rituals are

conducted.

Elements such as statues, obelisks, stelae, or other fixed elements provide referential points within a given ritual space. On the other hand, elements such as

buildings or other architectural units provide a frame for liturgical practices. This frame is 58

a guide but it also acts to constrain human action and ensures the canonical correctness of

ritual performances.

Finally, whereas ritual facilities provide the means to materialized, canonical

orders through the allocation of spatial units for certain activities, they are a major way of

providing self-referential messages through the definition of entryways and other

displacement devices that allow the identification and/or differentiation among

participants during congregation activities. Similar information is transmitted through the

determination of individuals’ positions or locations in front of monuments, altars, or other kinds of fixed facilities.

The archaeological identification of material culture that participated in ritual acts is addressed in the following section.

3.3 Ritual and archaeological correlates.

In previous sections, I have attempted to define the characteristics of ritual as a manifestation of human behavior with specific categories that involve different sets of activities and different elements of material culture. Defined as a human practice, ritual can be addressed from an archaeological perspective through the identification of its archaeological correlates (Walker 1995:72). In the following sections, I discuss the nature of archaeological correlates of ritual’s material culture.

3.3.1 Ritual objects and discard processes.

Walker argues that, being material actions, rituals are expected to involve - as any other material action - the acquisition, use, and discard of objects (Walker 1995:71). 59

From an archaeological perspective, the discard processes of ritual objects are

particularly relevant, as ritual activities often include the cleaning of spaces after

performance and, consequently, objects that participated in rituals are commonly placed

in secondary contexts (in relation to the space in which ritual took place).

As seen above, ritual acts are performed in singular time-frames, separated from

mundane, daily acts and practices. Therefore, it is reasonable to consider that ritual

objects might also follow singular pathways during their life-times as the length,

frequency, and intensity of their use are framed by the particular timing of each ritual.

Consequently, discard processes should also be singular, with a corresponding singularity in the depositional contexts of the discarded objects (Walker 1995:72-73).

Ritual objects are discarded when they become obsolete. Nevertheless, in the case of ritual practices, obsolescence does not necessarily imply uselessness, as still-viable objects are often discarded due to the nature of the activities in which they took part (e.g., cups or dishes broken after being used in special consumption acts, or edible food buried or burnt in offering acts). In ritual contexts, obsolescence should be understood as a state in which an object, due to the nature of the activity in which it participated, cannot continue to be used. The causes of obsolescence are diverse. They can be of a technical nature, like breakage or damage. They can also have a social explanation, as when an object that was used by a certain individual or group during a performance can never be used again by any other individual or group. Finally, they can be related to symbolic or ideological rationales, when the proclaimed reasons of obsolescence are of a cosmic or supernatural nature. 60

While the causes of obsolescence and discard of ritual objects may vary in

significant ways among cultural contexts, discard processes share some common features.

First of all, objects that took part in ritual activities are seldom found in loose midden

deposits, mixed with mundane objects. The explanation for this behavior might be that ritual objects not only substantiate messages, but are also charged with the meanings they

materialize. Consequently, the presence of ritual objects outside ritual performance

constitutes a problem, as it is a nondesirable situation to have those objects mixed with

other mundane ones. Such a situation is equivalent to mixing the pure and the impure, the

powerful and the powerless, or the meaningful and the meaningless. In a certain sense,

ritual (or ritualized) objects placed out of context represent situations of dirt and chaos,

and require specific behavior and activities to control them (Douglas 1966:2-6). As a

result, discard processes of ritual objects become regular behaviors with several levels of

patterning and complexity.

Ritual objects are often deposited in “structured deposits” (Richards and Thomas

1984) with different degrees of preparation. In some cases those spaces are defined only

by separation or isolation from other depositional contexts. Sometimes, in contrast, they

might imply the cleaning of the depositional surface or its surrounding area, or the

modification of the surface through, for example, the digging of a pit. Finally, these

contexts might include the construction of special facilities prepared to host the discarded

ritual paraphernalia. 61

Deposits of discarded ritual objects also vary according to their composition.

Some correlates of such compositions and the ritual activities can be proposed according to the four categories proposed for ritual objects (Table 3.1).

Artifacts of the first category can be found in a complete or incomplete state, suggesting that they were deposited without or after consumption activities. Edible objects deposited without consumption are reliable indices of offering activities. In contrast, the remnants of edible goods can be clearly associated with consumption activities such as feasts. It is important to note that such remnants might include some complete (i.e., non-consumed) foodstuffs, as well as partially consumed specimens or just inedible remains such as seeds, pods, or bones. The presence, absence, and frequency of those kinds of materials might reveal the amount of waste that a consumption ritual produced and the importance of the careful discard of such waste.

In the case of objects of the second category, the first and most direct way to define their correlated activities lies with the identification of their performance characteristics. In addition, the recording of use-wear on these artifacts will allow evaluation of the duration, frequency, and/or intensity of their participation in ritual activities. Finally, these kinds of objects may also appear in a complete or incomplete state, or they can be found complete but broken in situ, suggesting an intentional act of destruction as part of the discard process produced after the end of a ritual. All of these Table 3.1 Ritual object categories and expected archaeological correlates

Category of ritual object 1 2 3 4 Organic material, Artifacts (tools, Body ornaments Nature of ritual object potentially serving vessels, with social or ritual Artifacts with consumed for etc.) used for information on a symbolic information nutritious or ritual given individual or of collective value intoxicating performances group properties Single or multiple Single use Multiple uses Multiple uses Expected frequency of use uses - Abandonment, - Gradual - Intentional (unintentional) - Owner's death destruction - Consumption deterioration - End of the life- - Intentional - Non- or breakage cycle of the burying, due to Factors of discard consumption - Intentional human group end of (offering, breakage that owns the community's life- sacrifice) - Declaration of objects cycle or changes obsolescence in social structure (revolution) - Fragments, - Fragments - Complete - Leftovers, - Complete - Complete and non-broken, Discard outcome - Complete objects broken - Complete- foodstuffs - Complete and and-broken unbroken artifacts) - Abandonment - Individual's context - Structured Expected nature of - Structured burial - Unstructured deposits disposal context deposit - Isolated deposit,

caches - Structured deposit 62 63

variables are significant in order to evaluate the nature of the ritual activities in which

those artifacts took part. For example, artifacts that are discarded after ritual

performances seem to be treated much like the single-use objects of the first category. As

a consequence, their deposits can be considered the product of single ritual events, and

thus the amount of material culture identified might reflect the scale of the ritual

activities.

Objects of the third category are seldom discarded without association with their

owners, often deposited as part of funerary rituals. Nevertheless, in some cases, certain objects that provide both canonical and self-referential messages (such as crowns or pectorals) that can be used by different individuals may be found in isolated caches, after a long use-life. In these cases, the discard processes are particularly significant, as they may reveal regular renovations by ritual participants or, in contrast, may reveal more transcendent changes in the social conditions of existence that required ritual reorganization.

Objects of the fourth category can also have two kinds of discard processes.

Sometimes they are produced in order to be immediately discarded as part of an offering or funerary ritual. In contrast, they can be produced to become the most permanent and changeless objects of ritual practices; as a result, their discard events may have different implications. While the first scenario implies a process conducted within a liturgical order, the second scenario seems to imply dramatic changes in the conditions of existence of those who use them in ritual practices. Once again, analysis of use-wear or 64

deterioration in this kind of object might reveal the nature of the events that motivated

their discard processes.

3.3.2 Ritual facilities and architectural design

Mircea Eliade noted the significance of the spaces in which ritual activities take place, addressing their role in the organization of cosmos through the differentiation of a sacred and a profane sphere (Eliade 1959). The organization of the perceived space is certainly an intrinsic characteristic of ritual areas, even beyond religious connotations, but as formalized spaces, these areas have more complex roles. As noted before, ritual spaces provided the frame for the transmission of canonical messages and also provide means to indicate participants’ social states through the doorways and locations they are allowed to access. These characteristics are strongly related to the structure and organization of such spaces or, in other words, their architectural design.

Through a specific and formalized design, the ritual space orients the ritual action.

It is the scene in which participants and objects interact during performances.

Nevertheless, it is important to note that archaeological contexts of ritual spaces often provide a scant amount of evidence on ritual objects, and sometimes they do not provide any evidence at all. This situation is mostly caused by the nature of most ritual activities, which often require, upon their conclusion, the removal of any traces of their conduct.

Consequently, when confronted with the possibility of finding basically empty or

“clean” contexts within ritual spaces, three aspects of a ritual space should be addressed from an archaeological perspective. 65

The first one is related to special-purpose facilities, whose performance characteristics allow the inference of certain kind of activities, such as altars, formalized hearths or firepits, holes, niches, and other types of fixed features with defined properties.

Unfortunately, specific-purpose facilities are not always found within ritual architecture.

The second aspect is related to the spatial organization of ritual architecture, in

terms of its built spaces and access systems. It has been noted that one of the most

socially weighted categories of ritual behavior is the congregation of participants,

understood as the displacement and positioning of such participants within the space

where rituals are conducted. As with other ritual behaviors, acts of congregation are

organized through a liturgical order. According to this order, canonical messages are

transmitted to orient the congregation act. It has been noted how the transmission of

canonical messages lay in utterances and physical displays. Nevertheless, messages

related to congregation acts are strongly dependent on architectural design, as

architectural units have the potential to carry meanings and provide specific cues and

signs for those who experience them (Rapoport 1990:20, 106).

Consequently, through its ability to transmit meaningful information on

congregation acts, architectural design might orient the displacement and distribution of

participants within the ritual space. As a result, the size and configuration of spatial units

might indicate the number of allowed participants. Similarly, the use of architectural

features for internal divisions, such as benches, ramps, or steps, might indicate the spatial

distribution of participants within spaces. Finally, the number, location and

characteristics of entryways might reflect and orient the frequency, intensity, and amount 66

of simultaneous movements, as well as their required sequences within the overall ritual

space. In sum, architectural space might reflect how people are spatially organized for their participation in ritual, providing a major means of inferring self-referential

messages. These characteristics explain why architectural designs of ritual spaces are highly patterned and formalized, as they are responsible for the correct transmission of

both canonical and self-referential messages in congregational behaviors and activities.

The third aspect is related to the act of building a ritual space. The construction of ritual architecture and the conduct of ritual activities are often addressed as two different behavioral spheres. Nevertheless, they are closely related as ritual spaces are not only built, but usually remodeled or rebuilt according to specific liturgical requirements.

Consequently, the timing and nature of construction activities are closely related to the

nature of the ritual activities conducted within the built space. Moreover, the act of

creating and/or materializing a ritual space can be as significant as a ritual performance,

and can be conducted with the same logic and dynamics as such performances (e.g.,

Wills 2000).

The main implication of understanding the construction of a ritual space as a

ritualized activity is that the act of building becomes a new scenario for the transmission

of self-referential and canonical messages. Thus, the archaeological reconstruction of the

construction process of a ritual space can provide a comparative source of information on the social dynamics and interaction that took place during the ritual acts of a given human

group. 67

As a result, the study of architectural design, as an archaeological correlate of

ritual activities, is addressed here through the analysis of three dimensions: construction

process, spatial structure, and perceptual structure.

3.3.2.1 Construction process

The sociopolitical significance of large-scale architecture has often been

addressed from the perspective of the construction phenomenon, which was studied as an index of complex organization and centralization (e.g., Renfrew 1974:77; Service

1962:170, 1975:96). As a consequence, research on construction often focused on the measurement of the labor invested in building activities to address the degree of sociopolitical complexity of the group involved in such activities (e.g., Abrams 1989;

Erasmus 1965).

Several authors have noted the importance of going beyond the measurement of energy expended in construction to understand the characteristics of labor organization within a construction act (e.g., Cavallaro and Shimada 1980; Meyer 1999; Moseley

1975b; Shimada 1997; Wills 2000). In the case of ritual space construction, this understanding is particularly necessary as such an organization can be related to the liturgical orders that organize rituals and provide the scenario for self-referential and canonical messages.

The building of an architectural space is seldom a single episode, but includes

multiple activities conducted through a given time span. Thus, it can be understood as a

process that includes all human acts performed in order to materialize an architectural

design. It has also been noted that the construction of ritual architecture can be conducted 68

as a ritual act itself. Thus, in order to clarify the nature of the building process of a ritual

space, it is necessary to define the characteristics of the different activities involved in

such a process and their sequential relationships.

In order to define such activities, the analysis of a construction process requires an

identification of its constituent units (Table 3.2). The basic unit of such a process can be

defined as the construction task, meaning any activity that is conducted in accordance with building requirements. Construction tasks include activities such as the acquisition

of construction materials, the preparation of mortar, the building of a wall, the feeding of

laborers, offering acts, and furnishing.

Construction tasks are often interrelated in sequential chains of activities that

result in the materialization of an architectural feature with structural cohesion like a

standing wall, a retaining wall, a floor, or a fill. This chain constitutes a construction

event.

Although some buildings can be built in a single construction event, complex

buildings often involve several construction events. These events might occur

simultaneously or can also be conducted sequentially, with the resultant creation of an architectural unit with spatial cohesion. These built spatial units can have different degrees of complexity, from a room, a corridor, or a platform, to room compounds, terraced buildings, and so on. If the final goal of building activities is to obtain an architectural unit like those outlined above, a construction process has been concluded.

Nevertheless, complex buildings are often composed of several architectural units, built at different moments, and sometimes also used in different moments. In those cases, the

Table 3.2 Set of behavioral units conducted during construction

Construction Task Construction Event Construction Stage Construction Process

Chain of construction Chain of construction Chain of construction events, eventually Activity conducted in tasks conducted in order events conducted in arranged in construction accordance to building to build an architectural order to build an stages, conducted in requirements feature with structural architectural unit with order to materialize an cohesion spatial cohesion architectural design.

69 70

above described sequence can be defined as a construction stage, or the set of interconnected construction events that produced usable spatial units within an architectural compound.

Consequently, a construction process can be considered as the product of several construction events, eventually arranged into construction stages, and composed of several construction tasks, which are conducted to build architectural units of different degrees of spatial complexity. Discussion of the construction process of a ritual space will be oriented towards the identification of the activities involved in each level of the process, defining their nature and their sequential arrangements.

3.3.2.2 Spatial structure

Ritual spaces are usually labeled in the archaeological literature with different

names. They can be defined as “public architecture,” “monumental architecture,” or

“religious architecture.” These terms indicate different characteristics usually related to

ritual spaces. The notion of “public” refers to spaces whose construction and related uses

are beyond the household sphere. The idea of “monumental” addresses the scale, quality,

and durability of the built space. Finally, the concept of “religious” notes the usual

concerns and commitments that motivated the construction and use of ritual spaces.

These definitions, however, do not address the specific functional and/or behavioral dimensions of an architectural unit. According to their function, the built ritual spaces could be labeled as “ritual architecture” or “ceremonial architecture.” Nevertheless, a careful analysis of the architectural design is necessary in order to apply this definition to any architectural unit. An architectural design always has a spatial dimension, 71

understood as a structure in which spatial units are differentiated, distributed and interrelated through a given access system. According to Bill Hillier and Julienne

Hanson, architectural units imply the constitution of boundaries that generate

discontinuous sets of spatial units or cells. The connection of these sets requires a

complex system of controlled permeabilities (Hillier and Hanson 1984:144-146). Hillier

and Hanson have proposed a methodological approach to understand the spatial structure

of such buildings as a syntactic organization. According to this approach, the structure of

buildings is reduced to the arrangement of cells (basic spatial units) and their relations

(according to their connecting accesses), in what is defined as Gamma-analyses. The

spatial arrangements are translated into graphs, in which spatial units or cells are

represented by circles, and their relations or permeabilities are represented by lines.

Graphics start with a circle that denotes the carrier or outer space, from which one enters

the building. Then, the graphic develops a certain number of levels, according to the

relative distance (in terms of cells to pass through) or depth of the spatial units form the

carrier space (Figure 3.1).

These graphics reveal different structural arrangements, understandable on the

basis of two variables: symmetry-asymmetry and distributedness-nondistributedness

(Figure 3.2). The degree of symmetry or asymmetry is related to the number of spatial

units and the number of levels in which these units are organized. This variable might

indicate the degree of hierarchy in the organization of spatial units, in terms of the

distance between them and the outer, carrier space. On the other hand, the degree of

distributedness or non-distributedness is related to the number of spatial units and the

Carrier Space

Figure 3.1 Graphic convention for Gamma-analysis of buildings (according to Hillier and Hanson 1984:Figures 83-87) 72 73

Asymmetry

+ -

s s

e t

s Di

Figure 3.2 Alternative scenarios of spatial organization of buildings with corresponding graphs (according to Hillier and Hanson 1984:Figures 93-94) 74

number of relations and permeabilities among them. This variable indicates how

centralized or exclusive are the access routes that connect the spatial units within a building (Hillier and Hanson 1984:147-155). Both variables can be measured through specific procedures. The first one can be quantified through an index of relative asymmetry (RA) defined as follows:

RA = 2 (MD – 1) K – 2

Where MD is the mean depth (calculated after adding the number of spatial units

weighted by their depth level) and K is the number of spatial units or cells in the

structure. The second variable is quantified through an index of relative ringiness (RR).

This index denotes how, when there is more than one pathway connecting two units, the

second pathway must be represented by an encircling ring (Figure 3.3). Consequently, the number of rings over the maximum possible straight lines will reveal how distributed the spatial organization is. The relative ringiness is defined as follows:

RR = . r . 2p – 5

Where r is the number of distinct rings identified in the structure and p is the number of

unit cells of the structure (Hillier and Hanson 1984:108-109, 152).

The measurement of degrees of hierarchy and/or centralization in the spatial

structure of buildings becomes particularly insightful for the study of ritual spaces, and

especially for the understanding of congregation acts.As seen above, congregation

activities are regulated by a liturgical order, from which canonical messages are

transmitted in order to indicate correct displacements, entries, and positioning. In 75

Figure 3.3 Graphical convention for the appearance of alternative pathways in a spatial structure (According to Hillier and Hanson 1984:Figure 93) 76

addition, the conduct of those acts by participants is a source of self-referential

messages, as they can be related or differentiated due to their displacement routes or their

capacity to pass through certain spaces. These differentiations often reveal diverse social

states or conditions (either situational or structural). Consequently, the definition of

boundaries and regulated access systems within a ritual space may reflect and also

reinforce self-referential messages about social personae and their relations, defining how

differentiated or undifferentiated is their participation. As a result, gamma analyses,

indicating the relative importance of both vertical and horizontal spatial differentiation,

provide a unique means to evaluate how social differentiation was outlined during ritual

acts of congregation.

It is important to note, however, that the space syntax model is based on a binary

distinction between boundaries and permeabilities, conceived mainly as walls and

doorways. Nevertheless, the differentiation of spaces and their access degrees might be

related with other elements beyond walls and doorways, such as mobile barriers,

differences in light sources, or relative height. Thus, the results of gamma analyses

should be considered as plausible scenarios of human interaction that require additional

data on the three-dimensional aspects of architectural design. These data can be

addressed through an analysis of the perceptual structure.

3.3.2.3 Perceptual structure

The perceptual structure of architectural design can be approached on the basis of

Edward Hall’s definition of “proxemics”; that is, the study of the observations and

explanations of human use of space (Hall 1969:1). According to Hall, a human sense of 77 space is a synthesis of sensory inputs: visual, auditory, kinesthetic, olfactory, and thermal

(Hall 1969:181). Thus, experiences of a constructed ritual space will be related to the way in which such a space provides new sensory perceptions.

Ritual space often has the property of providing appropriate contexts for displays

(including actions, objects, and facilities) that transmit messages through the five inputs.

They can enhance or reduce visibility or visual impact. Similarly, they can increase the perception of sounds produced during ritual performances. The architectural design might also retain smells or specific thermal conditions. Finally, it may provide certain constraints for physical displacement that produce specific kinesthetic perceptions.

Nevertheless, the material correlates of those displays are unequally preserved in the archaeological record. Acoustic properties are often related to enclosed (i.e., roofed and/or sealed) spaces, which are seldom recorded due to collapse processes. Similarly, smells or temperatures are difficult to reconstruct or infer archaeologically, unless specific objects revealing their inputs are recovered. Roofs are also important in the generation of visual and kinesthetic perceptions, as they might regulate sources and degrees of light or, according to their height, the feasibility of standing up or movement.

Nevertheless, the study of visual and kinesthetic dimensions has the advantage that their inputs are comparatively more grounded in the perception of surface elements that are more often preserved in the archaeological record. Consequently, the archaeological study of the perceptual structure of architectural design that I propose can take advantage of the possibility of addressing the visual and kinesthetic experiences as a means to 78

identify the signs of cues that may help in the transmission of canonical and self- referential messages.

The visual perception of space has been addressed by Tadahiko Higuchi (1983) in relation to the study of landscapes. Subsequently, this approach has been adapted convincingly to constructed environments by Jerry Moore (1996).

Higuchi’s proposal resides in the idea that visual environments can be decoded as a concatenation of surfaces, which are perceived at certain angles in relation to the

observer (Higuchi calls them “angles of incidence”). The angle at which the line of vision strikes the observed surface determines what can be seen and how is it seen. As a result, the perceived surfaces of a visual environment can be classified in two kinds of planes:

frontal and longitudinal. In addition, Higuchi notes how the human line of vision is

around 10 degrees below the horizontal. Consequently, the need to move from this line of

vision is critical in the perception of elevations and depressions (Higuchi 1983:38, 46-

47). As a result, Higuchi notes that the combination of these factors is the basis for the generation of three main kinds of spatial perceptions: width, depth, and height (Higuchi

1983:4, 24) (Figure 3.4). These perceptions might enhance or reduce the experience of distance, and also stimulate physical responses after such experience. For example, the perception of width produces the need to stop or stand and observe the layout at all sides, while height produces a similar response, but to survey the environment upward and downwards. In contrast, the perception of depth stimulates frontal displacement.

The kinesthetic perception is basically determined by the feasibility of physical displacement throughout a space by a human body. Therefore, it might be inferred by 1

2 Figure 3.4 Visual perceptions of width (1), depth (2) and height (3) 79 80

identifying the physical constraints that are generated during displacement through a given spatial organization. Such constraints can be evaluated in the size and shape of architectural facilities, such as the height of steps, the length of ramps, the narrowness of corridors or entryways, and the height of roofs. As in the case of visual perceptions, the architectural space provides stimuli for physical responses and, in this way, might orient displacements within it.

As a result, the reconstruction of visual and kinesthetic properties of a ritual space provides new insights for reconstructing congregation acts, the architectural design reinforces the regulation of congregation activities, providing cues to enhance perceptions of distance or proximity among spaces and, in this way, increases the control of displacements. As a result, canonical and self-referential messages also become reinforced.

3.3.3. Summary

In the preceding sections, several methodological issues of the archaeological

study of ritual were addressed. They are oriented to the identification of ritual activities

as well as the organization of ritual participants. These identifications will be

obtainedthrough the recovery of information on ritual objects and the nature of their

disposal contexts within a given ritual space. In addition, the recording of the

construction process of the studied ritual space will provide new insights about the nature

of the activities related to the space designed for ritual purposes. Finally, an analysis of

the architectural design in its spatial and perceptual dimensions will provide another data

source on ritual activities and the organization of individuals’ participation. 81

These methodological tools will be used to study the sociopolitical significance of ritual architecture produced during the Late Archaic Period of the Central Andes (ca.

3000-1500 B.C.) at the site of Cerro Lampay. The methods create a comprehensive framework for the analysis of an architectural unit, through the study of its construction process, the behavioral implications of its design, and the nature of the activities conducted within it. The following chapter presents the current state of knowledge on the

Central Andes Late Archaic Period and the relevance of the proposed case study.

Chapter 4

RESEARCH ON THE CENTRAL ANDES LATE ARCHAIC PERIOD

The Andean region is commonly known as a mountain range that rises along the western shore of South America. In ecological terms, it is characterized by the constant interaction among sea, mountains, and tropical forest. It is the proximity of different ecosystems and geosystems throughout a 0-6800 m.a.s.l. slope-range that characterizes the Andean region as an area with internal coherence (Dollfus 1981). Several sub-areas can be identified within the Andean region (Lumbreras 1981). Among them, the Central

Andes are characterized by high mountain ranges with seasonal rainfall, an extremely dry desert in the shoreline (interrupted by oasis-like valleys), and a sea with one of the richest biomass in the world. It covers most of the modern Peruvian territory (Lumbreras

1981:68-71) (Fig. 4.1).

Two main chronological systems have been proposed for the Central Andes, providing different classifications for the first epochs. One of them is characterized by differentiation of Horizon and Intermediate Periods (Rowe 1962) defined by the presence of distinctive ceramic styles. Consequently, this system starts with a Preceramic Period that ranges from 8000 to 1500 B.C. The other system is characterized by the use of concepts that indicate process and evolution such as Archaic or Formative (Lumbreras

1969). Within this system, the former Preceramic Period was subdivided into a Lithic

Period (8000 – 5000 B.C.) and an Archaic Period (5000 – 1500 B.C.). Subsequently, the 83

Ama zon

M a ra ñ Lambayeque ò U n c a y H a u l a i l la Chicama g Mo che a Virù Chao Santa

Casma Huarmey

Fortaleza Pativilca Sup e M a Huaura n ta ro Chillòn U r LIMA A u p b u a r m ìm N Omas b a a P c a c if CUZCO ic O c e a n Lake Titicaca

0 200 400 km.

Central Andes territory

Pe r u v i a n territory

Figure 4.1 Map of the Central Andes with major river drainages 84

Archaic was divided into Early (5000 – 3000/2500 B.C.) and Late (3000/2500 – 1500

B.C.) periods (Lumbreras 1969 63-78). More recently, it has been proposed that the term

Archaic should be applied to the whole initial sequence, and subdivided into early,

middle, and late periods (Kaulicke 1994:150; Kaulicke and Dillehay 1999:11).

The Early (or Middle) Archaic period is characterized by the presence of horticulturists, herders, and harvesters, who settled in semi-permanent villages of circular huts built of perishable materials. In contrast, the Late Archaic period is characterized by sedentary villages of rectangular compounds located in both the highland and coastal ecosystems (Fig. 4.2). Maritime resources are also intensively exploited, and several

crops such as squash, beans, cotton, and different kinds of fruits and tubers are cultivated.

Cotton textiles made their appearance in the Andean Region, as did public architecture.

Arts and crafts also developed, and elaborated mortuary practices appeared, closely related to the acquisition of exotic goods. The Late Archaic is then followed by the Early

Formative period (ca. 1800/1500 to 1000 B.C.), which is generally characterized by the appearance of pottery, the development of regional traditions of large architectural complexes, and the appearance of well-defined, figurative art styles.

The Late Archaic period is also known as the Late Preceramic (Lanning 1967) or the Cotton Preceramic (Engel 1967). Recently, due to its similarities and continuities with

Formative culture, some authors have considered other terms such as Proto-Formative

(Lumbreras 1989:102) or Initial Formative (Onuki 1999:332). These considerations show that the Late Archaic period has acquired a particular significance within the studies and discussion of the origins and development of the first manifestations of social complexity 85

Huac a P rie ta Alto Salaverry Huaca Negra La Galgada Pi ruru Salinas de Chao Huaricoto Huaynuná Las Haldas Culebras Kotosh Gavilanes

Cerro Lampay Àspero Caral Bandurria Rìo Seco Ancòn El Paraìso LIMA Chira-Villa

N Asia P a c i CUZCO fi c Otuma O c e a n Lake Titicaca

0 200 400 km.

Figure 4.2 Map of the Central Andes with major Late Archaic sites 86

in the Andes. This significance has been acquired within the last decades, during the

second half of the twentieth century.

4.1 The 1940’s and 1950’s. The identification of a “Preceramic” stage.

The first significant excavations in a Late Archaic site took place in 1941. They

were conducted by North American scholars Gordon R. Willey and John M. Corbett, at

the Áspero site, in the Supe Valley. At Áspero, the authors recognized and excavated a

2.5 hectares midden, noting the absence of ceramic remains within a 2-meter deep deposit. In addition, they found a ca. 9 x 5 meter multi-room architectural compound within the midden area (Willey and Corbett 1954:21-34). The authors did not make a clear-cut statement for a preceramic occupation. They however noted the chronological and cultural implications of having a non-ceramic deposit in the site (Willey and Corbett

1954:146).

The first identification of a preceramic component took place five years later, at the

Huaca Negra site in the Virú Valley. This site was excavated in 1946 by William D.

Strong and Clifford Evans, as part of the research of the Virú Valley Project (Strong and

Evans 1952). Excavations at Huaca Negra included two test pits, where several non-

ceramic layers were defined within a mound that also bears ceramic components. The

excavated layers were part of an extended deposit of domestic refuse associated with small, semi-subterranean dwellings (Strong and Evans 1952:17-23).

Strong and Evans’ finds had important implications within the Virú Valley Project, as it opened a research line on “preceramic culture.” In order to conduct this research 87 line, the project looked for the experience and preceramic background of Junius Bird.

Bird advised the identification of preceramic sites in Gordon Willey’s settlement patterns research. Willey identified two more non-ceramic sites, close to Huaca Negra, proposing a coastal orientation for the preceramic occupation of the valley (Willey 1953:38-42). In addition, Bird conducted excavations at the Huaca Prieta site, in the Chicama Valley in

1946 (Bird and Hyslop 1985).

In contrast to the limited testing at Áspero and Huaca Negra, excavations at Huaca

Prieta included deep excavations in long trenches and 6 x 7 meter horizontal exposures.

As a result, Bird found a small settlement placed on a natural outcrop, and surrounded by a deep refuse accumulation, where several burials were also found (Bird and Hyslop

1985:25-46). Bird’s excavations provided the first comprehensive record of preceramic culture. According to his work, preceramic peoples cultivated at least 14 crops (Bird and

Hyslop 1985:229-239) and were skilled cotton weavers, but no loom technology was known (Bird and Hyslop 1985:146-218). Huaca Prieta finds also revealed the development of figurative art, applied to cotton textiles and gourd pieces (Bird and

Hyslop 1985:71, 165, 170-185). Finally, Bird’s excavations provided the first radiocarbon dates, which placed the Late Archaic occupation of Huaca Prieta between ca.

2300 to 1600 B.C. (Bird and Hyslop 1985:51-58).

Huaca Prieta finds allowed a first characterization of the Late Archaic culture in the north coast of the Central Andes. Nevertheless, little was known about the rest of the coastal region, as well as the highland zone. This situation started to change in 1955, with the research conducted by French scholar Frederic Engel, who surveyed a 2500 km long 88

section of the Peruvian coast, between the Chicama and Camaná valleys (Engel 1963:3),

identifying around 25 preceramic sites (Engel 1957). Radiocarbon dates ranging around

1900 to1800 B.C. were reported from the sites of Otuma and Rio Seco (Engel 1963:10).

Engel’s survey continued in 1956, with the identification of new sites such as Las

Haldas (Engel 1970:31) and El Paraiso (Engel 1967:246). After the survey, Engel excavated test pits and small trenches in several of the identified sites during 1957, such as Las Haldas, Río Seco, Chira-Villa and Culebras. At the end of the same year he identified another preceramic site in the Omas Valley, defined as Asia Unit 1, where extensive excavations took place in 1958 (Engel 1963).

Most of the sites identified by Engel were shoreline settlements, and were basically characterized by shell mounds associated with milling stones and twined cotton textiles

(Engel 1957:57-68). By contrast, excavations at the Asia Unit 1 site revealed a 12 x 12 meter architectural compound with several room divisions and construction stages. This compound was also associated with 40 burials placed within different floor levels (Engel

1963:14-20). The material culture at Asia Unit 1 included a large sample of twined cotton textiles; grinding stones; two to three projectile points; bone, shell, and wood artifacts; and a limited number of crops (Engel 1963:20-66). Two radiocarbon samples from the preceramic levels of Asia Unit 1 placed the occupation around 1300 B.C. (Ravines

1982:170-171).

The information on the agricultural pre-ceramic populations was systematized by

Engel’s student and assistant, Edward P. Lanning, who proposed the existence of six preceramic cultures along the Peruvian coast. These cultures were, from North to South: 89

Cerro Prieto, Culebras, Rio Seco, Villa, Asia, Otuma, and Casavilca (Lanning 1960:42-

51).

Lanning’s cultures were spatially well defined, although material traits were not

equally systematized for all six. According to Lanning, these cultures are characterized

by small villages located near the shoreline, subsisting primarily on marine resources,

complemented with a limited number of domestic plants and the manufacture of cotton

fiber for clothing and fishing nets. Within the settlements, houses were semi-subterranean

or superficial, and “small temples” may appear (Lanning 1960:38-41).

Lanning’s proposal was reinforced by new contributions. Staff from the Peruvian

National Museum conducted test excavations at the coastal site of Ancón, 35 km north of

Lima, identifying several preceramic strata under later Formative occupations (Muelle and Ravines 1973). Material remains included fishhooks, cotton nets, and projectile points, as well as shellfish and botanical remains. In addition, five radiocarbon dates produced a range between 2300 and 1800 B.C. (Muelle and Ravines 1973:58-69).

In contrast to the lack of inland data, the overwhelming abundance of information from coastal sites supported the idea of a preceramic culture characterized by small groups of sea-oriented villagers. Radiocarbon dates suggested a time span of 2500 to

1500 B.C. for this period.

4.2 The 1960’s. The identification of large settlements and public architecture.

During the 1960’s, new research significantly changed ideas about the Late Archaic material culture. 90

Between 1960 and 1961, German scholar Wolfgang Wendt conducted excavations at the site of Rio Seco, found by Engel in 1955. Wendt’s work identified all the known preceramic traits, such as large shellfish deposits, a limited variety of crops, twined cotton textiles, etc. In addition, it allowed definition of the settlement full extent, of ca.

350 x 200 meters. The settlement also included at least three platform mounds of inferred public nature. A new radiocarbon date reinforced the idea of an occupation around 1800

B.C. for Rio Seco (Wendt 1976).

Another site previously studied by Engel, Las Haldas, was excavated by Rosa Fung in 1965 (Fung 1972a). Fung provided new information on the extension of the preceramic occupation at the site. Las Haldas is characterized by a large architectural complex of the

Formative period. Although there was no clear association between the architecture and the preceramic component (Fung 1972a:66), Fung noted the abundance of maritime resources, and its possibility to congregate and maintain large permanent populations.

This idea was developed by Fung as a thesis on the role of maritime resources on the development of Andean civilization (Fung 1972b).

The scale and complexity of Late Archaic sites were remarked upon in Engel’s work at the site of El Paraiso, in the Chillón Valley, between 1965 and 1966 (Engel

1967). Before working at El Paraíso, Engel excavated in other sites between 1961 and

1965, identifying preceramic occupations with a limited range of crops, without cotton textiles and permanent rectangular dwellings, which dated from 5000 to 2500 B.C. These finds allowed Engel to distinguish between a “Pre-cotton Preceramic” within the 91

mentioned time span, and a “Cotton Preceramic” dated between 2500 and 1500 B.C.

(Engel 1967:242).

Research at El Paraiso revealed a ca. 500 x 300 meter settlement with seven stone

buildings, some of them distributed in two parallel alignments (Engel 1967:245-247).

Engel’s excavations were concentrated in what he called Unit 1, revealing an architectural compound of 80 x 50 meters built over a stone platform, which bears a complex multi-room compound constructed in several stages (Engel 1967:248-258) using

fiber bags filled with stones during the platform filling process (Engel 1967:266).

Meanwhile, recording of Late Archaic occupations in the Peruvian highlands

started in 1961 with the excavations of the University of Tokyo Scientific Expedition at

the Kotosh site, in the Upper Huallaga basin (Izumi and Sono 1963; Izumi and Terada

1972).

At Kotosh, Japanese scholars defined a preceramic occupation at the bottom of

their excavations. This occupation was succeeded by five ceramic periods that correspond

to the Formative and Regional Developments Periods. Although Kotosh excavations

recorded a long and uninterrupted occupational sequence, such a sequence remains

incomplete, as the excavations did not reach sterile levels. The recorded preceramic

occupation was defined as the Mito Phase, and was characterized by a platform mound composed by at least three levels. The platform dimensions are unknown, but according to topography, it could have been a square structure with 30 to 40 meter-long sides

(Izumi and Terada 1972:Fig. 2). Platform levels were connected by narrow stairways, and provided the foundation for several rectangular rooms (Izumi and Terada 1972:Figs. 101- 92

102). Nine of these rectangular rooms, belonging to two main occupational levels, were defined in the platforms floors. Rooms were built with cut stone and mortar. Their entryways were oriented southward or northward, and their sizes range from 4 x 4 to 9 x

9 meters (Izumi and Terada 1972:Fig. 98). They were characterized by a central hearth, placed at the center of a square lower-level floor, which was surrounded by a low bench bearing an upper-level floor. This upper-level floor was surrounded by walls that have niches of different sizes and, in one case, modeled figures of human arms (Izumi and

Terada 1972:163). The Mito assemblage includes stone and bone tools, as well as unbaked clay figurines (Izumi 1971:63-66). Additional excavations in other sites such as

Wayra Jirka and Shillacoto revealed that the Mito architecture appeared throughout the

Upper Huallaga basin (Izumi 1971:67).

A third significant contribution was provided by Michael Moseley and Gordon

Willey, who re-visited the site of Áspero, previously studied by Willey, in 1971 (Moseley and Willey 1973). These authors, conducted survey, mapping, and surface collection throughout the archeological deposits. According to them, the Áspero settlement covers a

13.2 hectares area, and is composed not only of a midden, but also by artificial terracing, small masonry structures, and at least six platform mounds (Moseley and Willey

1973:456). The authors noted that subsistence remains correspond mainly to maritime resources, and concluded that the Áspero data revealed a non-agricultural economy of large size communities with corporate labor structures that suggest a non-egalitarian form of organization (Moseley and Willey 1973:466). 93

This thesis was developed by Moseley (1975a), who reaffirmed Fung’s earlier

statements, and proposed that the marine biomass strongly influenced the development of

civilization in coastal Peru. According to him, the abundance of marine products allowed

coastal inhabitants to experience population growth with a resultant population concentration in large settlements. Then, this demographic expansion and concentration

became channeled by corporative institutions, which directed the construction of public

architecture and the development of arts and crafts. In contrast to Fung, Moseley considered that these processes were occurring during Late Archaic times. (Moseley

1975a:116-117).

Data on El Paraiso, Kotosh and Áspero redefined the nature of the Late Archaic or

Late Preceramic period in the Central Andes. They revealed the existence of large,

concentrated settlements associated with large-scale public architecture. As a result, the

Late Archaic became a relevant period in the discussion of the development of Andean

complex societies. The new data also revealed a parallel development in the coastal

plains and the highland valleys. Nevertheless, little attention was taken to this parallel

development, and thus, models and hypotheses concentrated on coastal data, emphasizing

the role of maritime resources.

4.3 The 1970’s. New data and the definition of cultural patterns.

The sites of El Paraiso, Áspero, and Kotosh became “type sites” for late preceramic

occupations. Meanwhile, the “maritime hypothesis” became a main issue of debate on

Andean civilization and its origins. The next years show a significant increase in Late 94

Archaic data, and the definition of several archaeological patterns that characterize the

period.

Robert A. Feldman, a former Moseley student, conducted excavations at the site of

Áspero between 1973 and 1974 (Feldman 1980, 1985, 1987). Feldman excavated in three

of the site´s platform mounds, which he called Huaca de los Ídolos, Huaca Alta, and

Huaca de los Sacrificios. In all of them, Feldman found room compounds in the mound

summits, which were built through several construction stages. These compounds show

architectural features such as niches and low-relief plastering (Feldman 1980:43-113).

Feldman also recorded twined and looped textiles, wood and bone artifacts, and unbaked

clay figurines, usually deposited as caches within construction stages (Feldman

1980:122-156). Finally, he recovered nine radiocarbon samples that placed Áspero

between ca. 2400 to 1900 B.C. (Feldman 1980:246).

Also in 1974, Shelia and Thomas Pozorski conducted excavations at the Alto

Salaverry site (Pozorski and Pozorski 1977), located in the Moche Valley. They defined a ca. 150 x 90 meters settlement located at 400 meters from the shoreline (Pozorski and

Pozorski 1977:30). According to the authors, the settlement is composed of a domestic area, two semi-domestic architectural compounds, and a public facility (Pozorski and

Pozorski 1977:31-39). This facility consists of a sunken circular court with two access

stairways. This architectural form had been previously recorded in other places throughout the Peruvian coast (Williams 1972). This was, however, the first sunken court clearly associated with a preceramic occupation. A radiocarbon sample gave a date of 95

3430 B.P. +/- 110 (Pozorski and Pozorski 1999:180), which might place the site at the

end of the Late Archaic period.

Between 1975 and 1979, a team led by Mercedes Cardenas identified several sites

in the Chao and Santa Valleys, with sunken circular courts and presumably

corresponding to the Late Archaic and/or Early Formative periods (Cárdenas and Milla

1988). In 1976, one of the team members, Walter Alva, conducted mapping and limited

excavations in one of the identified sites, named Salinas de Chao (Alva 1986). The site of

Salinas de Chao is a large, 350 x 250 meters settlement located close to a fossil beach and

2 km from the current shoreline (Alva 1986:Fig. 34). The settlement is composed of several residential units. They are placed in terraces over a low mountain slope and the adjacent plains (Alva 1986:Fig. 35). In addition, at least three structures appear to be of public nature. Two of them are associated with sunken circular courts and consist of courtyards and platform mounds. The third is composed of a large rectangular courtyard associated with a stepped platform (Alva 1986:Figs. 20-21, 25). Seven radiocarbon samples recovered at Salinas de Chao provided a date range between ca. 1660 and 1540

B.C., while an eighth one appears to be three centuries younger (Alva 1986:54-55).

According to these dates, the site appears to have been occupied at the end of the Late

Archaic. Excavations also provided a small sample of twined, looped and plain textiles associated with a limited range of crops and abundant shellfish (Alva 1986:75-79, 100-

102).

In 1977, Rosa Fung conducted excavations at the site of Bandurria, located in the coastal zone of the Huaura Valley. Fung identified two preceramic occupations, both 96

associated with a platform mound. The mound was surrounded by simple stone

residential units, spread at least 250 meters from the mound (Fung 1988:77-78).

Bandurria remains included twined textiles, and unbaked clay figurines (Fung 1988:Figs.

3.2-3.3, 2004:325-334).

Other important research was conducted by Duccio Bonavía at the Gavilanes site,

in the Huarmey valley, between 1976 and 1979 (Bonavia 1982). This site is located less

than 1 km from the shoreline. It has been known since 1957, but only limited fieldwork

was conducted there until Bonavía´s work (Bonavía 1982:3-4). This author defined a

settlement of ca. 150 x 80 meters, associated with a small platform located 100 meters

from the main settlement (Bonavía 1982:20-21). The settlement consists of some 40 possible sunken dwellings of circular or elliptic plan, while the public building consists of a low square platform filled with fiber bags and containing a hearth on its summit

(Bonavía 1982:61-66). Gavilanes material culture shows the same traits of other Late

Archaic settlements, such as twinned textiles, fiber bags, and milling stone tools (Bonavía

1982:77-145). Four radiocarbon samples recovered at the settlement suggest an

occupation between 2850 and 1800 B.C., while two samples taken from the public

buildings range between 1650 and 1300 B.C. (Bonavía 1982:74-75). The most significant trait of Gavilanes is, however, the identification of maize remains (Bonavía 1982:157-

179), which implied a revision of the temporal placement of maize domestication in the

Andes. This statement has been discussed due to possible bioturbation of the sandy strata at Gavilanes, and is still under debate (Bird 1987; Bonavía and Grobman 1999). 97

The development of Late Archaic research in the highlands was revisited in 1978, with excavations at the sites of Huaricoto, in the Huaylas Basin, and La Galgada, in the

Tablachaca Canyon.

Excavations at Huaricoto were conducted by Richard L. Burger and Lucy Salazar-

Burger between 1978 and 1980 (Burger and Salazar-Burger 1980, 1985). They revealed an uninterrupted sequence from the Late Archaic to Final Formative periods. The Late

Archaic occupation is defined as the Chaukayán phase (Burger and Salazar-Burger

1985:121-123), and is characterized by a 2 meter high rectangular platform surrounded by small “ceremonial hearths” placed within perishable, probably wattle-and-daub, structures. Excavations also revealed that some of these hearths or firepits were placed within split-level floors (Burger and Salazar-Burger 1982:119), resembling the floor structure of the Kotosh rooms. Two radiocarbon samples placed the Chaukayán phase between 2300 and 2000 B.C. (Burger and Salazar-Burger 1985:122).

Research in the Tablachaca Canyon was conducted by Terence Grieder and Alberto

Bueno, and included excavations at the site of La Galgada between 1978 and 1981

(Grieder and Bueno 1985; Grieder et al. 1988). Although the settlement extension was

not defined, La Galgada seemed to consist of circular stone dwellings surrounding two

platform mounds (Grieder et al. 1988:20-21). Excavations focused on the mounds. The

north mound revealed a long architectural sequence that included several phases, both

pertaining to the Late Archaic and Early Formative periods (Grieder et al. 1988:32-50).

The Late Archaic sequence in the north mound started with semi-rectangular free-

standing rooms with a central hearth, a split-level floor and niches in the walls (Grieder et 98

al. 1988:24-32). These former rooms were buried with the construction of a stepped

pyramid structure that bears a similar semi-rectangular room on its summit. The authors

recognized at least two floor levels within these rooms associated with Late Archaic occupations (Grieder et al. 1988: Figs. 27-32). The last one, defined as Floor 30, had four rooms. Three of them had independent accesses, while the fourth one was connected with the larger room (Grieder et al. 1988:Fig. 32). A similar sequence was found on the southern mound, where the Late Archaic level showed three rooms. Two of them reproduce the semi-rectangular shape, while the third one is truly rectangular, resembling the Kotosh rooms (Grieder et al. 1988:Fig. 46). A remarkable feature of La Galgada rooms was the reuse of the rooms as burial chambers, after they were buried by new construction phases (Grieder et al. 1988:59-67). La Galgada material culture included looping and twinning textiles, showing figurative decoration (Grieder et al. 1988:158-

181). Seven radiocarbon samples suggest time range between 2150 and 1650 B.C. for the

Late Archaic occupation at La Galgada (Grieder et al. 1988:69).

The similarities among Kotosh, Huaricoto, and La Galgada architecture were noticed by Burger and Salazar-Burger, who considered that this architecture was designed to fulfill the requirements of a “basic ritual pattern” that, according to the authors, consisted of an area where offerings were burned within a central room facility.

These activities were thought to have been conducted by a limited number of individuals

(Burger and Salazar-Burger 1980). They proposed the term “Kotosh Religious Tradition” to define this pattern. 99

The highland architectural data were expanded with excavations at the site of

Piruru, in the Tantamayo Valley, conducted by Elizabeth Bonnier in 1980 (Bonnier and

Rosenberg 1987, Bonnier 1988, 1997). Excavations at Piruru revealed a 9 x 9 meter square room with a central hearth, a two-level floor and the stone foundations of a wattle- and-daub wall (Bonnier 1988:350-351), which was dated between 2450 and 1450 B.C.

(Bonnier 1988:356).

Bonnier stated that the burning of offerings is a long standing tradition in Andean culture. Therefore, she thought that the concept of “Kotosh Religious Tradition” lacks chronological precision. In contrast, she remarked that Late Archaic architecture in the highland is better characterized by the split-level floor that surrounds the firepit. This floor subdivision provides the space of what she calls a pericaust (which directly surrounds the hearth) and an epicaust (Bonnier 1997:136-138). According to her, this is the pattern that defines the Late Archaic architecture in the highlands. Bonnier defined it as the “Mito Tradition.”

The above mentioned contributions provided a corpus of data that allowed the definition of several cultural patterns. First, it was clear that Late Archaic sites were often large and permanent settlements associated with public buildings. The small villages could be considered as marginal or subsidiary loci.

Second, architectural data revealed the existence of several building types during the Late Archaic, such as the sunken circular court or the platform mounds. Architecture was, however, better defined in the highland zone, with the definition of the Mito

Tradition. 100

Finally, material culture showed several significant developments. Twinned and

looped cotton textiles appeared as a common trait eventually associated with figurative

art. Figurative art is also present in unbaked clay figurines. Stone tools were mainly

grinding ones, with limited repertories of chipped tools. Bone and shellfish tools (mainly

hooks) were common. Faunal remains were mainly fish and shellfish in the coastal zone,

while the highland sites showed the preeminence of deer bones. Crops appeared in

limited numbers, suggesting a secondary role in human diet.

Consequently, themes such as the role of agriculture in subsistence strategies, the

rise of public architecture, or the development of complex societies became significant

issues in the discussion of the Late Archaic Period. The development of this discussion is

reviewed in the following section.

4.4 The 1980’s and early 1990’s. Meetings, syntheses, and discussion themes.

Due to the Peruvian political situation during the 1980’s and early 1990’s,

archaeological field research was severely reduced in the Central Andes. Therefore, no

new excavations in Late Archaic sites took place in the highlands, and research in the

coastal zone was reduced to one or two projects.

One of these projects was conducted by Jeffrey Quilter at the El Paraiso site in

1983 (Quilter 1985). Quilter reviewed Engel’s previous work in Unit 1 at El Paraiso,

analyzing its construction sequence. He also conducted excavations at other units,

identifying new architectural spaces and construction techniques. Quilter also offered the first attempt to systematize information on Late Archaic construction processes (Quilter 101

1985:294-296). In addition, new radiocarbon samples were recorded, which dated the site

between ca. 1800 and 1200 B.C. (Quilter 1985:281).

Shelia and Thomas Pozorski started a long-term project in the Casma Valley in

1979 (Pozorski and Pozorski 1987), conducting excavations in several Late Archaic sites throughout the 1980’s (Pozorski and Pozorski 1987:12-21, 1992:848-850, 1999).

Pozorski and Pozorski identified and excavated preceramic components at the sites of

Huaynuná (Pozorski and Pozorski 1987:12-16, 1992:849-850, 1999:173-178), Las

Haldas (Pozorski and Pozorski 1987:18-21, 1992:848), Bahía Seca (Pozorski and

Pozorski 1992:848), and Tortugas (Pozorski and Pozorski 1992:849, 1999:173), all of them located along the valley’s shoreline. According to the authors, Las Haldas, Bahía

Seca and Tortugas are small settlements, similar to those identified previously by Engel and Lanning. In contrast, Huaynuná is an 8 hectares settlement associated to two public buildings. One of them is a 10 x 10 meter platform that has a split-level floor and a central hearth, resembling the Mito architecture (Pozorski and Pozorski 1999:Fig.4). The other structure is a 20 x 20 meter four-terraced structure built on a hill slope, with a connecting central stairway (Pozorski and Pozorski 1999:Fig.5). Material culture resembles other Late Archaic sites. Nevertheless, it is noteworthy that, at Huaynuná, tubers remains of potato, sweet potato, and achira were recovered (Pozorski and Pozorski

1987:16). Radiocarbon dates indicate a 2200-1500 B.C. time range for Huaynuná

(Pozorski and Pozorski 1999:177).

Whereas field research became constricted during this time, several academic events took place, highlighting the significance of the Late Archaic in the development of 102

Andean Civilization. The architectural evidence of sites like Áspero, Huaricoto, and La

Galgada was addressed in 1982, within a conference on the Early Ceremonial Andean

Architecture, celebrated at Dumbarton Oaks (Donnan 1985). Similarly, the role of Late

Archaic sites in the development of state societies was addressed in a symposium of the

American Anthropological Association (Haas et al. 1987). Late Archaic architecture was again addressed in 1988, during a symposium on Prehispanic Architecture and

Civilization, at the 46th International Congress of Americanists (Bonnier and Bischof

1997). Archaic Period issues have also been discussed in 1998, during a symposium at

the Catholic University in Lima (Kaulicke 1999a).

In addition, during the past few decades, several comprehensive syntheses on

Andean topics have been published, systematizing data and proposing new ideas in relation to the Late Archaic (Burger 1992:26-55; Fung 1988; Kaulicke 1994:27-258;

Lumbreras 1989:69-111; Moseley 1992a:98-121, 1992b; Quilter 1991; Richardson III

1994; Shady 1993).

It is noteworthy that discussions of Late Archaic societies mainly have relied on settlement and public architecture data. As a result, three main themes are present in the debate of Late Archaic data and interpretations.

The first theme is related to subsistence strategies and settlement patterns. Several authors have discussed the validity of Moseley´s former thesis on the maritime foundations of complexity (e.g., Kaulicke 1994:246; Lumbreras 1981:145-146; Wilson

1983:257-263). Nevertheless, there has been an overwhelming preponderance of data on coastal settlements (up to 5 km from the shoreline) in opposition to inland sites, as well 103

as a preponderance of maritime remains in the sites’ archaeological record. This situation has influenced a common view of Late Archaic settlement patterns, characterized by large and concentrated settlements on shoreline locations, which were based on intensive exploitation of maritime resources and limited horticulture (Fung 1988:93; Moseley

1992a:100-102), and a sparse occupation of the inland coastal valleys. Usually, this scenario is contrasted with a more inland, agriculture-oriented pattern of the later,

Formative period. This view has been reinforced by regional settlement pattern studies

(Canziani 1989:41; Pozorski 1987:16-18; Proulx 1985:254-256). In contrast, other authors argue for the importance of agricultural goods, and the possibility of complementary economies from the shoreline to inland zones (e.g., Burger 1992:31-32;

Wilson 1988:90-99). In this context, long distance trade and interaction have also been remarked (Burger 1992:28; Shady 1993:113-116).

The second theme is related to patterns in public architecture and, specifically, the comparison between coastal and highland architecture. The highland architecture, represented by the Mito Tradition has been defined as discrete, free-standing chambers with independent entryways, in contrast to the coastal platform mounds with

interconnected chambers (Burger 1992:51-52; Fung 1988:73, Moseley 1992a:112-121).

Assuming these opposite attributes, several statements have been proposed. Some authors

consider that this difference implies different degrees of complexity and elaboration of

public buildings (Feldman 1987; Fung 1988:80). Burger considers that it shows a contrast

in the regulation of access, with maximization in the highlands and restriction in the

coast. It also reflects differences in the degree of planning, which might be absent in the 104 highlands, but developed in the coast (Burger 1992:51-52). Moseley sees a difference between more public-oriented rituals in the coastal buildings, versus more private, small- scale congregations in the highland chambers (Moseley 1992a:115). Consequently, some scholars have concluded that this difference implies different sociopolitical developments, with coastal societies being larger and more complex than their contemporaneous highland ones (Feldman 1987:13-14; Fung 1988:75-93; see Bonnier

1997 and Lumbreras 1989:89 for an alternative view).

The third theme is related to the complexity level reached by Late Archaic societies. It has been commonly assumed that public architecture reveals hierarchy and centralized authority within such societies (e.g., Lumbreras 1989:89; Moseley

1975a:117). Using Elman Service´s evolutionary scheme (Service 1962), settlements such as Áspero were considered as evidence of a “chiefdom” manifestation (Feldman

1985:83-86, 1987:12-13), a label that was extended to other Late Archaic settlements

(Haas 1987:32). In contrast, Moseley has recently suggested that authority might have been based on a rotating system, resembling traditional cargo institutions of Andean societies (Moseley 1992a:107). Burger sees no significant wealth differentiation or stratification in these societies, and considers that they might have been channeling surplus to collective efforts (i.e., public buildings) (Burger 1992:37). Similarly, James

Richardson III states that Late Archaic societies are more convincingly understood as family and community structures, rather than chiefdoms (Richardson 1994:60).

The above ongoing perspectives and discussions have begun to be reformulated based on the research results of the second half of the 1990s. 105

4.5 Recent finds and contributions. The Caral Project and the North Central Coast.

As mentioned earlier, it was usually assumed that the Late Archaic involved a significant coastal occupation, with a heavy reliance on maritime resources. Nevertheless,

limited research on inland loci during the 1980´s challenged these assumptions. Between

1985 and 1987, German scholar Peter Fuchs conducted excavations at the well-known

Cerro Sechín site, in the Casma Valley. His results strongly suggest an initial, Late

Archaic construction phase for this site, commonly considered to date to the Early

Formative period (Fuchs 1997:155-160). Similarly, a pilot study conducted by E.

Zechentner in the Supe Valley suggested a Late Archaic occupation for large inland

settlements with public architecture such as Chupacigarro Chico, Chupacigarro Centro,

and Alpacoto (Burger 1992:31, 76, 230-231). Most scholars, however, continued to follow the “maritime hypothesis.”

Recently, common views on the Andean Late Archaic have been significantly modified due to the research conducted by Ruth Shady since 1996 in the Supe Valley,

and particularly at the Caral site (Noel 2002; Shady 2000, 2001; Shady and Leyva 2003;

Shady and Lopez Trujillo 1999; Shady et al. 2000, 2001). This research defined the

existence of eighteen Late Archaic sites with public architecture (including the site of

Áspero), spread along 40 km of the Supe Valley. Some of these sites showed

unprecedented scales (e.g., Era de Pando, with 79 hectares, Caral with 58 hectares, and

Pueblo Nuevo with 55 hectares) (Shady et al. 2000:16-17).

Most of the identified sites, including Caral, were previously known in Andean

archaeology literature. They were initially recognized by Paul Kosok, who remarked on 106

the singularity and scale of the Supe Valley architecture, specifically at the Chupacigarro

zone (Kosok 1965:217-223). In 1974, after excavations at Áspero, Robert Feldman

surveyed the valley, recording seven sites with sunken circular courts, including the sites

on the Chupacigarro zone. He also recorded similar sites in the neighboring Fortaleza

(three sites) and Pativilca (five sites) valleys (Feldman 1980:13), providing a sketch plan of the Piedra Parada site, close to Áspero, and discussing its preceramic nature (Feldman

1980:98-102).

The first systematic record and analysis of Supe early architecture was done after an inventory survey sponsored by the Peruvian National Institute of Culture (INC), conducted between 1978 and 1979 (Williams and Merino 1979). The INC team recorded

98 archaeological sites. Among them, 36 seemed to have early architectural features, such as rectangular platform mounds and sunken circular courts. Based on survey results,

Carlos Williams analyzed Supe buildings, noting the articulation of platform mounds and sunken circular courts, which form architectural structures often articulated within larger complexes (Williams 1980a:406-407).

These types of architectural structures were previously recorded for Early

Formative sites in other valleys (Fung and Williams 1977; Williams 1972), which suggested that the Supe complexes pertained to this period. This idea was commonly accepted (e.g., Burger 1992:76; Kaulicke 1994:298; Lumbreras 1989:105), leaving

Áspero as the single Late Archaic complex site of the Supe Valley. Only Zechentner´s pilot study seemed to provide an alternative view (Burger 1992:31). 107

Excavations conducted by Shady´s team have concentrated at the Caral site

(formerly named Chupacigarro Grande), including three platform mounds and five domestic areas with several architectural features as well as residential compounds

(Shady 2001:17-34). Simultaneously, they included excavations at the Chupacigarro site

(formerly named Chupacigarro Centro) (Shady 2001:13-16). The Caral site is composed of eight pyramid mounds and two sunken circular courts built of fieldstone and fiber bags

(for platform filling). In addition, two rooms with central hearths were found, resembling the Mito Tradition (Shady and Machacuay 2003; Shady et al. 2003b). Material culture at the site included twinned cotton textiles, chipped and milling stones, and a significant variety of crops including beans, squash, gourd, maize, fruits like pacae, guava, avocado, lúcuma and chili pepper, and tubers like achira and sweet potato (Shady 2000, 2001:35-

42). Excavations also provided eighteen radiocarbon dates that placed the Caral occupation between ca. 2500 and 2000 B.C. (Shady et al. 2001). Therefore, both material culture and radiocarbon dates indicated that the Caral main occupation corresponded to the Late Archaic period.

After comparing Caral results with surface evidence of other Supe sites, Shady and her colleagues concluded that 18 of the previously recorded settlements could also be assigned to the Late Archaic (Shady et al. 2000).

The results of the Caral project have provided new data that implies a reevaluation of common assumptions about the Late Archaic period. First, they present a totally different settlement pattern scenario. In contrast to the “maritime-oriented” former views, the Supe valley shows a strong inland occupation with 18 settlements spread along 40 km 108

of alluvial plain. Therefore, ideas on the Late Archaic subsistence and economic patterns

need to be readdressed. Caral evidence indicates a heavy reliance on cultivated goods

complemented by maritime resources, which might have implied a strong interaction

between coastal and inland settlements (Shady 2000). A more significant role for

agriculture in the Late Archaic should be taken into consideration.

Second, they reveal an unprecedented concentration of inland Late Archaic settlements. Furthermore, the abundance, size, and complexity of Supe public buildings exceeds any other previous Late Archaic recorded site. Consequently, the prior considerations about the complexity level of Late Archaic societies have been put into

question.

A third consequence of the Caral finds has been the reevaluation of the North

Central Coast region of the Central Andes during the Late Archaic period, and specifically, the area that includes, from north to south, the Fortaleza, Pativilca, and Supe valleys. This area was defined as the Pativilca system by Paul Kosok (1965:217), and

consists of three river courses that merge in the Andean coastal plains, forming a continuous 23 km segment of cultivable soil.

Excavations at Caral implied a chronological reevaluation of the pyramid-and- sunken-court unit, usually considered part of the Early Formative period. Thus, several sites previously reported as Formative have been reviewed and now considered to be Late

Archaic.

I started a research project in the Fortaleza Valley in 1996, identifying 30 sites with public architecture features, often considered to be of an early nature (Vega-Centeno et 109

al. 1998). This survey covered a 60 km long section of the valley, which was divided in

four zones, according to ecological and topographical differences (Vega-Centeno et al.

1998:220-222). After comparison with Supe data, I have considered that at least 18 of the

identified sites, located in Zones II to IV can be considered as pertaining to the Late

Archaic period (Vega-Centeno 2005) (Fig. 4.3). At Pativilca, a recent survey conducted

by Jonathan Haas and Winifred Creamer has identified seven sites with similar

characteristics (Haas and Creamer 2004). Radiocarbon samples taken from test pits and

the cleaning of looters’ pits seem to confirm the Late Archaic dating of several of these sites as well as some sites of the Fortaleza Valley (Haas et al. 2004a).

Consequently, it appears that at least 42 settlements with public buildings appeared

throughout the Pativilca system during the Late Archaic period (Figure 4.4). Such a

concentration suggests a major role of the North Central Coast region during this period.

4.6 Current problems and perspectives.

Currently, the Late Archaic period has been discussed as having several

distinguishing traits. Cultivated plants were consumed by both inland and coastal people,

suggesting that domestication had taken place. One of the most significant cultivated

plants was cotton, used for textile manufacturing without loom. Agriculture goes hand-to-

hand with an intensive exploitation of marine resources, including both fish and shellfish.

Settlements are permanent, medium and large size clusters of square or semi-rectangular

dwellings built of stone-and-mortar or wattle-and-daub. More significantly, public 110

Figure 4.3 Map of the Middle Fortaleza Valley with indication of possible Late Archaic Period sites (Redrawn from Vega-Centeno et al. 1998:Figure 1).

111

Figure 4.4 Map of the North Central Coast with the identified Late Archaic sites with public architecture (based on Haas et al. 2004a:Figure 1; Shady et al. 2000:Figure 1; and Vega-Centeno et al. 1998:221)

112 buildings made their appearance as single isolated units or large, multi-structure complexes. Regional architectural traditions, such as Mito, seem to consolidate during this period. Finally, arts and crafts in unbaked clay, textile, stone, or bone developed during this period, with evidence of long distance trade activities.

Consequently, the Late Archaic period is now considered as the major time period to understand the origins and development of social complexity in the Andes as well as the processes of convergence and intensification of long-term trends that will characterize this region. Considerations of primordial “chiefdom-like” or “state-like” formations for this period illustrate such concerns (e.g. Feldman 1987; Haas 1987; Shady 2001).

Due to its ubiquity and scale, the overall discussion on the complexity level of Late

Archaic societies relies heavily on architectural data. (Feldman 1987:14; Haas 1987:32;

Haas et al. 2004b; Lumbreras 1989:89; Moseley 1975a:117; Shady et al. 2000:27). This reliance on public architecture is clearly manifested in current explanations of the Late

Archaic societies of the North Central Coast.

Based on estimates of the scale of platform mounds within each site on the Supe

Valley, Shady and her colleagues have proposed the existence of a hierarchical network of “urban centers”. According to them, this network reflected the existence of a centralized state, which managed to rule the entire Supe valley from the Caral site.

Furthermore, religion played a key role in the consolidation of a ruling class, and thus during this time, Caral became a “sacred city” that ruled the other subsidiary urban centers (Shady et al. 2000:26-29). 113

In a similar direction, Jonathan Haas and his colleagues have proposed that the

public buildings of the North Central Coast reveal the existence of leaders with

substantial bases of economic and ideological power that allow them to control

production and basic resources. According to them, the leaders’ power base was the

management of irrigation systems and the control of key-products such as cotton (Haas et al. 2004b:42-43).

After conducting systematic survey in 2002 in the Zone IV of the Middle Fortaleza

Valley, I have proposed an alternative scenario. There are five sites in Fortaleza Zone IV

(Fig. 4.5): Cerro Blanco Centro, Cerro Blanco Norte, Caballete (Fig. 4.6), Porvenir (Fig.

4.7), and Cerro Lampay. Several characteristics showed up after comparing the scale of buildings.

First, I noticed that sites with Late Archaic public architecture were of two types: single isolated structures and multi-structure architectural complexes. Although architectural complexes cover larger areas, their buildings were not necessarily larger than the isolated ones. On the contrary, isolated structures were ranked within the largest buildings within the valley.

Second, architectural units could be defined as rectangular platform mounds, eventually associated with sunken circular plazas. Despite scale differences, there were no additional architectural features in the largest buildings. Furthermore, the isolated structures always show both kinds of features, unlike many of the structures that were within the complexes.

114

1 9

Hi g h wa y 6

. 0

Tra i l N 8’832.000 0 0 Tunàn Modern town

Archaeological site 0 1 2 km.

0 0 3

0 0 2 0 10 CERRO BLAN C O N 8’828.000 NO RTE CERRO BLANC O CENTRO CABALLETE

Cerro Bl a nc o

z 1

le 0

ta 0 r o F ìo R

200

N 8’824.000

CERRO LAMPAY PO RVENIR La m p a y

Figure 4.5 Map of Zone IV of the Middle Fortaleza Valley and Late Archaic Period sites (Redrawn from Vega-Centeno 2005:Figure 2) 115

Petroglyphs

IDENTIFIED INFERRED ARCHITEC TURE DOMESTIC ZONE INFERRED LATTER ARCHITECTURE O C C UPATIO N MODERN DISTURBANC E

Figure 4.6 Preliminary plan of the site of Caballete (Redrawn from Vega-Centeno 2005:Figure 13)

116

N 8'823,400

4 5 5 40 6 5 0 5 0

EA 5 EA 4

EA 1

N 8'823,200 EA 6

EA 7 EA 2

EA 3 EA 8

EA 9 EA 1 2 E 197,100

EA 1 3

N 8'823,000 E 197,300

IDENTIFIED INFERRED 0 20 40 60 80 100m. ARCHITECTURE DO M ESTIC ZONE INFERRED LA TTER ARCHITECTURE O C C UPATI O N MODERN DISTURBANCE

Figure 4.7 Preliminary plan of the site of Porvenir (Redrawn from Vega-Centeno 2005:Figure 10) 117

These observations allowed me to consider that there were not clear hierarchical

differences among the sites and, that instead of a unitary network, the differences in the

number of architectural units among sites might reflect different trajectories which might

have involved different phenomena such as long vs. short occupational sequences,

internal community growth, or aggregation processes (Vega-Centeno 2005:36-39).

Nevertheless, I noted that the specific social dynamics that generated their development

(e.g., the generation of power relationships) could not be addressed without a more

reliable empirical basis. This empirical basis could not be obtained from surface

accounts.

It is remarkable that, despite the abundance of literature on Late Archaic public

architecture, little is known about the design and the construction of this architecture.

Coastal buildings are often described as platform-mounds or pyramid-mounds, eventually

associated with plazas or sunken courtyards. In contrast, the highland Mito buildings are

often defined as “single rooms.” It is noteworthy that before excavations, Mito sites such

as Kotosh or La Galgada would have been reasonably labeled as “platform mounds.” In

addition, excavations at coastal sites, such as Áspero or El Paraiso, revealed complex sets

of indoor spaces. Consequently, the opposition between small-indoor and large-outdoor

ceremonial spaces seems quite artificial.

In contrast to the better-defined Mito tradition, the coastal ritual spaces are not well

defined yet. James Richardon III (1994:49-50) has proposed the existence of an Áspero

Tradition for the North Central Coast, on the basis of Robert Feldman’s accounts of an

“ever-restricting” access system in the summit of Áspero buildings (Feldman 1985:82). 118

Unfortunately, the definition of this tradition relies on a single site and only remarks upon

one characteristic of the building’s design. Furthermore, it is necessary to evaluate

whether this characteristic also appears within other coastal buildings, particularly in the

Pativilca system zone, in order to determine if it is a regional tradition.

Surface recording of public buildings is often used to address the construction scale

in quantitative terms, and infer the amount of labor power required. These records, however, do not account for how space is organized within and around public buildings, the type and nature of activities conducted in its spaces, or the number of construction

events involved in its final shape. In other words, surface records are particularly

insufficient and inaccurate for understanding Late Archaic architectural design.

This is a particularly critical issue because the definition of architectural design

patterns is a necessary prerequisite to addressing the role and significance of public

buildings in the development and dynamics of societies. Unfortunately, current

knowledge on Late Archaic public architecture in the coastal plains is insufficient to

address their social and/or political role. Explanatory models like the ones proposed by

Ruth Shady or Jonathan Haas are mainly based on classic theoretical assumptions of the

relation between public architecture and society. I consider that arguing for “chiefdoms,”

“states,” “cities,” or “power relationships” with the available current data becomes a

sterile exercise without empirical support.

A comprehensive view of Late Archaic architectural patterns requires discussion of

public buildings within their local and regional context. Evidence of sites such as Rio

Seco, Áspero, El Paraiso, Salinas de Chao, Caral and other sites in the Pativilca system 119

show sets of public buildings sharing the same settlement and forming large architectural complexes. Furthermore, in some regions, such as the Middle Supe Valley (Shady et al.

2000), or the Fortaleza Zone IV (Vega-Centeno 2005), more than one of these complexes seem to have coexisted.

Due to their assignment to the same period, all of these settlements are commonly

considered as contemporaneous. Nevertheless, the Late Archaic involves a 1000 to 1500

year time span, and no chronological subdivision has been proposed for it yet. Therefore,

the chronological resolution needs to be improved in order to clarify the real degree of

contemporaneity among architectural complexes within regions (Kaulicke 1999b:419-

420).

Chronological precision is not only relevant to the definition of inter-site relations,

but also intra-site relations. Sites such as Caral, with its eight public buildings, might

have a long history of construction and re-modeling. Its current appearance is closely

related to its last occupation. But, how did Caral or other complexes grow or develop

through time and how much time did it take? Answering these and other questions

requires a careful identification of the sequence of construction events within these

complexes.

In addition, construction events need to be analyzed in order to understand the

chronological relations among buildings and to understand the sequence of events that

took place in each single structure. Excavations at Áspero, El Paraiso, La Galgada, or

Kotosh revealed that public buildings were constructed in several stages and some of

these stages were autonomous architectural projects. At Kotosh, for example, the 120

“Templo de las Manos Cruzadas” was totally buried, in order to build the “Templo de los

Nichitos.” This process has been defined as “Temple Entombment” (Izumi and

Matsuzawa 1967) or “Temple Renovation” (Onuki 1994). A clear vision of the Kotosh-

Mito original architectural design and its modifications was obtained only after

understanding this complex process of building, burying and re-building.

Within the Fortaleza, Pativilca, and Supe sites, the most significant architectural

type identified is the “pyramid-mound” or “platform-mound” and “sunken circular court”

unit. As noted before, this typological definition needs to be refined in order to obtain a

comprehensive view of the architectural design of this basic unit. This definition is a

prerequisite to understanding its later development, its articulation in larger architectural complexes, and its spread throughout the coastal valleys.

In the next chapter, the results of an excavation in one of these “mound and sunken court” structures, located in the Fortaleza valley of the Pativilca system, is presented, showing its original architectural design and its latter modifications.

121

Chapter 5

EXCAVATIONS AT CERRO LAMPAY

5.1 The site

Cerro Lampay is located on the south bank of the Fortaleza Valley, a narrow

coastal fertile zone approximately 220 km north of Lima (see Figures 4.2 and 4.3). The

site is 2 km from the Fortaleza River and approximately 5 km to the northeast of

Paramonga, the district capital. It can be reached from the main valley highway through a

small trail (Figure 5.1).

The site is placed in a small dry ravine composed with three terraces and cut by

several gullies. Soils in the ravine are composed by gravel and silt sediments of colluvial

origin. The archaeological zone extends throughout the three terraces, and includes a ca.

4 ha Late Intermediate Period settlement (ca. A.D. 900-1450) in the lower terrace, and a

2.4 ha Late Archaic (ca. 3000/2500-1500 B.C.) settlement on the middle and upper

terraces (Figure 5.2).

The Late Archaic settlement includes an architectural complex that is oriented to

the northwest with an azimuth of 304 o, and a ca. 50 by 30 m artificially leveled area

located in the upper terrace, approximately 20 m southeast of the architectural complex.

The complex has a 38 by 31 and 5 m high mound, and a 47 m on a side square courtyard.

The courtyard includes a 21 m diameter sunken circular court. There is also a 190 m long narrow platform oriented to the northeast that separates the complex from the upper terrace (Figure 5.3). 122

Figure 5.1 Map of the lower section of Zone IV in the Fortaleza Valley

123 Figure 5.2 Air photograph of La Carbonera ravine and Cerro Lampay 124

N 8'823,450 75

N 8'823,400 80

N 8'823,350

N 8'823,300

E 195,750 0 80 , 95 E 1 E 195,850 E 195,900 90 95

N 8'823,250

01020 30 40 50 m .

IDENTIFIED INFERRED ARCHITECTURE DOMESTIC ZONE IN FERRED LATTER ARCHITECTURE OCCUPATIO N MODERN DISTURBAN C E

Figure 5.3 Sketch plan of Cerro Lampay architecture before excavation 125

The leveled area of the upper terrace has a smooth and partially terraced surface

that differentiates it from the natural surrounding contour. Some stone alignments suggest the possible location of the terraces’ retaining walls. In addition, the overall area is

moderately covered by small shell fragments.

Current surface evidence does not allow identifying architectural details of the

Late Archaic buildings at the site. In the case of the architectural complex, the mound

surface is totally covered by loose medium-sized (ca. 20 by 15 by 10 cm) stones, and

does not show any evidence of standing walls or platforms. Only some concavities located on its summit suggest the possible existence of rooms or corridors. A similar situation occurs with the 196 m long narrow platform, also covered by loose stones. By

contrast, the surface on the sunken court area is covered by fine silty deposits that also overlie any trace of standing walls or platforms. In the case of the leveled area of the

upper terrace, the possible built terraces cannot be defined with certainty, as no retaining

walls - but only short stone alignments - can be clearly defined from the surface. Finally,

the modern surface configuration of the site includes a ca. 1.5 m deep gully that crosses

the settlement through its southwestern side, cutting the narrow platform and eroding the

southwestern side of the square courtyard. Significant natural events that occurred after

the site’s abandonment seem to have generated this scenario (see Section 5.4.6).

Cultural alteration has been, in contrast, less severe. Unlike the intense looting

found in the Late Intermediate Period settlement of the lower terrace, only three looters’

pits were identified in the Late Archaic Period one. Two of them were found on the

mound, while a third one was placed close to the sunken circular court. 126

5.2 Excavation procedures

Surface evidence allows the differentiation of coarse spatial units with specific architectural characteristics in Cerro Lampay. These units are the square mound, the square courtyard (including the sunken circular court), the narrow platform, and the rear leveled area. The first two units include the architectural features that characterize the

Late Archaic architecture in the North Central Coast (see Section 4.5), and can be provisionally considered as a public architectural complex (see Section 3.4,2,2). In contrast, in the leveled area, the presence of organic - mainly shell - debris over small terraces suggests that it might correspond to a zone of domestic occupation. Finally, the northeast and southwest extensions of the narrow platform suggest that Cerro Lampay’s occupation might have spread far beyond the inferred domestic and public areas. Based on these considerations, the settlement was divided into five sectors in order to locate and classify the excavation units.

Sector 1 corresponds to the mound area, including both the summit and the slopes zones covered by the loose stones. Sector 2 corresponds to the square courtyard area, including the sunken circular court. Sector 3 corresponds to the leveled rear zone and its possible domestic area. Finally, Sectors 4 and 5 correspond to the open areas that spread northeast and southwest of Sectors 1, 2 and 3, along the narrow platform axis.

Excavations were oriented to define the spatial organization of the public architectural complex at Cerro Lampay, and to reconstruct the nature of the activities performed within it. Consequently, several specific goals were defined. The first was to record the variability in construction materials and techniques throughout the duration of 127 the construction process. Second, to define the spatial arrangements and architectural features of the general design, as well as the material remains of the activities conducted throughout the architecture. Consequently, excavations were focused in Sectors 1 and 2

(Figure 5.4).

As seen before, no architectural evidence could be identified on the surface of

Sector 1. Nevertheless, the mound’s summit was expected to be a major area of the complex’s spatial organization. Thus, the excavation strategy was initially oriented to identify reliable evidence on the underlying spatial units within the mound’s summit through the simultaneous removal of surface layers over a wide area, until the reaching of walls or platforms. Consequently, excavations in Sector 1 were originally conducted in a

20 by 15 m area placed in the center of the mound’s summit, and divided into 5 by 5 m units (Units 1 to 12). Excavations followed these artificial units until architectural spaces

(such as rooms, corridors, etc.) were defined.

Then, based on the initial results, this area was extended towards the mound slopes, where architectural features seemed to spread beyond the original 12 units. On the northwest side, two 2 by 2 m units were placed (Units 13 and 14), followed by two trenches of 4 by 2 m (Unit 15) and 8 by 1 m (Unit 16) meters. On the northeast side, one long trench was placed along the original border (Unit 19). After that, two units were placed (Units 24 and 31), followed by a narrow 4 by 2 m trench (Unit 33). Finally, in the southeast side, one large narrow trench was placed along the original border (Unit 20), followed by small units (Units 21 and 22) and a long trench down slope (Unit 23). 128

5 7 76

SEC TOR 2

80 SEC TOR 4

0 81

9 82

N 8’823,350 83.75 84.25

4 8 SEC TOR 1 84.25

84 84.2 5 84.25

83 NM 84 SEC TOR 5

SEC TOR 3

0 10 20 m

Figure 5.4 Topographic plan of Cerro Lampay indicating excavation units 129

After the identification of architectural spaces, the arbitrary units were replaced by units defined according to the original architecture. These new units were excavated in order to identify the original occupational levels of the architecture (Figure 5.5).

In the case of Sector 2, the strategy was oriented to define the access system as well as to identify activity remains associated with the floor of the sunken circular court.

Consequently, a 5 by 2 m unit (Unit 17) was placed in the Southeast border of the sunken court, while four units were placed on the Northwest border (Units 18, 26, 27 and 28) covering an area of 24 square meters. Finally, a 4 by 2 m area (Unit 30) was placed at the center of the sunken court.

5.3 Stratigraphy

Excavations revealed significant differences in the stratigraphy of both sectors.

Thus, it is important to analyze each one separately.

Stratigraphy in Sector 1 (Figure 5.6) is characterized by a first cluster of three upper levels spread throughout the artificial mound (Figure 5.7). Level 1 is a 10 to 20 cm wide layer composed by loose, medium to large size angular stones (of basaltic nature) without finer sediments. Cultural remains are scarce, consisting of shell fragments and ceramic sherds presumably from a later occupation. Level 2 is a narrow, 5 to 10 cm wide layer composed by loose yellow (2.5 Y 5/3) silty sediments mixed with abundant medium-size angular stones. This level disappears in some zones, allowing direct contact between Levels 1 and 3, and shows limited cultural remains. Level 3 is a 10 to 15 cm thick layer composed by a semi-compacted to loose silty sediment mixed with 130

13 15 16

9 12 8

3 7 11

19-Amp

5 10 6 19 24 33

31 1 4 2

20 N 21 22 2-Amp

23 0 1 2 3 4 5 m.

Figure 5.5 Plan of excavations at Sector 1. Shaded areas indicate the excavation units defined after the identification of architectural features.

Room 8

Ro o m 1 Ro o m 2

Original Compound First Filling Stag e Sec ond Filling Stage 0 5 10 m Post Abbandonment Strata

Figure 5.6 General stratigraphy at Sector 1. 131

UN IT 1 UN IT 5 UN IT 3 UN IT 9 Le v e l 1

Le v e l 2 Le v e l 3

0 1 2m.

Figure 5.7 Stratigraphy of Levels 1-3 at Sector 1. 132 133 abundant medium size angular stones that shows moderate amounts of cultural remains.

Level 3 overlies several architectural features, such as wall tops, artificial fills, platforms, and floors bearing activity remains. It is important to note that these “floors” were almost as high as the wall tops, and show significant irregularities on their surface.

As will be shown, these “floors” correspond to seals or coverings, built after the filling of rooms and other spaces, and thus becoming “platform floors.”

The second stratigraphic cluster corresponds to different fills that covered the architectural spaces defined during the excavation. These fills will be described in detail in the next section, within the explanation of the “building entombment” process.

The third stratigraphic cluster corresponds to the original architectural features, such as floors, platforms, benches, and walls, which gave shape to the original compounds.

Finally, a fourth cluster corresponds to the sterile soils, over which the compounds were built. These soils are composed of compacted gravel and silt deposits that resemble the natural deposits of the ravine in which the archaeological site is placed.

Stratigraphy in Sector 2 is characterized by a set of alluvial layers that cover the original architecture. The southeast side of the sunken courtyard bears a 1.6 m deep stratigraphic section composed of nine levels (Unit 17) (Figure 5.8).

Levels 1 and 2 correspond to loose silty deposits with abundant cultural remains, including ceramics, textiles, zoological, botanical and human remains. These levels are related to Level 3, a narrow compacted soil that became an occupational surface

0 1 2 m.

Figure 5.8 Stratigraphy at Unit 17, Sector 2. 134 135

related to the Late Intermediate Period settlement mentioned above. Below Level 3, there

is an alternating sequence of gravelly (Levels 4 and 8), sandy (Levels 5 and 7), and silty

(Levels 6 and 9) deposits of uniform surface. These alternating levels suggest different

flooding events within the sunken court area.

Architectural remains appear below Level 9, showing severe damage from water

erosion and sediment transported from southeast to northwest. It is clear that the courtyard architecture was totally exposed during such events.

At the northwest side of the sunken court (Figure 5.9), architectural remains were less affected by erosion processes. Levels 1 and 2 are mixed silty sediments related to the later, Middle Horizon occupation. Level 3 corresponds to a semi-compacted silty layer mixed with gravel, and deposited over the inner side of the courtyard. Level 4 is a fine

compacted gray sand layer, deposited over the courtyard’s floor. This sandy layer

protected the architectural remains from water erosion. In addition, it seems that the

alluvial processes identified at the southeast side did not reach the northwest side or, at

least, were less severe.

A deeper cut was conducted on the outer surface of the courtyard’s border. It

shows two levels (Levels 5 and 6) of mixed silt and gravel with moderate cultural

remains. It is significant, though, that no ceramic or loom textiles were found on these

levels. A sterile soil of compacted reddish and yellowish gravel lies below Level 6.

Excavations at the center of the sunken court showed a sequence of five levels.

Levels 1 and 2 were loose and semi-compacted silty sediments, similar to the silty

deposits identified in the southeast side (probably, their continuation). Level 3 and 4

2 1

5 6

3 4

0 1 2 m .

Figure 5.9 Stratigraphy at Units 18 and 26, Sector 2. 136 137

correspond to silt and gravel deposits, with strong similarities with Level 8 of the

southeast sequence. Finally, Level 5 corresponds to compact sandy sediments, similar to

Level 4 of the northwest sequence. The floor of the courtyard lies under Level 4, showing a sterile soil of compacted gravel in some eroded zones.

5.4 Architectural sequence

Excavations at Cerro Lampay revealed a complex architectural sequence characterized by two main occupational events. The first one is related to the construction and use of an architectural compound. The second event is related to several activities oriented to the “entombment” of the compound.

The sequence of the original construction and use of Cerro Lampay’s buildings is characterized by an original two-room compound to which was added the square

courtyard and the sunken circular court, and after that, another smaller two-room

compound. The sequence of the “entombment” included at least three filling stages

through which the original spaces were buried, and new spaces were built and then also

buried until the original compounds were transformed into a massive square platform,

immediately before the site’s abandonment.

Construction activities at Cerro Lampay implied the building of two-sided walls

and retaining walls, platform filling, and floor preparation. Walls were constructed with

large-and medium-size (from ca. 60 by 40 to 20 by 15 cm) basaltic rocks of irregular

shape. These rocks can be found in the surrounding mountains, and have an angular

breakage. As a result, they usually have flat sides that were disposed towards the walls’ 138

faces. Stones were placed irregularly, and interlocked with abundant silty mortar (Figure

5.10). They were finally covered with a 1 to 5 cm plaster. Although the amount of mortar

was intended to fill all the empty spaces among stones, such empty spaces can still be

found behind the plaster. In the case of two-sided walls, there is a core usually formed by

mixed gravel, stone and mortar fills. These walls are 0.4, 0.7 or 1.2 m wide, and 2.4 to

3.2 m high.

Fills are usually of fiber retaining bags (shicras) that contain medium-and small- sized angular stones (from ca. 15 by 10 by 5 cm to 5 by 4 x 3 cm) of the same basaltic rock that was used for walls’ construction. These bags were mainly made of caña brava

(Gynerium sagitatum) and totora (Scyrpus sp.). They were manufactured with the

looping technique, and had diameters from 18 to 34 cm. Apparently, they could carry

from 20 to 25 kg of stones. Fills can also be of large stones or mixed gravel-and-silt

sediments.

Finally, floors are 3 to 5 cm wide and are made of silty or clayey light gray

sediments. Original floors were found over sterile soils. In the case of platform floors, a

thin layer of gravel was often deposited over shicra or large stone fills, before the

application of the floor plaster.

5.4.1 The First Compound

The first construction stage at Cerro Lampay is related to a two-room compound

built over the compacted gravel soils of the ravine and oriented to the northwest

(Azimuth 304o). These rooms are labeled as Rooms 1 and 2 (See Figure 5.11).

139

0 50 cm.

Figure 5.10 Detail of wall construction at Cerro Lampay. 140

Figure 5.11 Plan of the First Compound.

141

Room 1 has an 8.7 by 4.4 m inner space, and its walls are 2.4 to 2.7 m high. Walls are composed by two to three horizontal sections only seen from the interior (Figure

5.12). The lower one is 60 to 70 cm wide and 7.5 to 1.15 m high, and ends before reaching the room accesses. The middle section is 40 by 35 cm wide and 0.9 to 1.0 m high. Finally, the northwestern walls have a third, upper section, which is 10 to 15 cm wide and 20 cm high.

Room 1 has a 30 cm high bench that bisects the room into front and rear. Both halves have 3 to 5 cm thick plastered floors prepared over sterile soil, which show little use-related alterations. Room 1 also has four entryways. The main one connects Room 1 with Room 2. It is 1.7 m wide and has a 0.5 m high two-sided step. There are also two lateral entryways. The excavated one is 0.95 m wide and has a 0.53 m high step (Figure

5.13). Finally, there is a fourth entryway, located in the southeastern wall, approximately

95 cm. wide, with a lintel composed by one guarango (Prosopis pallida) beam covered with plaster. Excavations did not allow confirmation of the presence of a step in this entryway.

Room 2 has a 12.2 by 11.4 m inner space, and its walls are 2.4 to 3.2 m high. The northwestern wall is composed by a single section, while the lateral walls are composed by at least two sections. The lower section is 1.1 to 1.3 m wide and 2.4 m high, matching the front wall’s summit. The upper section is 70 to 60 cm wide and 80 cm high. In the southeastern side of this Room, the prior Northwestern wall of Room 1 has two additional sections in order to reach the inner 11.4 m length of Room 2. Walls of Room 2 were painted with an ochre-based red pigment (10YR 5/9). 142

Figure 5.12 View of the northern corner of Room 1 of the First Compound.

Figure 5.13 View of the northeast entryway at Room 1, First Compound. 143

The floor level was reached at both the northwestern and southeastern entryways.

In both cases, the floor plaster is 3 cm thick and was prepared over sterile soil. There is a

difference of 85 cm between the identified floor levels at the northwestern and

southeastern sides of Room 2. This difference suggests the existence of at least one bench

within Room 2, as in the case of a later room remodeling (See section 5.4.4.2). Room 2

has a front, a back (the one connecting both rooms) and a lateral entryway. The main one,

placed in the northwestern wall, is 2.4 m wide, and lacks steps or other access

restrictions. Excavations revealed one lateral entryway, in the northeastern wall, which is

85 cm wide. The possible existence of another lateral entryway is suggested by the similarities in design between Rooms 1 and 2.

The walls that define Room 2 in its southeastern side clearly abut onto those of

Room 1. This situation suggests the possibility that Room 1 functioned initially as a single building, before Room 2 was designed and constructed, although such a situation might have been short lived, as both rooms correspond to the same stratigraphic level.

5.4.2 The Sunken Circular Court

A sunken circular court was built approximately 20 m northwest of the First

Compound. Its construction implied excavation of approximately 80 cm. of natural soil,

and the accumulation of an 80 cm high fill that forms a platform ring around the court’s

edge (Figure 5.9). This ring was approximately 3 m wide.

The presence of cultural material in the ring sediments reveals the disturbance of

original midden deposits for the court’s construction, suggesting that this construction

might have been preceded by a time span when several activities were conducted in this 144

zone. In contrast, the construction of the First Compound over sterile soil suggests an

original, foundational event. Therefore, it is possible that the first architectural project only designed the First Compound, and that the Sunken Circular Court was built as a latter addition. Nevertheless, the general design indicates that both buildings functioned together after the sunken court’s construction (Figure 5.14).

The sunken circular court has an inner diameter of about 15 m and, according to the floor level and ring summit, it might have had a 1.3 m high inner wall (Figure 5.15).

The court has two stairways on its northwest and southeast sides, aligned with the

First Compound’s axis. Stairways have a “trapezoidal” shape and are composed of five steps (Figure 5.16). The first step is 3.10 m long, while the last one is 4.2 m long. The two lower steps are 40 cm deep and 40 cm high, while the three upper ones are approximately 30 cm deep and 25 cm high.

Five postholes were found in different loci of the court’s 2-cm-thick floor. Holes have a diameter of 20 to 25 cm. Two of them are placed close to the stairway sides (one at the right side of the northwestern stairway and the other at the left side of the southeastern one), while one appears close to the center northwestern stairway. If similar holes are placed on the opposite sites, it is possible to suggest the existence of more elaborated entryway features that might have included posts and, eventually, roofing in association with the stairways. Finally, two holes were found in the center of the court, within an 8 sq m excavation area.

As mentioned before, the sunken circular court is located within a larger square courtyard area. No excavations were conducted in this area, but topography suggests the 145

Figure 5.14 Plan of the First Compound and the Sunken Circular Court.

146

A A

’ Inferred architecture A Identified, eroded architecture ’ 0 1 2 3 4 5m. Identified, preserved architecture

Po st ho l e Sto ne s

Figure 5.15 Plan and profile of the Sunken Circular Court area. 147

Figure 5.16 View of the northwestern stairway of the Sunken Circular Court. 148

presence of a small platform or bench between the Sunken Court and the First

Compound.

5.4.3 The Second Compound

Excavations revealed a second construction project, built at the northeast of the

First Compound. Its construction blocked the lateral entryway of Room 2, indicating a

spatial re-organization. This new project is named the “Second Compound,” and consists

of a two-room compound, oriented to the northwest (Azimuth 304o). Rooms of this

compound are labeled as Rooms 3 and 4.

Unlike the First Compound, the Second Compound was built in a single event

(Figure 5.17). While the southwestern part of this compound might have been built over sterile soil, the northeastern one required the construction of a 1 m high platform, in order to keep the floor level. This platform was also connected with a prepared outer floor, which possibly surrounded both compounds. In addition, a two-section wall was built over this platform, adjacent to the Second Compound walls. The lower section was 1.4 m high and 50 cm wide. The upper section, 30 cm wide, was found incomplete.

Room 3 has a 5.9 by 2 m inner space. Its walls are 2.1 to 2.4 m high. The southeastern wall has two sections. The lower one is 30 to 35 cm wide and 1.15 m high, and ends before the room entryway. The upper section is 45 cm wide, and in the case of the southeastern wall, is 85 cm. high (The summit of the northeastern wall was not preserved). The northeastern wall shows two sections, but the upper one is incomplete, and could have had a third upper section. The lower section in this wall is 1.2 m high and

60 cm wide. The southwestern wall is shared by Rooms 3 and 4. It is 2.4 m high and 149

Figure 5.17 Plan of the Second Compound.

Figure 5.18 View of the southwestern entryway of Room 4 from the outside. 150

has a 20 cm wide, 30 cm high upper section, over a 40 cm wide middle section. While this wall was not excavated, a wider, lower section is expected. Finally, the northwestern

wall has a single section and is 25 cm wide.

Room 3 has a 40 cm high bench that bisects the excavated space into a

northeastern and a southwestern section. It is possible, however, that this platform only

covered the central area of the room. Both sections have plastered floors prepared over a gravel layer deposited over a fill of shicra bags. Room 3 also has four entryways. Two entryways are placed at the northwestern wall, connecting this room with Room 4. One entryway is 90 cm wide, while the other is only 45 cm wide. There is another 75 cm wide entryway in the northeastern wall. Finally, a 50 cm wide entryway is placed in the southeastern wall, with a lintel composed of a guarango beam. No benches or steps are placed in any of these entryways.

Room 4 has a 5.9 by 4.1 m inner space. As in Room 3, its walls are 2.1 to 2.4 m high. The northwestern wall has three sections. The lower section is 1.2 m high and 70 cm wide, while the middle one is 75 cm high and 35 cm wide. The upper section is 25 cm high and 20 cm wide. The northeastern wall was badly eroded, preserving the lower section, which is 1 m high and 70 cm wide. The southwestern wall has two horizontal sections. One section is the continuation of Room 3 southwestern wall, which connects with the northeastern wall of Room 2 of the First Compound. The other section consists of a single-faced wall built over the First Compound outer face, in order to level the inner wall of Room 4. This wall seems to resemble the three-section structure identified in

Room 3. 151

Room 4 has a 40 cm high bench that divides the inner space in a small

southwestern zone and a large northeastern one. Both zones have plastered floors,

possibly of the same characteristics of those of Room 3. This room also has five

entryways. The main one is placed in the northwestern wall, and is 75 cm wide. The

southwestern wall has a narrow 50 cm entryway with a lintel made of two willow (Salix

humboliana) beams covered with plaster (Figure 5.18). On the opposite side, the

northeastern wall has a 70 cm wide entryway. Finally, the back zone has the two

entryways shared with Room 3. From Room 4, the larger one has a 40 cm high step.

Three niches were identified in Room 4. One is placed in the right half of the northwestern wall, while two incomplete niches appear in the northeastern wall. Niches are located at a height of 80 cm, and are 40 cm wide, 35 cm high and 35 cm deep. If the niches have a symmetrical distribution, there might be three more niches in the room’s southwestern half.

5.4.4 Possibility of a third compound

No excavations were conducted in the southwestern zone of the mound.

Nevertheless, the topographic contour suggests the existence of architectural features or construction fills in this zone. Thus, a possible third compound, of similar dimensions to the Second Compound, may be located in this area.

In any case, the final shape of the architectural complex included the First and

Second Compounds, the Sunken Circular Court and several benches and terraces that leveled the outer surface (Figures. 5.19 and 5.20).

152

Figure 5.19 General plan of the original compounds at Cerro Lampay.

Figure 5.20 Isometric reconstruction of the First and Second Compound at Cerro Lampay. 153 154

5.4.5 The entombment process

One of the most significant finds of the Cerro Lampay excavations was the existence of a complex process through which all the rooms and compounds were intentionally buried and covered. Such a process seems to have implied the end of the building’s use, and was possibly related to the site’s abandonment. It includes several construction stages of room filling, associated with other activities.

5.4.5.1 The first filling stage

The first remains of the entombment process are discrete, burned areas of an intense reddish color, located over the rooms’ floors. The lack of burning features or facilities, plus the severe discoloring of the floor plaster, supports the idea of events conducted regardless of the original architectural design. Therefore, they can be related to the canceling of the rooms’ original functions. These fireplaces were recorded in Room 1

(Burnt Area 1 in the lower floor and Burnt Area 2 in the upper floor), Room 3 (Burnt

Areas 3 and 4), and Room 4 (Burnt Areas 5 and 6). A small concentration of organic remains (charcoal and shell fragments) appeared in the east corner of Room 1, close to

Burnt Area 2 (Trash Deposit 1) (Figure 5.21).

The second set of events is related to the modification of the original walls and closing of entryways (see also Figure 5.21). In Room 1, the southeastern entryway was sealed with a stone and mortar fill covered with plaster. In Room 3, all the entryways were covered with fill and plaster. A similar situation occurs in Room 4. In this room, the seal of the northwestern entryway included three niches. These are roofless niches of

Fig. 5.21 Plan of the first activities and remains related to the entombment process. 155 156

different heights, found in a stepped arrangement (Figure 5.22). All the recorded niches

in Room 4 were filled with gravel and covered with a clayish plaster. Before this event, a

10 by 5 cm cotton bag bearing eight projectile points (Offering Set 1) (Figure 5.23) was

deposited in the central niche of the closed access. Similarly, another set of objects (shell

and plant remains) was placed in one of the niches on the northeast wall (Offering Set 2)

(Figure 5.24).

A third set of events is related to the partial filling of Rooms 2, 3, and 4, plus the

total covering of Room 1 (Figure 5.25). In Room 2, a new floor was prepared upon a ca.

50 cm layer of fill of medium and large size stones. In addition, a 40 cm bench was

constructed approximately 4 m from Room 1 entryway. The new space is labeled as

Room 2A.

In Room 3, a 2.1 m high platform was constructed in the southwest side, covering

a 2.2 by 1.9 m area up to the walls’ summit (Lateral Platform). There is a niche dug over

the platform surface and covered with slabs (Floor Feature 1), with some organic remains

(see Section 4.5.2) in its interior (Offering Set 3) (Figure 5.26). Nearby, a small package

of burnt textile and charcoal was interred before the platform floor plaster was applied

(Offering Set 4).

The rest of the Room 3 area was covered by a 30 cm thick level of large stones,

followed by a 40 cm thick level of shicra bags with medium sized stones. This shicra fill was covered by a thin gravel layer, over which a plastered floor was placed.

Room 4 shows the continuation of the Lateral Platform, which covers a 3.1 by 1.9 m area up to the summit. Subsequently, a smaller platform was built on its northwest 157

Figure 5.22 View of the three niches built at Room 4 front access.

Figure 5.23 View of Offering Set # 1.

Figure 5.24 View of Offering Set # 2. 158

Figure 5.25 Plan of the first filling stage and related activity remains. 159 side, covering an area of 1.6 by 1.1 m. The other area was covered by a new floor level, overlying a gravel layer. This floor was covered then by a 30 to 35 cm thick layer of large stone blocks.

Over this level, a small 1.0 m by 60 cm surface was prepared close to the northwest wall, with several botanical remains such as leaves, branches and food trash, compacted and leveled by wetting with water. Then, a dome-shaped accumulation of ash and silty sediments, mixed with abundant organic remains, was deposited over this temporary platform (Trash Deposit 2) (Figure 5.27).

Filling activities continued with the deposition of a 30-cm-thick level of shicra bags that covered half of the “trash dome.” Over this level, a new platform was constructed, covering the northeastern side of the former Lateral Platform. This new platform covers an area of 3.1 by 1.2 m, up to the walls’ summit. In addition, excavations revealed the existence of two new walls built over the shicra level. One of these walls starts in one of the new platform’s corner, and has one plastered face. The other wall runs from southeast to northwest, at a distance of 1.7 m from the platform. It was built over a compacted silty layer and was plastered in its southwest face. Excavations also revealed the existence of a thick shicra bag fill between the original northwestern and northeastern walls of Room 4, and this new, one-sided wall, which possibly reached the walls’ summit as the other platforms. In contrast, in the space between the new walls and platforms, a thin layer of gravel was placed and immediately covered by a new plastered floor.

160

Figure 5.26 View of Offering Set # 3 in Niche # 1.

Figure 5.27 View of Trash Deposit # 2. 161

Behind the Second Compound, an extension of this 6.7 by 1.8 m Lateral Platform was built, turning towards the southwest, and covering a 3.9 by 1.2 m area, but leaving an empty space between Rooms 1 and 3.

This filling stage also includes the complete covering of Room 1. In this case, unlike the filling processes in other rooms, which were confined to the inner space, the covering involved new retaining walls built outside the room limits. One of these walls was built within Room 2, along its southwest-northeast axis, 1.7 m from Room 1. This wall is composed of two 5.5 m long segments, separated by a 50 meter space, in which both walls turn towards the southeast. They run up to 4.5 m, forming a narrow corridor that ends in a six stepped stairway. Another wall was built at a distance of 60 cm from the northeastern wall of Room 1, and it is possible that a similar one was built at the southwest side. The identified length of this northeastern wall was 7.5 m, but the identification of a transverse wall in the southeastern limit allows one to consider the total length as ca 9.5 m.

After the construction of these retaining walls, several spaces were filled with shicra bags and large stone blocks: two spaces towards the northwest zone, one space at the northeast and southeastern areas, and the inner room space. Shicra bags were deposited up to the walls’ summit, and were covered by a thin gravel layer, which supported a plastered floor. A small textile bag (probably cotton) with organic remains was found in this layer, immediately below the plaster that covered the fill within the former Room 1 (Offering Set 6). 162

A final construction event consisted of the building of a small, 1.5 m high

platform, abutted to the retaining walls of the Central and Lateral Platforms, and covering

a 3 by 2 m area.

5.4.5.2 New rooms and spaces

After this initial filling stage, new spaces were created within the complex, while

others were redefined (Figure 5.28). Room 2 was one of the less altered rooms in the

area. A new floor level was prepared in the southeast zone, and its inner area was reduced

to 10.5 by 11.4 m. The new space is called Room 2A to differentiate it from the original one. In addition, another new space was reached from Room 2A: A 50 cm wide corridor

(defined as the “Central Corridor”) that runs from northwest to southeast for 4.5 m, and ends in a stairway with six high steps (40 cm high and 20 cm deep) (Figure 5.29). The stairway connects the corridor with the summit of a Central Platform, placed on the original location of Room 1. The southeastern limit of this platform is defined by a 30 cm high section of the Room 1 southeast wall summit.

A new space with no bench or entryway appears in Room 3, and could be labeled as Room 3A. This room has a 4.2 by 1.9 m inner space, and its surrounding walls are 1.2

m high. Similarly, a new small space appears in Room 4, labeled as Room 4A. This room

has a 2.9 by 1.8 m inner space, and its surrounding walls are 1.15 m high. As in the case

of Room 3A, no entryways exist in this room.

The first filling stage also produced a 1.5 m high platform level located behind the

First Compound. This platform covers an area of ca. 12.4 by 4.9 m. In addition, another

163

Figure 5.28 Plan of the new spaces after the first filling stage. 164

Figure 5.29 View of stairway at the Central Corridor.

Figure 5.30 View of Room 5 from the northwest.

165

platform level was defined behind the Second Compound, covering 3 by 2 m area (Back

Platform).

These platforms became the foundation for new architectural spaces and facilities.

Behind the Second Compound, the Lateral Platform extension left a new rectangular space, between the original First and Second Compounds. This new space is labeled as

Room 5, and includes a 0.75 by 0.6 m pilaster and a stairway with six steps in its southeast side (Figure 5.30).

Room 5 has a 3 x 2.55 m inner space. Three small niches appear in its northeast wall (outer side of Rooms 4 and 3 southwest walls), and its floor has a very thin (1 to 3 cm) plaster layer over sterile soil.

Three other rooms were built over the basal platform behind the First Compound.

These rooms are interconnected by entryways, but lack access from the exterior. In addition, their walls are significantly wide (from 0.6 to 1.75 m wide), but only 65 cm high. The central room is labeled as Room 6, and has a 4.15 by 2.15 m inner space. It connects with the other two rooms (Rooms 7 and 8) by two 60 cm wide entryways placed in its southwestern and northeastern walls. Finally, Rooms 7 and 8 are twin rooms, having both a 2.15 by 1.7 m inner space. In order to get information on the nature of these spaces, Room 8 was chosen for extensive excavation.

5.4.5.3 Activity remains in the new spaces

The excavation revealed several activity remains within two stages of the filling

processes. Thus, these remains seem to be associated with a set of activities conducted

after the new spaces were built during the first filling stage (Figure 5.31). 166

Figure 5.31 Plan of the activity remains found in the new spaces after the first filling stage. 167

In Room 2A, a 30 by 20 cm fragment of a fiber mat was found in the lower floor,

close to the southeast bench (Floor Feature 2). This mat seems to be related to the central

SE-NW axis of the room. Within the corridor, another fiber mat covered the entire floor,

up to the stairway (Floor Feature 3).

Over the Central Platform, a large rectangular boulder (Floor Feature 4) was

placed within the center of the platform. This boulder has a square base and a circular

concave upper section (Figure 5.32).

No activity remains appeared in Room 4A. In contrast, a fiber mat was placed over the floor of Room 3A (Floor Feature 5), in association with other arrangements of botanic

remains (Floor Features 5A, 5B and 5C). In addition, a set of organic remains was

deposited throughout the room and over this mat and other arrangements (Trash Deposit

4) (Figure 5.33).

There is a fire zone in the center of Room 6 (Burnt Area 9), while organic remains

(Trash Deposit 5) appear at the southern corner, close to Room 8. In Room 8, a new set

of organic remains was deposited over the floor, mixed with silt and gravel sediments

(Trash Deposit 6). In Room 5, another burning event took place over the floor (Burnt

Area 10), in association with a light spread of organic remains (Trash Deposit 7). Another

scatter of organic remains appeared over the steps of the southeast stairway (Trash

Deposit 8).

The Back Platform presents a concentrated scatter of activity remains in three

superimposed surfaces (Figure 5.34). In the lower surface, organic remains and burned

cobbles were placed (Trash Deposit 9). In the middle surface, there was a small 168

Figure 5.32 View of Feature 4.

Figure 5.33 Plan of Room 3A and related activity remains.

169

Floor Feature 6

N l

L Tra sh Dep osit 10

Ro o m 8

m N r

a L Tra sh Dep osit 9

Ro o m 8

La t e r a l Floor Feature 6 Pla t f o rm Trash Deposit 9

Figure 5.34 Plans and profile of superimposed occupational surfaces in the Back Platform.

170

hearth (Floor Feature 6), close to a concentrated deposition of ash and charcoal (Trash

Deposit 10). Finally, there was a new fire zone in the upper surface (Burnt Area 11).

5.4.5.4. The second filling stage.

New filling activities took place in the complex after the above activities. First,

Room 4A was initially covered with a silt and gravel thin layer (6 to 8 cm thick), and then

by a level of silty sediments and large stones. Room 3A was also covered by a silt and

gravel layer, which was then covered by a 30 cm thick sandy layer, followed by a new

silt and gravel deposition. No floor surface could be recorded for this room due to

preservation problems. Nevertheless, it is possible that both were covered by a gravel

layer followed by a clay plastered floor.

Room 6 was covered by a thick layer of large-and middle-sized stones (of ca. 60

by 40 by 20 cm to 20 by 10 by 5 cm), followed by a thin gravel layer and a plastered

floor. Room 8 was filled with loose, silt and gravel sediments with stones, followed by a

semi-compacted gravel and sand layer. In this room, three floor levels were prepared.

In contrast to these filling activities, Room 5 was covered by a 1.5 m thick fill of shicra

bags, followed by a single level of large stone blocks. These stones were then covered by

a 10 cm thick gravel layer, followed by a plastered floor. This floor also covered the

adjacent platform area, previously filled with a gravel layer. A small burned textile bag containing some organic remains had been deposited in this layer before the application of a silty plaster (Offering Set 5).

As a result of the filling of Rooms 3A, 4A, 5, 6, 7, and 8, the Central, Lateral and

Back Platforms were merged into a single platform, defined as the Final Platform, with 171 an identified area of 19.4 (possibly 29) by 14.7 m. This platform was preceded by the still remaining Central Corridor and Room 2A.

Several small walls, of 10 to 30 cm high, were built over the floor of the new, large platform built on the Second Filling Stage (Figure 5.35). These walls are aligned with the main central axis of the complex, and, although they seem to be incomplete due to preservation problems, they apparently resemble the original, buried spaces.

5.4.5.5 New spaces and activity remains

Over the area of the former Room 1, two benches, and five walls were built, defining four to five sub-spaces (Figure 5.36). Another set of small walls define an area divided by three spaces, over Rooms 3, 4 and 5. The area over the former Room 5 was the only one with definite limits, and was labeled as Room 5A. Finally, supported by the original Room 1 southeast wall, another set of small rooms define three to four new spaces over Rooms 6, 7 and 8.

Some activity remains were identified in association with these new spaces. In

Room 5A, another burnt area was found (Burnt Area 12). In addition, another burnt area was found at the entrance to the central corridor (Burnt Area 7). Similarly, in front of

Floor Feature 4, at the Final Platform, a large fireplace appeared, covering a 3.11 by 1.3 m area (Burnt Area 8) between Floor Feature 4 and the Central Corridor’s stairway.

Finally, a set of organic remains appeared within the corridor, over the mat and the steps of the stairway (Trash Deposit 3).

172

Figure 5.35 Plan of the second filling stage and related activity remains. 173

Figure 5.36 Plan of the new spaces after the second filling stage and related activity remains

174

5.4.5.6 The last filling stage

The Cerro Lampay complex was completely buried in a last filling stage. This

stage implied a new set of events (Figure 5.37). The first one implied the filling of Room

2A. Excavations revealed that this filling implied the blocking up the northwestern

entryway with a 75 cm wide wall. Then, the room was covered with a 2 m high fill of

shicra bags. These bags were deposited initially in the southeast side, covering the walls of the Final Platform. This first fill was supported by an expedient step-like retaining wall built of large stone blocks. This wall had a curved shape, and seemed to run along the southwest-northeast axis. It was then covered by a new shicra bags fill. Another

structural 1 m high wall was built close to the northwest entryway.

An outstanding find in the shicra bags fill of Room 2A was a human head lying on

a cluster of grass leaves and placed amont the shicra bags (Offering Set 7) (Figure 5.38).

After Room 2A was buried, the Central Corridor was filled by a mixed silt and gravel sediment, which also covered a small portion of Room 2A space.

Filling activities also included a 0.8 m wide shicra fill along the outside walls of

the compound. This fill was supported by expedient one-sided walls built at a 1 m

distance from the Architectural Complex walls. This fill was identified in 2 m long

sections at the northwest and northeast sides of the complex, and they probably also ran

along the southwest side. In addition, this fill was wider at the northern quarter of the

complex, possibly covering a ca 10 by 6 m area.

Finally, the filling activity included a last, 20 to 30 cm thick layer of medium-

sized stones (of ca 30 by 15 by 5 cm), possibly covered with a plastered seal. In addition, 175

Figure 5.37 Plan of the last filling stage and related activity remains.

Figure 5.38 View of Offering Set 7 176 177

an expedient, ca. 2.6 m wide stairway was built in the northwest side, as the single access

to the new complex’s summit. It also included a new 79 cm wide fill that possibly spread

along the northwest face of the complex. As a result, the architectural complex became a

solid large 30 by 25 by 3 m platform with a single access, whereas the sunken circular

court remained exposed (Figure 5.39).

5.4.6 Post abandonment processes

No significant evidence of activities appeared at the complex after the last filling

stage. Thus, the filling activities are considered as events related to the end of the

complex’s use and its abandonment. After these events, both natural and cultural

processes took place at Cerro Lampay.

Several lines of evidence indicate severe rainfall affected the site. First, thin layers

of fine silt, produced after inundation, were recorded in Room 1 and Room 2 floors.

Similar deposits were recorded in the sunken circular court. In addition, the southeast side of the court showed evidence of intense alluvial depositions related to watter erosion and deposition of water-lain sediments.

Consequently, the upper 3 levels recorded in the mound can be understood as the weathering of the plaster seal of the entire mound, with the melting and displacement of the silty components from the surface to the lower Level 3, leaving the upper stone fills totally exposed and lacking mortar.

Following these events, several remains indicate the presence of the Late

Intermediate Period occupation that characterizes the lower zone of the ravine,

Figure 5.39 Isometric reconstruction of the final configuration of Cerro Lampay architecture after the entombment process. 178 179 throughout the mound and the sunken circular court. These remains include adobe structures, wattle and daub structures, ceramic scatters, and burials.

5.5. Activity remains

As mentioned before, several activity remains were recorded during excavations at Cerro Lampay. These remains do not seem to be related to the original functions of the architectural complex, but are associated with several filling events, during the building’s entombment. They have been classified into four categories: Floor Features, Offering

Sets, Burnt Areas, and Trash Deposits.

5.5.1 Floor features

Floor features can be fixed, semi-fixed, or mobile facilities placed in or behind room floors. They are composed of different types of materials (Table 5.1), and are often associated with the other types of remains.

Floor Feature 1 is a small niche built in the upper section of the Lateral Platform.

It has a 40 by 50 cm area and is 30 cm deep. The niche walls are supported by stone slabs covered with fine plaster. The niche also had a “roof” made of stone slabs and silty mortar. The upper section also includes a rectangular 35 by 15 cm entryway. After deposition of an offering set (Offering Set 3), the entryway was closed by a hastily made cover of totora (Scirpus totora.) leaves.

Floor Features 2 and 3 are fiber beds, placed in different room-floors. Only one fragment of Floor Feature 2 was identified in Room 2A, while Floor Feature 3 seemed to

180

Table 5.1 Remains identified in floor features at Cerro Lampay

FLOOR FEATURES Cateogories/Materials Species 1 2 3 4 5 5A 5B 5C 6 Clay X X Facilities Wall Basaltic Rock X Scirpus totora X X X X Mat Leaves Schoenoplectus Artifacts junco X Stela Granite X Trachurus murphyi 1 Fish Faunal Sardinops sagax 15 Choromytilus Shellfish chorus 8(1) Salix humboliana C 111 1 Prosopis pallida 1 Inga feullei 1 Ecofacts Branches Equisetum gigantum 6 Unidentified Botanic Dicotiledoneae 3 Charcoal pieces 62 Schoenoplectus Leaves junco 894 Scirpus totora C Rinds Lagenaria siceraria 17

Numbers indicate the amount of identified fragments. Numbers in parentheses indicate the estimated minimum number of individuals. “C” indicates uncountable amounts. 181

cover the entire Central Corridor. Both beds were made of totora leaves. Due to bad

preservation, no traces of their manufacture were identified.

Floor Feature 4 is a large 70 by 60 by 40 cm boulder of reddish granite. This boulder has a flat, rectangular base and a rounded top. A significant trait is the concave

shape of the upper front side, which produces a special acoustic effect (a metallic one)

when hit by another stone.

Floor Feature 5 is a 1.4 by 1.3 m rectangular mat made of countless totora leaves,

twined with junco (Schoenoplectus junco) ropes in sections of 15 to 20 cm. This feature

is also associated with other botanic arrangements. One of them, Floor Feature 5A, is placed at 0.5 m of Floor Feature 5 and is composed by countless willow branches arranged as mangers, cribs or nests. Floor Feature 5B has a structure similar than Floor

Feature 5A, and was placed over Floor Feature 5. Finally, another arrangement of totora

leaves was deposited under Floor Feature 5 (Floor Feature 5C).

Floor Feature 6 is a 28 cm diameter circular hearth, with an 18 cm deep semi-

spherical bed. Its walls were covered with clay plaster, which became reddish by heat

effects. The hearth was filled with pinkish ash sediments mixed with small pieces of

charcoal, shell fragments, and fish bones.

5.5.2 Offering sets

Offering sets are discrete assemblages carefully arranged and deposited in

particular spaces. According to their contents, they can be divided into two categories

(See Table 5.2). 182

Table 5.2 Remains identified in offering sets at Cerro Lampay

Offering Sets Categories Species 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 Gossypium Twinned piece barbadense 2 Gossypium Textile Loose yarns Artifacts barbadense 32 C C C Schoenplectus Fiber Bag junco 1 Lithic Projectile Point 8 Skull 1 Mandible 1 Human Vertebrae 3 Hair C Soft Tissue? C Trachurus murphyi 1 Fish Sardinops sagax 5 Faunal Choromytilus 5 2 Ecofacts chorus (3) (1) Shellfish Mesodesma 7 9 5 donacium (5) (5) (1) Prosopis Branches pallida 4 Charcoal C C C Botanic Inga feullei 12 2 Schoenplectus Leaves junco 30 Unidentified Cyperaceae 578 Numbers indicate the amount of identified fragments. Numbers in parentheses indicate the estimated minimum number of individuals. “C” indicates uncountable amounts. 183

The first category involves objects covered by textile pieces. The most significant

is Offering Set 1, placed in the central niche of the cancelled access to Room 4. It

consists of eight projectile points packed with two twined cotton pieces, which were then wrapped by a set of 10 pieces of cotton yarn.

Four projectile points were made of a dark gray basaltic rock, similar to the one used on construction. In contrast, the other four points seem to be made of metamorphic rocks. In general, points are leaf-shaped, and some may show stems or lateral “wings”

(Figure 5.40).

The other textile packages are Offering Sets 4 (in the Lateral Platform), 5 (in the fillings of the Final Platform), and 6 (in the Central Platform). These sets consist of small amounts of organic remains packed within cotton textiles, and placed in gravel soils before the application of a plastered floor. All sets were found burnt, but retained their original shape as cylindrical packages, suggesting an in situ burning immediately before

floor preparation.

Offering Sets 2 and 3 consist of mixed assemblages of botanic and shellfish

remains, deposited in niches. The assemblage in Offering Set 2 includes 12 pacae (Inga

feullei) leaves, a minimum of 8 shellfish valves, and vertebrae of jurel (Trachurus murphyi) and sardine (Sardinops sagax). Offering Set 3 includes two pacae leaves, four guarango (Prosopis pallida) branches, and one shellfish valve. Ten more shell fragments were found within Floor Feature 1. Nevertheless, only the complete valve was placed over the niche floor, unlike the other fragments, that were within the niche fill, and may have not been from the original set.

Figure 5.40 Projectile points found in Offering Set # 1, Room 4, at Cerro Lampay 184 185

Offering Set 7 is unique in its characteristics. It consists of a human skull,

articulated with a mandible and the first three vertebrae, which was wrapped in a bag of rush leaves, such as a shicra. This offering was placed over a “nest like” container of non

identified Cyperaceae leaves. The remains possibly correspond to a female adult, which

was 20 to 35 years old. Slight peri mortem trauma appears in the skull left side, but no cut

marks appear on the vertebrae.

5.5.3 Burnt areas

Burnt Areas are discrete zones where silt or clay floors have a reddish hue, due to

exposure to intense heat. As no burning features were found in these areas, it seems that

fuel was directly deposited over the floors. In addition, with exception of Burnt Area 10,

Burnt areas were found completely clean, with no remains over them. Excavations

allowed the identification of 12 burnt areas throughout the architectural complex.

5.5.4 Trash deposits

Trash deposits are discrete assemblages of artifacts and organic remains spread in

floors, stairways, or fills. These assemblages show significant differences in their scale,

density and composition (See Tables 5.3, 5.4, and 5.5). It is possible, however, to identify

some common traits

In all cases, artifacts are scant, but are not totally absent (Table 5.3). Textile

pieces (either cotton or other botanic fibers) are fragmented, while stone pieces basically include ground stone, with some evidence of fire exposure. Something similar happens with clay remains. Only three complete worked gourds were recorded. Human remains are scant, although there is one case of hair and coprolites within a deposit (Table 5.4). 186

Table 5.3 Artifact remains identified in trash deposits at Cerro Lampay

Trash Deposits Material Type 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Twinned piece 2 1 2 Cotton Woven piece 1 Textile Loose yarns C 3 1 1 Rope 1 1 Fiber Node 3 3 1 Chipped Undetermined/Flakes 1 1 1 Milling stone 2 Lithic Ground Undetermined 1 4 Fire cobbles 1 163 Burnt Undetermined 4 Clay Unburnt Undetermined 15 Lagenaria siceraria Container 1 1 1 Botanic Persea Americana Pendant 1 1

Numbers indicate the frequency of identified fragments. Numbers in parentheses indicate the estimated minimum number of individuals. “C” indicates uncountable amounts.

187

Table 5.4 Faunal remains identified in trash deposits at Cerro Lampay.

Trash Deposits Category Species 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Hair C Human Coprolite 1 Mammal N.I. Hair C Trachurus murphyi 3 41 12 14 6 211 1 Sardinops sagax 6 1 1 28 3 6 Sciaena deliciosa 4 2 15 Cilus gilberti 12 2 1 14 Sarda chiliensis 17 18

Fish Paralabrax humeralis 7 Engraulis ringens 326 Cynoscion analis 1 Etmidium maculatum 2 Paralonchurus peruanus 3 Unidentified 1 3 4 169 1085 665 722 29 2441 Choromytilus chorus (31) (92) (94) (78) (8) (187) 196 1212 1607 49 597 398 4761 101 1 Mesodesma donacium (52) (105) (205) (6) (138) (31) (479) (6) (1) 35 Chitonidae (5) 2 (1) 2 (1) 8 (3) Collisella ceciliana 1 (1) Balanidae 8 (8) 3 (3) Unspecified Crab 2 (1) 9 (1) Concholepas concholepas 10 (1) 1 (1) 38 62 Scutalus sp. 6 (1) 4 (1) (12) (6) Argopecten purpuratus 4 (1) 1 (1) Shellfish Polynices uber (?) 8 (6) 1 (1) Aulacomya ater 6 (6) 1 (1) 13 Crepipatella dilatata (10) Erizo 18 (1) 145 (1) Fissurella crassa 2 (1) Perumytilus purpuratus 1 (1) 49 Sememytilus algosus 4 (4) (34) Protothaca thaca 1 (1) Semele corrugata 1 (1) Sinum cymba 1 (1) 20 Unidentified 3 (1) 13 (7) 29 (1) 1 (1) (1) Frequency of identified fragments (Minimum number of individuals), C: Uncountable 188

Table 5.5 Botanical remains identified in trash deposits at Cerro Lampay Plant Trash Deposits Species Section 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Salix humboliana 605 74 255 15 282 18 914 2 4 Prosopis pallida 115 67 1 19 35 10 3 3 Inga feullei 2 6 Canna edulis 7 Branch Unidentified charcoal 4 1300 C 110 C 332 C Unidentified Dicotiledoneae 3 3 Equisetum gigantum 3 1 17 1 3 5 Pragmites australis 6 Gynerium sagitatum 13 1 12 9 27 Inga feullei 12 1 11 9 3 20 Canna edulis 263 6 18 Schoenoplectus junco 12 23 21 2 Scirpus totora 213 2 3 Leaf Cynodon sp. 12 20 Unspecified Cyperacea C 2 Unidentified Monocotiledoneae C Gossypium barbadense 3 1 Inga feullei 1 45 6 3 65 Prosopis pallida 16 Pod Phaseolus vulgaris 1 Gossypium barbadense 3 Lagenaria siceraria 142 3 41 3 44 1 Rind Crescentia cujete 10 17 Psidium guajaba 3 Peel Poauteria lucuma 1 2 Psidium guajaba C Capsicum sp. 3 Sapinus saponaria 1 Seed Lagenaria siceraria 1 2 Inga feullei 1 Gossypium barbadense 3 Cucurbita pepo 1 Cob Zea mais 1 Canna edulis 1 Rhizome Manihoc esculenta? 2 Unidentified 8 Fiber Gossypium barbadense 2 11 4 Numbers indicate the frequency of identified fragments. C: Indicates uncountable amounts. 189

Fish remains are mainly of jurel (Trachurus murphyi) and sardines (Sardinops sagax),

seconded by lorna (Sciaena deliciosa), corvina (Cilus gilberti) and bonito (Sarda chiliensis). There is only one significant presence of anchovies (Engraulis ringens). Shell remains are basically bivalves, of Mesodesma donacium and Choromytilus chorus. The proportions of complete valves versus fragments vary according to each trash deposit.

Botanic remains are predominantly small twigs, mainly of willow and guarango (Table

5.5). There is also a significant amount of leaves (mainly monocotyledonous species), but also of rhizomes such as achira (Canna edulis). There is also a significant amount of pods, while peels, seeds and rhizomes are scant. The presence of charcoal pieces is frequent in some trash deposits, while they may be absent in others. The analysis of trash deposits and their functional implications are presented in the following chapter.

5.6 Absolute chronology

In order to get a precise idea of Cerro Lampay chronological position, as well as the duration between the construction of the original compound and the entombment process, 27 radiocarbon samples recovered at the excavations were analyzed1. Five

correspond to the original compounds, and 22 correspond to the entombment process.

The samples of the original compounds correspond to three wooden beams, one

shicra and one charcoal concentration. The beams come from the lintel of Room 1 back

doorway (Sample AA 58779), the lintel of the Room 4 lateral entryway (Sample AA

58780), and the lintel of the shared entryway between Rooms 3 and 4 (Sample AA

1 Simples were measured with the accelerator mass spectometry (AMS) technique, and were analyzed in the AMS Laboratory of the University of Arizona, in Tucson. 190

58781). The shicra sample comes from the fill under Room 3 original floor (Sample AA

58782), and the charcoal is from a post hole located inside the sunken circular court,

close to the southeast stairway (Sample AA 58783).

The samples that correspond to the entombment process can also be classified

according to the identified filling events and related activities.

No samples can be related to the first activities that involve burning. In relation to

the first filling stage, which included the entryway closing and niche sealing, one sample

corresponds to cotton yarn from Offering Set 1 (Sample AA 58788). In addition, two samples can be related to the building of the Central Platform. One corresponds to a shicra bag (Sample AA 58784), and the other consists of burnt yarns from Offering Set 6

(Sample AA 58785). A third sample, also of burnt yarns, comes from Offering Set 4,

related to the Lateral Platform construction (Sample AA 58789).

A charcoal sample was recovered from Room 5, Trash Deposit 7 (Sample AA

58803), and seems to be related to a stage previous to the Back Platform construction.

Then, there is a shicra sample of the back platform construction (Sample AA 58800), and

a charcoal one from Trash Deposit 9 (Sample AA 58793).

There are two samples from the construction of Rooms 3A and 4A. The one from

Room 3A corresponds to a shicra from the construction fill (Sample AA 58791), while

the one from Room 4A corresponds to burnt yarn from Trash Deposit 2 (Sample AA

58787).

Before the construction of the Final Platform, a charcoal sample was recovered

from Trash Deposit 5 in Room 6 (Sample AA 58790), as well as a wood sample from 191

Trash Deposit 6 at Room 8 (Sample AA 58792). Similarly, a charcoal sample was

obtained from Floor Feature 6 (Sample AA 58806), and from Trash Deposit 10 (Sample

AA 58794). Finally, another charcoal sample was obtained from Trash Deposit 8, before

Room 5 filling (Sample AA 58805).

Two samples were recovered from the Final Platform construction. One

corresponds to a shicra bag from Room 5 fill (Sample AA 58802), while the other

corresponds to charcoal pieces from Offering Set 5 (Sample AA 58801).

Two shicra samples were recovered from the filling of Room 2A (Samples AA

58798 and AA 58799). In addition, one charcoal sample comes from Trash Deposit 3,

before the filling of the Final Platform and the Central Corridor (Sample AA 58804).

The three remaining samples correspond to the last filling stages. One sample

comes from fibers deposited over the Final Platform (Sample AA 58786), while the other

two samples are shicra bags from the fill outside Room 2A (Samples AA 58795 and AA

58797).

The resulting 14C dates of these samples appear in Table 5.6, including uncalibrated, 13C corrected dates, as well as calibrated, calendar dates with 68.2 and 95.4

confidence intervals. The calendar year ranges of the samples are also displayed in Table

5.7, indicating their assignments to the succeeding construction events at Cerro Lampay. Table 5.6 14C dates of the samples taken from Cerro Lampay

Years Calibrated Years B.C. Calibrated Years B.C. Sample Material Context B.P. (68.2% probability) (95.4% probability) 2570 - 2510 ( 7.3%) 2500 - 2280 (85.0%) AA 58779 Wood Lintel of Room 1 rear entryway 3923±51 2480 – 2300 (68.2%) 2250 - 2230 ( 2.1%) 2220 - 2200 ( 1.0%) 2470 - 2270 (84.0%) AA 58780 Wood Lintel of Room 4 lateral entryway 3875±42 2460 – 2290 (68.2%) 2260 - 2200 (11.4%) 2570 - 2520 ( 5.0%) AA 58781 Wood Lintel of Room 4 rear entryway 3925±42 2480 - 2340 (68.2%) 2500 - 2280 (90.4%) 2210 - 2120 (44.2%) AA 58782 Grass Shicra bag behind Room 3 floor 3740±39 2290 - 2020 (95.4%) 2100 - 2030 (24.0%) 1860 - 1840 ( 5.2%) 1770 - 1680 (57.8%) AA 58783 Charcoal Posthole on Sunken Circular Court 3423±40 1880 - 1610 (95.4%) 1670 - 1660 ( 2.7%) 1650 - 1640 ( 2.5%) 2470 – 2280 (62.5%) AA 58784 Grass Shicra bag of Central Platform fill 3,897±77 2250 - 2230(4.0%) 2580 – 2140 (95.4%) 2220 – 2200 (1.8%) Offering Set 6, on top of Central 2470 - 2270 (88.6%) AA 58785 Textile (Burnt) 3885±39 2460 - 2300 (68.2%) Platform fill 2260 - 2200 ( 6.8%) 2280 - 2250 ( 5.1%) Shicra bag deposited on top of Final 2300 - 2010 (93.5%) AA 58786 Grass 3746±49 2210 - 2120 (40.1%) Platform 2000 - 1970 ( 1.9%) 2100 - 2030 (23.0%) 2560 - 2530 ( 6.1%) Trash Deposit 2 on fill behind Room 2580 -2510 (17.4%) AA 58787 Textile (Burnt) 3949±40 2500 - 2400 (50.2%) 4A 2500 - 2300 (78.0%) 2380 - 2350 (11.9%) 3360 - 3310 (18.8%) AA 58788 Textile Offering Set 1, on niche of Room 4 4540±41 3240 - 3170 (26.8%) 3370 - 3090 (95.4%) 3160 - 3100 (22.6%) All samples are 13C corrected. Calibration is according to OxCal v39 192 Table 5.6 (continued) 14C dates of the samples taken from Cerro Lampay

2550 - 2540 ( 1.9%) Offering Set 4, on top of Lateral 2570 - 2510 (10.9%) AA 58789 Textile (Burnt) 3939±42 2490 - 2390 (48.9%) Platform fill 2500 - 2290 (84.5%) 2380 - 2340 (17.4%) 2570 - 2510 (30.1%) 2500 - 2450 (30.2%) AA 58790 Charcoal Trash Deposit 5, on Room 6 fill 3968±42 2580 - 2340 (95.4%) 2420 - 2400 ( 5.9%) 2360 - 2350 ( 2.0%) 2280 - 2250 ( 5.1%) 2200 - 2120 (39.9%) AA 58791 Grass Shicra bag on fill behind Room 3A 3734±38 2240 - 2020 (89.0%) 2100 - 2030 (28.3%) 2000 - 1980 ( 1.3%) 2470 - 2270 (85.6%) AA 58792 Wood Trash Deposit 5, on Room 8 fill 3879±41 2460 - 2290 (68.2%) 2260 - 2200 ( 9.8%) 2460 - 2440 ( 1.3%) Trash Deposit 9, on Back Platform 2430 - 2420 ( 2.4%) AA 58793 Charcoal 3855±42 2460 - 2200 (95.4%) lower surface 2410 - 2270 (49.3%) 2260 - 2200 (15.1%) Trash Deposit 10, on back Platform 2400 - 2380 ( 4.2%) 2460 - 2190 (91.1%) AA 58794 Charcoal 3833±39 upper surface 2350 - 2200 (64.0%) 2170 - 2140 ( 4.3%) 2280 - 2250 (14.0%) AA 58795 Grass Shicra bag from periphery fill 3766±39 2240 - 2130 (50.4%) 2300 - 2030 (95.4%) 2080 - 2060 ( 3.8%) 2310 - 2190 (61.7%) AA 58797 Grass Shicra bag from periphery fill 3814±39 2410 - 2130 (95.4%) 2170 - 2140 ( 6.5%) AA 58798 Grass Shicra bag from Room 2A fill 3877±48 2460 - 2290 (68.2%) 2470 - 2200 (95.4%) 2410 - 2370 (12.2%) AA 58799 Grass Shicra bag from Room 2A fill 3852±40 2360 - 2270 (38.0%) 2460 - 2200 (95.4%) 2260 - 2200 (17.9%) 2570 - 2520 (5.3%) 2470 – 2330 (65.2%) AA 58800 Grass Shicra bag from Back Plaform fill 3921±47 2500 - 2280 (88.6%) 2320 – 2310 (3.0%) 2250 - 2230 (1.5%) All samples are 13C corrected. Calibration is according to OxCal v39 193

Table 5.6 (continued) 14C dates of the samples taken from Cerro Lampay

2490 - 2280 (91.8%) Offering Set 5, on top of Final 2470 - 2330 (65.3%) AA 58801 Charcoal 3902±40 2260 - 2230 ( 2.5%) Platform fill 2320 - 2310 ( 2.9%) 2220 - 2200 ( 1.1%) AA 58802 Grass Shicra bag from Final Platform fill 3984±49 2580 – 2450 (68.2%) 2630 – 2330 (95.4%) 2470 - 2330 (64.1%) 2480 - 2270 (90.4%) AA 58803 Charcoal Trash Deposit 7, over Room 5 floor 3897±41 2320 - 2310 ( 4.1%) 2260 - 2200 ( 5.0%) 2470 - 2330 (64.3%) 2480 - 2270 (90.5%) AA 58804 Charcoal Trash Deposit 3, Central Corridor fill 3898±41 2320 - 2310 ( 3.9%) 2260 - 2200 ( 4.9%) 2570 - 2520 ( 6.0%) AA 58805 Charcoal Trash Deposit 8, on Room 5 fill 3930±41 2490 - 2340 (68.2%) 2500 - 2290 (89.4%) Floor Feature 6, hearth over Back 2470 - 2270 (82.0%) AA 58806 Charcoal 3869±40 2460 - 2280 (68.2%) Platform upper surface 2260 - 2200 (13.4%)

All samples are 13C corrected. Calibration is according to OxCal v39 194 195

Table 5.7 Chronological distribution of 14C dates of samples taken from Cerro Lampay

Atmospheric data from Stuiver et al. (1998); OxCal v3.9 Bronk Ramsey (2003); cub r:4 sd:12 prob usp[chron] AA 58788 4540±41BP AA 58802 3984±49BP AA 58790 3968±42BP AA 58787 3949±40BP AA 58789 3939±42BP AA 58781 3925±42BP AA 58779 3923±51BP AA 58805 3930±41BP AA 58800 3921±47BP AA 58801 3902±40BP AA 58804 3898±41BP AA 58784 3897±77BP AA 58803 3897±41BP AA 58785 3885±39BP AA 58792 3879±41BP AA 58798 3877±48BP AA 58780 3875±42BP AA 58806 3869±40BP AA 58793 3855±42BP AA 58799 3852±40BP AA 58794 3833±39BP AA 58797 3814±39BP AA 58795 3766±39BP AA 58786 3746±49BP AA 58782 3740±39BP AA 58791 3734±38BP AA 58783 3423±40BP

4500CalBC 4000CalBC 3500CalBC 3000CalBC 2500CalBC 2000CalBC 1500CalBC Calibrated date

Calibration is according to OxCal v39 196

With the exception of two samples (AA 58788 and AA 58783), the resulting dates are consistently grouped in a time range between 2500 and 2100 B.C. Nevertheless, as

Table 5.7 shows, there are several inconsistencies between the proposed sequential order of the samples outlined above, and their sequential arrangement according to resulting dates. In order to clarify this situation, I will discuss the samples’ nature and contexts within each construction stage.

The dates from samples related to the original construction can be grouped into three ranges. Three of them (AA 58779, AA 58780, and AA 58781) range consistently between 2500 and 2300 B.C. One sample (AA 58782) has a younger assignment of ca.

2200 to 2000 B.C., and the third sample (AA 58783) corresponds to a ca. 1850 to 1650

B.C. time range.

Sample AA 58783 is one of the two samples outside of the main cluster. It corresponds to charcoal pieces found in a post hole of the Sunken Circular Court. In contrast to the contexts of other samples, this post hole was not covered after abandonment and, even though it was originally considered as an original piece of the court’s structure, it may also correspond to materials deposited long after the site was abandoned. This possibility can explain the particularly young date of Sample AA 58783, and suggests that it might be discarded as a reliable sample for dating Cerro Lampay’s architectural construction.

Samples AA 58779, 58780 and 58781 correspond to wooden beams used as lintels in different room entryways, while sample AA 58782 corresponds to a shicra fragment of the platform fill that supported Room 3 floor. The consistency among the 197 first three samples suggest that the compound might have been built around 2400 B.C., while the younger fourth one could indicate that the platform fill might have been a latter addition.

In the case of the first filling stage, five samples (AA 58785, AA 58787, AA

58789, AA 58803, and AA 58793) provide dates that can also be grouped between 2500 and 2300 B.C. One sample (AA 58788) provides a much older date, between 3300 and

3100 B.C, while the date of the seventh sample (AA 58791) ranges between 2200 and

2000 B.C.

Sample AA 58788 consists of unburnt loose cotton yarn deposited as part of

Offering Set 1. The long temporal gap (around 700 years) between the date of this sample and that of the second oldest date (sample AA 58790) contrasts with the proximity of the latter date with 24 other dates, which form the cluster noted above. This inconsistency strongly suggests that there may be some anomalies in sample AA 58788. Thus, even though no indications of contamination can be inferred from its archaeological context, I consider that the date from sample AA 58788 misrepresents the time when Offering Set 1 was deposited and should be discarded for a temporal estimation of this event.

Five of the first filling stage dates overlap with those samples that date the original construction events. This overlap can be explained by an examination of the nature and context of the samples. Samples AA 58785, AA 58787 and AA 58789 consist of burnt yarns, while samples AA 58803 and AA 58793 are charcoal pieces. All of them were deposited in specific contexts between building activities related to the end of Cerro

Lampay’s occupation. Nevertheless, it is possible that their manufacture and/or use could 198 be associated with the building’s lifetime. Textile pieces could have been recycled several times, while charcoal could have been part of prior artifacts or facilities. It is important to note that Rooms 1, 3 and 4 were possibly roofed, and thus, some of the beams or branches used in those roofs could have been re-used during the entombment process as fuel for new activities. It would not be a surprise that, in a final event such a temple entombment, many used or recycled goods and artifacts were re-used in such an event.

In contrast to this scenario, sample AA 58791 provides a younger date, ranging between 2200 and 2030 B.C. This sample consists of a fiber from a shicra used in the filling of Room 3. Shicras are artifacts that were manufactured with the specific purpose of serving as platform fills. Therefore, considering the large amount of shicras used in the entombment, it is reasonable to think that most of Cerro Lampay’s shicras were manufactured for the entombment events, and to infer the cutting of grasses immediately before these events took place. As a result, the date of sample AA 58791 might be more closely related to the time when the entombment was taking place.

The six samples that correspond to the second filling stage (AA 85790, AA

85792, AA 85794, AA 85801, AA 85805, and AA 85806) present the same overlapping pattern as those of the first filling stage, ranging between 2450 and 2300 B.C. As in the other case, they consist of burnt yarn and charcoal pieces, which might also come from recycled materials. A similar situation occurs with a charcoal sample of the last filling stage (AA 58804). 199

In contrast, the shicra samples associated with the events of the last filling stage

(samples AA 58786, AA 58795, AA 58797, AA 58798, and AA 58799) seem to

correspond to younger ranges. Furthermore, three of them (AA 58786, AA 58795, and

AA 58797) can be grouped around 2100 to 2250 B.C. As in the other cases, due to the

sample nature, these dates can be more closely related to the entombment events, which

might have occurred at some time around 2200 B.C.

Consequently, according to the analyzed radiocarbon samples and their resulting

dates, it is possible to conclude that Cerro Lampay architecture was in use for approximately two centuries, between 2400 and 2200 B.C. Apparently the building of the first and the second compound were close in time, while the entombment process was also conducted in a short time span, even though it included several stages and events.

Thus, we can assume that by 2150 B.C., the site was totally abandoned. 200

Chapter 6

CONSTRUCTION PROCESS AND USE OF SPACE AT CERRO LAMPAY

As seen in Chapter 5 architecture in Cerro Lampay originally consisted of a two-

room compound with multiple entryways, associated with a sunken circular court. In a

second stage, another two-room compound with multiple entryways was abutted. Then, a complex “entombment” process took place, including construction of retaining walls as

well as platform filling, interlocked with other activities. Consequently Cerro Lampay

provides significant information on the construction and design of public architecture

spaces, as well as on the closure of these spaces. Moreover, these data allow the

reconstruction of the different kinds of activities that took place in the construction, use,

and discard of Cerro Lampay compounds. As seen before, “discard” is related in this case

to building activities that ended in the “entombment” of the former compounds. Thus, the

cultural behavior related to Cerro Lampay architecture can be divided into activities

associated with construction events; and activities associated with the use of the

architectural space. Both sets of activities are addressed in the following sections.

6.1 Building and related activities.

The construction of the original architectural compounds involved several tasks

and activities that should be reflected in the variability of construction materials,

techniques, and the final design of the built spaces. Nevertheless, many aspects of this 201

original construction process cannot be reconstructed in detail without affecting the

current preservation conditions of the architecture. For example, a detailed record of the

size and variability of stones used in wall construction would have required the removal

of wall plasters. A similar situation occurred with the platform fills, particularly those

associated with Rooms 3 and 4, which were not fully excavated. Consequently, our

record of the original compound’s construction is limited.

In contrast, more detailed information is available for the building activities

related to the temple entombment. As seen before, such events include the building of

retaining walls and the use of shicra bags as platform fill, followed by gravel layers that

supported the platform floor. Consequently, the temple entombment can be described and analyzed as a construction process to address the dynamics of building activities.

This construction process was a complex set of activities that included not only

the tasks and performances directly related to the act of building itself, but other activities

that occurred between them. The interlocked relationship among those events during the

construction process is particularly important for understanding the nature of the social

behavior surrounding the architecture of Cerro Lampay. The remains of both building activities and related activities are discussed in the following sections.

6.1.1 Construction stages and events

In Chapter 5, three major filling stages are identified in what has been called the

entombment process. These filling stages each in turn involved several construction

stages, which consist of the building of defined architectural units that modified the 202 former space. These construction stages were accomplished after several construction events, which involved sequentially conducted and interrelated construction tasks.

Seven major construction stages can be defined for the entombment process.

These stages can be subdivided into specific events, which included wall construction, platform filling, or room filling. The stages and their events can be summarized as follows:

1. The building of the Central Platform

- Closing of access to Room 1

- Wall building and partial filling of Room 2 with creation of Central Corridor

- Wall building and total filling of Room 1

2. The building of the Lateral Platform

- Closing of access to Rooms 3 and 4

- Wall building and partial filling of Room 3

- Wall building and partial filling of Room 4

- Wall building and platform filling to the Southeast of Room 3A

3. The building of Rooms 6, 7 and 8

4. The building of the Back Platform

- Wall building and platform filling to the Southeast of Room 3’and Lateral

Platform

- Creation of Room 5

5. The building of the Final Platform

- Filling of Room 3A 203

- Filling of Room 4A

- Filling of Room 5

- Filling of Room 6

- Filling of Room 7

- Filling of Room 8

- Wall building

6. The filling of Room 2A

- Shicra filling close to Final Platform and expedient retaining wall

construction

- Room 2A central entryway closing and shicra filling of the whole room.

7. The filling of the compounds’ periphery

8. The filling of the Final Platform

6.1.2 Activity remains between construction events.

As seen earlier, several activity remains were recorded in association with different construction events of the temple entombment. These remains have been classified into four categories: Floor Features, Offering Sets, Burnt Areas, and Trash

Deposits. They have different functional implications, which can be inferred after an analysis of their performance characteristics, their composition or contents, their associations with other elements, and their location within the architectural space.

6.1.2.1 Floor features

Two fixed floor features were defined. Floor Feature 1 consists of a niche built in the upper section of the Lateral Platform, immediately before the platform floor was 204

applied. It contained a set of organic remains (Offering Set 3), and was sealed before the

application of the floor plaster. It seems to have functioned as a repository for objects in a

similar way to the niches on Room 4, which contained Offering Set 1 and Offering Set 2.

Floor Feature 6 is the other fixed facility. It is a small hearth dug on the middle

surface of the Back Platform floor. The ashy sediment inside the hearth, associated with a

reduced amount of small charcoal pieces placed at the bottom of the hearth, as well as a

scant amount of burnt fish bones and shellfish, suggest the cooking or burning of organic

remains, as well as the cleaning of the hearth’s inner space. Furthermore, Floor Feature 6

is close to Trash Deposit 10, which consists of a large quantity of charcoal pieces and ash, deposited on a gravel surface.

Floor Feature 4 can be considered as a semi-fixed facility. It is a large and heavy

granite rock, probably placed in a standing position in the middle of the Central Platform and aligned with the Central Corridor axis. Its size, shape, color, and location suggest that

it served as a visual reference point, like a standing stela placed in a central place.

Floor Features 2, 3, and 5 are mobile facilities. All of them are fiber mats, placed

on different room floors. Floor Features 2 and 3 are aligned with the Central Corridor

axis, and seem to have been related to activities conducted through the Central Platform

access. Thus, their function might have been related to the carpeting of certain significant spaces. In contrast, Floor Feature 5 is located on Room 3A floor, and is closely related to

Floor Features 5A, 5B and 5C, which are expedient facilities consisting of an arrangement

of mainly willow branches and junco or totora leaves. Their disposition suggests a 205

repository use for different kinds of contents. It is noteworthy that these features are closely related to Trash Deposit 4, which is spread around, and partially over them.

6.1.2.2 Offering sets

As seen before, offering sets are packed or grouped assemblages, intentionally

deposited in specific contexts or facilities. These sets can be divided into three types.

The first type consists of textile packages containing different kinds of objects. It

includes Offering Sets 1, 4, 5, and 6. Offering Set 1 is the only one with eight stone

projectile points, while the other sets are burnt packages, which seem to have contained

organic remains.

The second type consists of small assemblages of pacae leaves, shells, and in one

case, fish bones. It includes Offering Set 2 and Offering Set 3.

The third type consists of a human head packaged as a shicra, and deposited in

the upper level of a shicra fill. It is defined as Offering Set 7.

These sets of objects are inferred to be offerings because they are valuable goods that were intact just prior to their deposition in defined contexts. It is noteworthy that in

all cases, offering sets are associated with the completion of certain construction events.

Offering Set 1 was deposited over a gravel matrix that filled a niche forming part of the

closure of Room 3’s central entryway. It was deposited immediately before the niche was

sealed. Similarly, Offering Sets 3, 4, 5 and 6 were deposited in gravel layers or other facilities, immediately before the application of floor plasters. Finally, Offering Set 7 was

deposited after large shicra fill was deposited in Room 2A, and before the Central

Corridor was covered with a different kind of fill. 206

6.1.2.3 Burnt areas

Twelve burnt areas were identified within Cerro Lampay architecture, which

share several characteristics. They are clean, reddish “stains,” located on the surface of

plastered floors not associated with any burning facilities. Consequently burnt areas

reveal not only the occurrence of burning but also of cleaning activities after the burning

took place. Despite the discoloration, floor surfaces are well preserved suggesting a

careful sweeping of floors during the cleaning process.

It may be possible to identify the exact nature of burning activities if the remains removed from the burnt areas could be identified or located. In this vein, it is significant that some burnt areas are spatially associated with trash deposits. The identified associations are:

1. Burnt Area 2, located in Room 1, close to Trash Deposit 1, in the same room.

2. Burnt Area 8, located on the Central Platform, close to Trash Deposit 3, deposited

over the Central Corridor stairway and floor.

3. Burnt Area 9, located in Room 6, close to Trash Deposit 5, in the same room.

4. Burnt Area 10, located in Room 5, and surrounded by Trash Deposit 7

5. Burnt Area 11, located on the Back Platform, close to Trash Deposit 8, deposited

over Room 5 stairway and floor.

6.1.2.4 Trash deposits

Trash Deposits appear as discrete scatters of mainly organic remains, eventually

associated with certain artifacts. As seen in section 5.5.4, Trash Deposits have significant differences in their scale, composition, and object density. They have, however, several 207

common attributes. Both differences and commonalities have significant functional

implications.

Artifacts are scant (See Table 5.3). Ground stone includes milling stones and fire- cracked cobbles, suggesting that organic materials were processed in situ. Textile remains are small cotton and other fiber pieces including ropes. Cotton pieces could be clothing fragments, but their small size suggests that they could also have been used for packaging small contents (such as Offering Sets 1, 4, 5 and 6). A similar use could be proposed for the fiber nodes and ropes. Nevertheless, their fragmentary nature, as well as the presence of loose yarns, might imply that they are the product of the breaking or weathering of

larger pieces. Three gourd rinds were also found within the trash deposits. The had been

cut into halves, suggesting their use as containers.

Other objects, such as quartz flakes, burnt and unburnt clay lumps, as well as seed

pendants, show no clear utilitarian use. Nonetheless, their visual performance

characteristics suggest alternative, non-utilitarian functions.

Faunal remains are basically fish bones and shell (see Table 5.4). No complete

fish skeletons were found, nor were there any complete bivalve specimens. The

fragmentary condition of faunal remains suggests that they are the remnants of processed

and consumed foodstuffs.

In the case of botanical remains (see Table 5.5), most of them are non-edible

sections of different plants, such as branches and leaves. Even though a significant

number of charcoal pieces have been recorded, the majority of branches are not burnt.

The use of small unburnt branches has been recorded for the arrangements defined as 208

Floor Features 5A, 5B, and 5C. It is possible, therefore, to consider these remains as the result of dismantling other arrangements. This possibility will be evaluated in the analysis of the relations among floor features, burnt areas, and trash deposits.

Leaves of junco, totora, or other grasses are often used for the manufacture of knotted or looped bags such as shicras, and might have been part of similar kinds of artifacts. In contrast, pacae or achira leaves might have had a different function. Pacae

leaves were found in Offering Sets 2 and 3, as possible containers or repositories. This

function is even more probable for achira leaves, which are particularly suitable for

containers due to their large size and thickness.

There are also several rind fragments from two kinds of gourds. These fragments

might have been parts of containers, such as those previously identified. Finally, other

botanic remains include pods, skins, seeds and rhizome fragments, which suggest that

edible parts of different plants were consumed. As in the case of the faunal assemblage,

these remains seem to be the remnants or leftovers of consumed foodstuffs.

This review of the composition and contents of trash deposits strongly suggests

that they are mainly the product of processing and consumption of foodstuffs. The scant

artifacts seem to be associated with hot and cold processing of food, as well as their

short-range transport (e.g., for serving purposes). In addition, faunal and botanical

remains also support the idea of food consumption, including dismantled facilities,

serving vessels, and a limited quantity of leftovers.

The scant amount of edible plant sections as well as the fragmentary nature of

faunal specimens challenges the idea that trash deposits were offering deposits. As 209 mentioned before, an offering implies goods that keep their value until they are discarded

(and even after it). In the case of trash deposits, goods appear to have been consumed or dismantled before the final act of discard took place. Finally, in an inferred context of food processing and consumption, the existence of some artifacts with a more symbolic or ideological value, such as crystal flakes, raw clay artifacts, or avocado seed pendants suggests that the consumption activities were more significant than daily meals. It is noteworthy that these artifacts also appeared fragmented.

Differences among trash deposits - in size, location, composition, and associations

- are as significant as their commonalities for understanding their nature and placement in relation to the construction sequences.

In relation to scale, Trash Deposits 1 and 5 are significantly smaller than the others. In addition, burnt pieces predominate in both of them. Significantly, they are located in room corners and, as noted above, in close association with Burnt Area 1 and

Burnt Area 9 respectively. The size of the burnt areas suggests that these trash deposits are the remnants of larger assemblages, which may have been removed during the process of cleaning and deposited somewhere else.

A similar scenario can be proposed for Trash Deposit 7. Although it is larger than

Trash Deposits 1 and 5, the amount of organic remains is still small. In contrast to other trash deposits, remains are not clustered in certain areas, but spread throughout the floor of Room 5, surrounding Burnt Area 10. In addition, some characteristics of the assemblage are significant. For example, shell fragments seem to be particularly small, and the proportion of fragmented remains is larger than in other trash deposits (1 single 210

complete shell within 427 fragments). Some remains show burning, but others are only

smudged or show no burning traces at all. Thus, Trash Deposit 7 also seems to be

composed of the remnants of a larger assemblage, cleaned after burning and/or

consumption took place. Curiously, cleaning seems to have been less careful than in the prior two cases.

Trash Deposit 3, 6, and 8 are larger assemblages of different kinds of remains.

Charcoal pieces are present, although they lack coloring effects or ash concentrations.

Trash Deposits 3 and 8 share the trait of having been deposited over the steps of a

stairway and spread over its associated floor. They can be related to the clean burnt areas

placed close to the upper step of both stairways (Burnt Area 8 and Burnt Area 11).

In contrast, Trash Deposit 6 is located in a corner of Room 8, where no burnt area has been recognized. Nevertheless, a possible association could be proposed, considering that Burnt Area 9 is in the adjacent Room 6, and Trash Deposit 5 seems to be an incomplete remnant of the original contents. One hypothesis is that the contents of Trash

Deposit 6 represent the cleaned remains of the original food processing and/or consumption that occurred in Room 6.

The revised contexts show that there is a significant relation between burnt, cleaned areas, and trash deposits. Apparently, they are part of the same set of activities, which might include food processing, food consumption, and the cleaning of the area where those activities took place, with the corresponding deposit of trash remains far from or close to such areas. Nevertheless, this scenario might produce a considerable amount of trash related to food processing (e.g., charcoal and burnt cobbles). The reduced 211 amount of such remains (in comparison to other, non-burnt remains) in the described trash deposits (see Tables 5.3 and 5.5) casts doubt on this interpretation. The review of the other trash deposits will help to clarify this topic.

Trash Deposit 2 is perhaps the largest of the trash deposits. It includes more than

1000 pieces of charcoal as well as faunal and botanical remains. It is also distinctive because it implies the preparation of a surface, which leveled an irregular stone fill before depositing the trash. In addition, the remains were mixed in a silty matrix with abundant ash. If this trash deposit had also been produced after cleaning other areas, it includes not only the remains of consumption but also of cooking and/or processing. Interestingly, no burnt area is directly associated, suggesting that the remains were transported from longer distances than in the other cases.

Trash Deposits 9 and 10 are also distinctive due to their composition. Trash

Desposit 9 is differentiated from the others on the basis of its 163 burnt cobbles, some of them showing thermal fractures. It also includes abundant charcoal, and a small number of shells and unburnt branches, all deposited within ashy sediments. The contents of

Trash Deposit 9 are mainly of burning activities. Burnt cobbles strongly suggest food processing, which nonetheless, was not conducted in the Trash Deposit 9 location, as no discoloration or other trace of in situ combustion appears. To the contrary, all the remains seem to have been transported from another place after cooling. If there are more trash deposits like Trash Deposit 9 within the architecture, this explains the lack of cooking remains in the other identified trash deposits. Apparently, cooking remains could have been deposited separately from consumption remains. 212

Trash Deposit 10 is a concentration of countless charcoal pieces deposited within

ashy sediments. The extremely small quantity of unburnt materials indicates that Trash

Deposit 10 was a highly specialized deposit of burnt fuel. Its close proximity (less than 1

meter) to the hearth of Feature 6 suggests that Trash Deposit 10 is the product of repeated cleaning events of this hearth. Such events, however, might have occurred in a very short

time span, based on the sparse amount of non ashy sediments between the charcoal and

ash concentrations.

Trash Deposit 4 has also a large assemblage of organic remains. Nevertheless, it

lacks charcoal or any other burnt materials. It includes a considerable number of

complete shells, as well as a partially articulated bonito vertebral column and a gourd container. All of these remains suggest an in situ discard, without much transportation. It is noteworthy that Trash Deposit 4 is distributed throughout Room 3A, surrounding

Features 5 and 5A, and partially over them. Consequently, in the case of Trash Deposit 4,

remains are basically associated with consumption, and thus, the associated features

might have been facilities or repositories used during such a consumption event. It is

significant that no cleaning activity seems to have happened in this case, and the food

leftovers as well as the related facilities remained in situ. In other words, the Room 3A

context seems to show how other consumption areas looked before being cleaned.

As a result, despite their shared relation with food processing and consumption,

trash deposits could be distinguished as marginal remains of processing and consumption

activities (Trash Deposits 1, 5, and 7), bulk remains of adjacent consumption activities

(Trash Deposits 3, 6, and 8), bulk remains of remote processing and consumption 213

activities (Trash Deposit 2), remains of adjacent processing activities (Trash Deposit 10),

remains of remote processing activities (Trash Deposit 9), and in situ remains of consumption activities (Trash Deposit 4). The logic of the distribution of these activities within the architecture is discussed in the following section.

6.1.3 The nature and sequencing of activities

Three main types of activities could be inferred from the previous analyses. They are: consumption, offering, and congregation.

Consumption appears related to burnt areas and trash deposits. Several lines of evidence indicate that burning is related to food processing and the cleaning of the fire

zones, with the corresponding accumulation of fired cobbles, ash, and charcoal in

different trash deposits. Food might have been consumed in the same place, judging from

the composition of some trash deposits adjacent to the burnt areas. Nonetheless, as noted

above, some exceptions occur, like the context of Feature 6 and Trash Deposit 10, apparently associated with processing food that was consumed in other places. Similarly,

Feature 5 and Trash Deposit 4 form a consumption context placed far from any cooking area. Finally, as noted before, the existence of artifacts with symbolic value indicates that these consumption activities involve more than eating.

In order to understand the role of such activities during a construction process, it

is important to review the stratigraphic information from each context. All the burnt areas

appear in prepared floors; however, they do not seem to be part of the original floor

functions, but were produced immediately before rooms were filled and covered. The

same situation occurs with trash deposits. Trash Deposits 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8 appear 214

over floors and in the lower levels of earth, stone, or shicra fills, suggesting that they were also deposited just before the filling activities took place. Trash Deposit 2 is the only one that appears over a fill layer. Nevertheless, it is over an initial fill of large stones, placed before the major, shicra fill, was deposited over Room 4.

Consequently, consumption activities seem to have taken place immediately before construction (particularly filling) started. Furthermore, the identified contexts of food consumption seem to be related to several of the identified building events (Table

6.1). The repeated appearance of these relations suggests that consumption activities were not only casual or episodic acts. They were construction tasks; a required first step in the chain of acts involved in a construction event. These acts not only involved food consumption, but the careful cleaning of the architectural spaces to be buried, and the disposal of the activity remains.

Offerings are basically related to the careful discard of sets of objects that kept their valuable properties at the moment when they were burned and/or deposited in niches or beneath floor levels. They include the offering sets as well as some fixed features. In contrast to consumption activities, offering acts seem to have been conducted at the end of construction events. Furthermore, they seem to be frequently associated with the final floor plastering of platforms or filled rooms, after all the fill was deposited.

Thus, offering activities seem to be at the end of the chain of acts that began with food consumption, and should also be considered as construction tasks.

One possible scenario for congregation activities has been inferred from the potential interaction among people around Floor Feature 4. This feature consists of a

Table 6.1

Activity Remains Construction Event Built Space

BA 1, BA 2, TD 1 previous to Wall building and filling of Room 1 resulting in Central Platform

BA 5, BA 6, TD 2 previous to Wall building and filling of Room 4 resulting in Lateral Platform BA 3, BA 4 previous to Wall building and filling of Room 3 resulting in

Wall building and filling southeast of TD 9 previous to Lateral Platform resulting in Back Platform

F 5, F5A, F5B, F5C, TD 4 previous to Filling of Room 3A resulting in

BA 11, TD 8 previous to Filling of Room 5 resulting in Final Platform

TD 5, BA 9 previous to Filling of Room 6 resulting in

TD 6 previous to Filling of Room 8 resulting in

BA 7 previous to Filling of Room 2A resulting in Entombed BA 8, BA 12, TD temple 3 previous to Cover of final platform resulting in Relation of activity remains from food processing and consumption with construction events 215 216 large boulder with largely visual performance characteristics, emplaced at the Central

Platform, just before the final filling process took place.

The social significance of the identified behaviors of consumption, offering, and congregation is addressed in Section 6.3. Meanwhile, we can conclude that the construction process, defined as the temple entombment, was organized in a program of patterned chains of activities (Table 6.2) that involved the processing and consumption of foodstuffs, succeeded by the construction of retaining walls and the filling of platforms or prior room spaces. At the end of the filling processes, offering activities took place before the final floors were applied. One important characteristic of this building program is that, instead of a single, massive construction event, several events seem to have taken place, some of them simultaneously. The existence of consumption and offering activities for each of these events indicates that all were significant, and deserve to be treated as patterned behavior.

6.2 Constructed space and human interaction

As noted before, the architectural complex identified at Cerro Lampay was not built in a single event, but grew through time, experiencing specific transformations during its development. Each construction stage implied the materialization of a specific design, which reveals different patterns of human interaction through the built space.

Consequently, each architectural design will be analyzed separately; this will be followed by a synthetic view of Cerro Lampay’s architecture.

Table 6.2 Sequence of activities from earliest (bottom) to latest (top) during the entombment process at Cerro Lampay.

BURIED TEMPLE Filling Filling Filling Filling Filling Filling Filling Filling Filling Filling Filling

Dumping TD 3 Cleaning Arquitectural Cleaning BA 8 Burning Space Offering OS 3 Burning (FP & FC?) BA 12 ABCD (FP & FC?) Filling ROOM 5A Standing Walls Construction Standing Walls Construction Hipotetical Standing Walls Construction Arquitectural Final Platform Space

Offering OS 4 Inferred Filling Filling Filling Filling Filling Filling Filling Abcd Activity Dumping Cleaning TD 8 Burning (FP Abcd Archaeological & FC?) BA 11 Remain Filling Abcd Sequential Cleaning BA 7 Dumping TD 6 Food Cleaning TD 10 Consumption TD 4 Relation in the BA 9 Same Space Burning Cleaning Abcd (FP & FC?) TD 5 Food preparation ? BA 10 FF 6 FF 5 Stela Placement Burning Cleaning A Abc Furnishing FF 2 Furnishing FF 3 FF 4 TD 7 FF 5 Sequential (FP & FC?) Filling Furnishing FF 5B Relation in Burning Abc Different Spaces (FP & FC?) Dumping TD 9 FF 5C

A A A ROOM 2 CENTRAL CORRIDOR CENTRAL PLATFORM ROOM 6 ROOM 8 ROOM 7 ROOM 5 BACK PLATFORM ROOM 3 LATERAL PLATFORM ROOM 4 Hipothetical Activity Filling Filling Standing Walls Platform Filling Retaining Walls Offering OS 5 Construction Filling Construction Hipothetical Retaining Walls Sequential Platform Filling Construction Filling Relation Offering OS 3 Platform Filling Platform Filling Retaining Walls Dumping TD 2 Construction Niche Construction FF 1 FF Floor Feature Filling Cleaning BA Burnt Area Retaining Walls Retaining Walls Construction Construction Platform Filling Platform Filling Food OS Offering Set Consumption Retaining Walls Retaining Walls TD Trash Deposit Access Closing Construction Construction Food preparation OS 1 Offering BA 1 OS 2 ? Cleaning BA 2 Access Closing Access Closing TD 1 BA 4 BA 5 Cleaning Cleaning BA 3 BA 6 Burning Burning Burning (FP & FC?) (FP & FC?) (FP & FC?) ROOM 2 ROOM 1 ROOM 3 ROOM 4

217 218

6.2.1 Spatial organization and spatial experience at the First Compound.

The original architectural design at Cerro Lampay includes what is being defined as the First Compound; a two-room compound that includes Room 1 and Room 2. At a certain moment, this compound was associated with a large courtyard that includes a sunken circular court. In order to address the behavioral implications of this original

design, the defined spaces and their later additions and transformations will be analyzed through two different approaches (see Chapter 2). One approach is related to the spatial structure, defined by the number of built spaces and their access system. The second approach is related to the sensorial experiencing of built spaces, and in particular, to the visual and kinesthetic experiencing of space.

6.2.1.1 Spatial structure and space syntax

As seen before, the spatial structure of the first compound can be addressed using

the Gamma-analysis proposed by Bill Hillier and Julienne Hanson (1984). Gamma-

analysis examines the relation between the spaces associated with structures and the

outer, carrier space. The significant variable of this relation is the degree of permeability

among the spaces in a building, which is manifested in four properties: symmetry,

asymmetry, distributedness and nondistributedness. Both sets of properties can also be

addressed through specific indices that measure the relative asymmetry (RA) and relative

ringiness (RR) of a given building.

The carrier space

Gamma-analyses at Cerro Lampay require a previous definition of the carrier

space. The lack of recognizable architectural elements beyond the compounds might 219

suggest that the carrier space surrounds the identified architecture. Following this idea,

Gamma-analyses of Room 1, the First compound, or the association of the First

Compound and the Sunken Circular Court, indicate that the spatial structure was always extremely simple (Figure 6.1), with no asymmetry until the sunken circular court appears

(Figure 6.1c), and generates an RA index of 0.1.

This scenario, however, seems to simplify the nature of the space that surrounds the standing architecture. As seen in Chapter 5, Cerro Lampay’s architecture stands on a dry ravine, looking to the northwest, towards the valley plain. The mountain ranges that form the ravine appear on its sides, and a residential zone spreads behind the building over a higher terrace that was delimited at a certain moment by a long wall that ran across the ravine.

The location of the residential zone, as well as the wall construction, suggests that the area behind the architecture was more than just a part of an undifferentiated carrier

space. Furthermore, the entryway placed on the southeast side of Room 1 allowed direct

access to the First Compound from the residential zone. This articulation between the

residential zone and the architectural compound strongly suggests that the former was a

significant area, clearly differentiated from the carrier space, which was mainly in front

of the First Compound.

If the rear entryway defines a significant, specific area, we can also consider that

the lateral entryways in Rooms 1 and 2 might have served to define other areas. The areas

that extend on both sides of the compound correspond to ravine sections that are oriented

towards the surrounding mountains, featuring a totally different landscape than the one 220 observed towards the valley. The distinction of these areas became enhanced when the square courtyard that surrounded the sunken circular court was delimited, and defined the new area in front of the First Compound.

Consequently, for analytical purposes, I propose that the carrier (outer) space at

Cerro Lampay corresponds basically to the area that extends to the northwest, between the architectural compounds and the valley plain. The areas that spread to the sides and behind the compounds are, in contrast, significant spaces that need to be differentiated for a Gamma-analysis.

Room 1

Stratigraphic evidence revealed that Room 1 was the first space built at Cerro

Lampay. Although the construction of Room 2 might have rapidly followed that of Room

1, it is worthwhile to analyze Room 1 functioning as a single unit (Figure 6.2a-b).

Two possible scenarios are proposed. One considers direct access from the carrier space to the areas at both sides of Room 1 (Figure 6.2a), while the other negates this possibility (Figure 6.2b). Gamma-analyses indicate a low RA, and a high RR for the first scenario (Table 6.3), while the second is characterized by more medium-term indices.

Room 1 appears then as characterized by a low-to-moderate degree of hierarchical organization in space, as well as a moderate-to-high degree of distribution of the access systems, which also implies a low-to-moderate degree of centralization in access control.

The First Compound

With the construction of Room 2, the First Compound acquired its final shape.

Room 2 articulates with Room 1 and also defines two additional lateral entryways. As a Carrier Space c. 5

Carrier Space a e

r c

e a

1 S S

p 4

a. r

e i

r r

e a

Carrier Space C C

1 r

i e

e c

p S

c e

i 3

a C

Carrier Space

a e

r c

e a

S S

e i

b. r r

a 1 C 2 1

Carrier Space 2 1

Carrier Space 2

3 45 1

Figure 6.1 Original architecture at Cerro Lampay and Gamma-analysis assuming a surrounding carrier space.

221 222

5 7 6 5 4 4

2 3 2 3 4 1 1

3 1 2

Carrier Space C a rr ie r Sp a c e C a rr ie r Sp a c e 5 7 675 4 3 4 2 4 5 3 4 2 6 4 5 3 4 2 3 1 2 1 3 1 2 1 3 1 2 1 a b c d e f

8 10

9 8 5 5

7 6 6 7 4 4

3 3

1 2 1 2

Carrier Space C a rr ie r Sp a c e 10 10 8 9 8 5 8 9 8 7 5 6 5 7 5 6 6 7 4 6 7 4 4 4 2 2 2 2 3 3 3 3 1 1 1 1 i j g h Figure 6.2 Original architecture at Cerro Lampay and Gamma-analyses assumming a northwest location of the carrier space. 223

result, four lateral entryways functioned simultaneously and, following the previous

onsiderations, we might consider the possibility that a new spatial distinction occurred in

the areas outside the compound.

This situation and the alternative scenarios outlined for Room 1 suggest four

possible scenarios for the First Compound spatial structure (Figure 6.2c-f). RA indexes

for these scenarios also show a tendency for low-to-moderate degrees of asymmetry,

while RR indexes show an even distribution of high, moderate and low degrees of

distribution. Furthermore, means of RA and RR measurements for the First Compound

and Room 1 have very similar values (Table 6.3), suggesting that the building grew and

acquired an even more complex spatial organization; it does not imply significant changes in the degree of hierarchy or centralization within its structure.

The First Compound and the Sunken Circular Court

The building of the sunken court also implied the building of a larger, leveled

courtyard, as well as a low platform between the courtyard and the First Compound. As a

consequence, a new spatial organization appeared. The new architectural configuration

was evaluated through Gamma-analyses that considered the same four scenarios

suggested for the First Compound (Figure 6.2g-j). As a result, it was possible to note an

increase in RA indexes, as well as a decrease in RR indexes (Table 6.3), suggesting that

the construction of the sunken circular court and its adjacent elements implied a shift to a

more hierarchical and centralized organization of the architectural space.

224

Table 6.3 Gamma-analyses results for the original architecture of Cerro Lampay

Room 1 First Compound FC and Sunken Circular Court Spatial Units ab c d e f g h i j Carrier 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 11111111111 21212122222 31212122222 42222223333 523234444 6233434 7333434 84545 9 45 10 55 Mean depth 1.25 1.75 1.4 2 1.71 2.28 2.75 3.125 2.7 3.5 RA 0.17 0.5 0.2 0.5 0.24 0.43 0.5 0.61 0.38 0.55 Mean RA 0.33 0.34 0.51 RR 0.8 0.4 0.86 0.57 0.55 0.36 0.54 0.38 0.47 0.33 Mean RR 0.6 0.58 0.43 225

6.2.1.2 Built space and sensory experience

Human interaction within the built space is not only determined by the boundaries

and internal access systems, but also by the perceptions generated in the experiencing of

space. As noted before, in archaeological contexts such as Cerro Lampay’s architecture,

the visual and kinesthetic experiences can be feasibly addressed.

The visual experience of Room 1 space, when accessed from the frontal or the rear entryway, is dominated by the perception of wideness and low depth (Figure 6.3). In contrast, access from the lateral entryways is dominated by a perception of narrowness and a heightened sense of depth. In addition, the bench that bisects the inner space is low enough (0.30 m) to allow passage over it, but is high enough to provide a perception of elevation or depression, according to the viewer’s position.

In terms of kinesthetic experience, the frontal access of Room 1 is wide enough

(1.7 m) to allow easy displacement towards the inner space. Even lateral and rear accesses are considerably narrower (0.95 m), suggesting a more restricted flow; access width does not seem to appear as a significant element for displacement restrictions. In contrast, it is significant that frontal and lateral accesses are associated with 0.5 m steps, which could also exist in the rear entryway. They contrast with common steps, which tend to be 0.2 to 0.3 m high in order to facilitate human displacement. Consequently, the particular height of the entryways’ steps seems to have been deliberately designed to restrict the access through a physical constraint on human movement. It is noteworthy that constrains appear not only while entering the space, but also when one leaves it.

Figure 6.3 Hypothetical perspective view of Room 1 from the front access. 226 227

Due to its square plan, the visual structure of Room 2 provides a more balanced

experience of width and depth (Figure 6.4), which might have been complemented by the

perception of elevated or depressed plans, through one or more benches (see next chapter for some examples). The increase of depth experience from the frontal access is

also enhanced by the more distant location of the lateral entryways, which are closer to

the rear wall. Within Room 2, Room 1 becomes a distant, rear zone, which also can be

distinguished through color, as Room 1 was painted with yellow pigments and Room 2’s

walls were painted with red ones. It is also noteworthy that the frontal access for Room 2

is wider (2.4 m) and has no steps or other kind of physical constraints on displacement.

The addition of the Sunken Circular Court area enhances the perception of depth

within the compound through the alignment of the front and rear court stairways with

Room 2’s frontal access, which forms a visual central axis (Figure 6.5). From this axis,

other spaces are also included, as Room 2’s frontal access is wide enough to allow the

perception of Room 1’s frontal access and some of its inner space. In contrast, lateral

entryways of both Rooms 1 and 2 are not perceived from the axis. Consequently, the

visual structure perceived from the sunken court outlines the unity of the compound,

within a deep and centralized space.

It is also important to note that it was not possible to recover any information on

roofing or any superstructure features within the original compounds. Nevertheless, we

cannot ignore the possibility that some rooms were roofed and, consequently, the visual

perception of the inner spaces could be influenced by the amount and the direction of the

light sources. Consequently, we should consider the possibility that differences in

Figure 6.4 Hypothetical perspective view of Room 2 from the front access. 228

Figure 6.5 Hypothetical perspective view of the First Compound from the Northwest. 229 230

lighting might helped to differentiate the experiencing of the spaces within the Cerro

Lampay compounds.

6.2.2 Changes and continuities with the construction of the Second Compound.

As seen in Chapter 4, the Second Compound was an addition to the original

design at Cerro Lampay, and implied the disuse of lateral entryways in Room 2. Spatial

organization became more complex, with the addition of new rooms and lateral terraces.

Gamma-analyses were applied to the whole complex with the Second Compound,

including the same possibilities for exterior subdivisions considered for the First

Compound (Figure 6.6). In addition, another analysis was conducted for a hypothetical

scenario that includes a third compound (See Section 5.4.4) (Figure 6.7). Analyses show

that the scenarios with the Second Compound had lower RA indexes than the scenarios with the First Compound alone (including the sunken circular court). Furthermore,

relative asymmetry could have been even lower if the Third Compound existed. In

contrast, RR indexes are very similar for both scenarios (Table 6.4).

These results suggest that the construction of the Second Compound did not imply

an increase of the hierarchy or centrality in spatial organization. On the contrary, if a

third compound was also associated, the architectural development of Cerro Lampay

seems to have been strongly oriented to a more horizontal distribution of spaces.

Nonetheless, access patterns became more centralized in certain levels with modifications

such as the cancellation of lateral entryways in Room 2.

These contrasting developments toward horizontality and verticality can also be

observed through analyses of the visual and kinesthetic realms. 12 13

11 9 11 12 10 7 9 10 7 8 8

4 5 6 4 5 6

3 3

2 1 2 1

9 10 9 10 13 8 7 11 12 118 7 12 6 4 5 6 4 5 2 3 2 3

1 1

Figure 6.6 Cerro Lampay architecture with Second Compound addition and Gamma-analyses. 231 232

15 12 9 11 13 7 14

8 10

4 5 6

2 1

Ca rrie r Spa ce

16 13 14 11 9 12 710 15 8 4 6 5 2 3

Figure 6.7 Cerro Lampay architecture with a hypothetical third compound and Gamma- analysis 233

Table 6.4 Gamma-analysis results for Cerro Lampay architecture with the inclusion of lateral compounds.

Complex with Complex with Second Spatial Units Second Compound Compound and hypothetical ab Third Compound Carrier 0 0 0 111 1 222 2 322 2 433 3 533 3 633 3 744 4 844 4 955 5 10 5 5 4 11 4 4 5 12 4 4 4 13 5 5 14 5 15 4 16 5 Mean depth 3.33 3.46 3.68 RA 0.42 0.41 0.36 RR 0.53 0.42 0.44 234

In contrast to the perception of unity and centrality that the Original Compound

offered from the Sunken Circular Court, the addition of the Second Compound or a third

one demarcates a distinction of a central structure and other, lateral ones. In this way, the

suggested lateral spaces that surround the original compound become more explicit.

While lateral spaces acquire more significance in the overall organization, the compounds´ inner space reduced the importance of lateral interaction. The cancellation of lateral accesses in Room 2 was reproduced, in a certain way, in the design of lateral entryways to Room 3. The Southwest entryway was 1.5 m high and 0.5 m wide, also having a 0.5 m step. Both its size and location implied several constraints for physical displacement. In the case of the Northeast entryway, the access is even more difficult, as

Room 3 stands over a 1 m platform and no stairway exists to reach the entryway’s floor.

Therefore, kinesthetic constraints seem to suggest that lateral entryways in Room 3 might have had little flow or movement, and they were perhaps just symbolic devices that retained former organizational patterns.

Apparently, the increased horizontal differentiation of main spaces, followed by a more centralized inner organization of such spaces, were the consequence of the addition of the Second Compound.

6.2.3 Temple entombment and spatial reorganization with the first filling stage.

The entombment process implied several changes in the spatial configuration of 235

Cerro Lampay architecture, which resulted in a massive square platform with a flat surface. During the first filling stages, there were two main modifications to the original design. The first change involved the appearance of a high platform in the rear area, which covered the former Rooms 1, 3, and 4. The second change involved the creation of room spaces with access from above. When these rooms were not deeper than 0.6 m, no additional facilities were required to allow access. In contrast, when rooms were deeper, they included stairways.

To evaluate the spatial organization of the compound during this stage, we conducted a Gamma-analysis of the identified architecture, as well as an analysis to evaluate a hypothetical scenario in which a third compound was filled in the same way as the Second Compound (Figure 6.8). The results for both scenarios show an increase in the RA indices when compared to the former organization. Nevertheless, separate

Gamma-analyses for the rear and frontal areas of the architecture provide a different perspective on the reorganization of space during this stage (Figure 6.9). The Central

Platform appears as a key space within Cerro Lampay’s architecture at this time, and defines the end of the frontal space and the beginning of the rear one. A differentiated

Gamma-analysis for these spaces in both scenarios, provided contrasting results. The frontal space appears as highly asymmetric, while the rear one shows very low RA indexes. This contrast, however, does not appear in relation to the RR indexes, which show a reduced distributedness in all the scenarios, with the exception of Rooms 6, 7, and

8, located at the platform’s rear zone.

Consequently, the first filling stage provides a clear-cut distinction between a 12 17 19 20 16 11 14 13 15 15 18 6 11 6 12 9 14 10 13 8 8 7 9 7 10 5 5

4 4

3 3

2 2 1 1

Ca rrier Spa ce Ca rrier Spa ce

14 13 15 19 18 20

9 11 13 15 16 14 12 10 8 9 10 11 12 17

7 7 8 6 6 5 5

4 4

2 2 3 3

1 1

Figure 6.8 Cerro Lampay first filling stage and Gamma-analysis 236 237

14 13 15

8 9 10 11 12

7 6 6 5 5

4 4 14 13 15 2 2 3 a. 3 b 8 9 10 11 12 c 1 1 7 6

RA = 0.64 RA = 0.73 RA = 0.25 RR = 0.12 RR = 0.14 RR = 0.13

19 18 20

9 11 13 15 16 14 12 10 17

7 8 6 6 5 5 19 18 20 4 4

2 d 2 9 11 13 15 16 14 12 10 3 3 e 17 f 1 1 7 8 6

RA = 0.51 RA = 0.73 RA = 0.22 RR = 0.11 RR = 0.14 RR = 0.12

Figure 6.9 Complete (a, d) and split (b-c, e-f) Gamma-analyses of the first filling stage scenarios 238 frontal, highly asymmetric organization, with a centralized access system, and a rear, symmetric summit organization, which is also centralized in terms of its access possibilities. This new spatial division is reinforced in visual terms by the addition of a platform level and sunken rooms. Any observer in the frontal space would perceive the unity of the architecture, from the sunken court towards Room 2, with a central axis that projected into the Central Corridor. In contrast, the visual perspective from the summit of the Central Platform includes several spaces, which in most cases could be reached simultaneously.

Finally, the distance between both spatial spheres was reinforced by kinesthetic cues included in the design of the Central Corridor and its stairway. The Central Corridor is 4.5 m long, and is only 0.6 to 0.5 m wide. Its narrowness might have constrained the physical displacement towards the stairway, which consisted of five steps, 0.4 m high and

0.2 m wide. Again, the design does not promote a fluid flow of individuals towards the platform summit.

6.2.4 The final configuration after the second filling stage.

The final configuration of Cerro Lampay is, unfortunately, not as well documented due to preservation problems. Nevertheless, it seems that the unity of the frontal zone in the first stage extends to the rear one, with the filling of all the former rooms. Only segments of low walls seem to indicate a more complicated scenario. These walls, however, do not seem to imply a restriction of access or displacement throughout the platform, but a sort of symbolic “reproduction” of the former, buried spaces (see

Sections 5.4.5.4 and 5.4.5.5). 239

The visual structure in this stage includes the granite stela-like object (Floor

Feature 4) as a referential point that dominates the space throughout the Final Platform.

The stela seems to have been aligned with the central axis, and could also have been

observed from Room 2A.

Consequently, the spatial configuration of Cerro Lampay before it was totally

covered seems to have been a consolidated centralized space which permited contemplation around a strategically placed feature.

6.2.5 Architectural design and interaction. Behavioral perspectives.

The above analyses provide insights for evaluating role of Cerro Lampay’s

architecture in the different interactions of users within its facilities. The interaction

among humans was manifested in different sets of activities in which the scale, intensity

and nature of individuals’ participation might reflect and reinforce significant social

relations. In such an interaction, architecture acts as a frame or regulator that encourages

or inhibits face-to-face interaction among humans. It is noteworthy that the regulation of

interaction is particularly relevant in the case of ritual architectural spaces.

It is obvious that one cannot reconstruct the whole set of activities conducted

within a certain space, as not all activities produce surviving evidence. Furthermore, in

the case of Cerro Lampay, no activity remains were recorded in association with the

original use of the architectural compounds. Nevertheless, architectural design allows

definition of at least two spheres of human activities. One is related to the movement

between spaces, and the possibilities of moving to and from certain areas. The other is

related to the possibilities of movement and positioning within a certain space. Both 240

spheres provide information on the scale and degree of differentiation among the

participants in an activity, as well as their possibilities of interaction.

As seen before, Room 1 has an access system with four different and alternative

entryways. Rather than a random, non-regulated access system, this system seems to be a

device to differentiate groups of participants, according to the entryway they use to enter

or exit Room 1. The low degrees of hierarchy and centralization indicated by Gamma-

analyses suggest a major significance of horizontal differentiations over vertical ones

among participants, although such differentiations have to be understood in relation to the

inner space organization. Entryways can only bring participants into two inner sub-

spaces: the upper plane defined by the bench, or the lower plane, in front of the bench.

Only those entering Room 1 through the rear entryway were directly on the bench plane,

while the lateral and frontal entryways conduct to the lower plane. Therefore, the location

of entryways leading towards different planes might indicate a vertical differentiation among participants, while the alternative entryways for the same plane reinforce the existence of horizontal distinctions in the same scenario.

In addition, Room 1 seems to have been a highly significant space, which implied devices for restricting access, with high steps that provided the experience of a dramatic spatial displacement from outside to inside. Inside the room, the wide visual structure might have oriented individuals to standing positions (unlike deep visual structures that invite frontward movement), possibly promoting a close face-to-face relation between individuals above and below the bench. 241

Both horizontal and vertical differentiations seem to be reproduced in Room 2’s design, as is also suggested by Gamma-analyses. Nevertheless, there is a significant differentiation in the location of lateral entryways, which are closer to the rear entryway.

Furthermore, according to the inferred floor levels, the rear and lateral entryways might have been at an upper plane in relation to the frontal entryway. In addition, the size and shape of Room 2 increases the distance between the front entryway and the other ones.

Thus, several devices reinforce the separation of the frontal zone of Room 2, reached from the front access, and the rear zone associated with the lateral entryways and Room 1 access.

This separation might have enhanced the distinction between those participants who could reach the rear zone and those who could not. Moreover, the square shape of

Room 2 provides a more neutral scenario for standing or moving. Therefore, it seems to have been designed for a different set of activities, probably involving more movement and a larger number of individuals than those who could get into Room 1. It is noteworthy that no specific devices constrained the movement through Room 2’s front entryway, and no recognizable physical remains of barriers were recorded. This suggests that Room 2 was a less restricted space than Room 1.

If the Sunken Circular Court area was added to the First Compound in a second construction stage, it would imply that important changes took place in the nature of participation within the architectural space. As Gamma-analysis indicates, its presence increased the hierarchy and centrality of the spatial structure, particularly from those who entered the compound from the carrier space. Its access system orients participants 242

towards a central axis, without lateral alternatives, providing only a vertical distinction.

Furthermore, horizontal distinctions that existed within the compound could not be

appreciated from the outside. It seems that such distinctions only worked inside the

compound, but not within the Sunken Circular Court Area.

In sum, the original architecture of Cerro Lampay consists of three different

spatial spheres, probably built during a short-term sequence, which involve not only

different numbers of participants, but also different degrees of vertical and horizontal

differentiation among them, as well as different sets of activities. The articulation of

different spaces suggests that participants were divided into sub-groups as they entered different spheres. Thus, after certain activities were conducted in the Sunken Circular

Court, a sub-group was able to access the First Compound through Room 2’s main access. Other sub-groups might have entered the same room through the lateral entryways. Inside Room 2, specific activities might have taken place, including the movement towards the rear zone, to get into Room 1. Room 1 could also be reached by other two groups, using the lateral entryways, and a final group entering through the rear entryway. Then, the room’s size and shape oriented a face-to-face standing position of participants for the conduct of another set of activities.

According to Gamma-analyses, the architectural changes produced by the building of the Second Compound involved an increased centralization in the access systems within compounds, but a less hierarchical organization of the overall architecture. Both First and Second Compounds’ façade and entryways could be observed 243

and reached from the Sunken Circular Court area, but lateral entryways were hard to reach, when still in use, in the compounds’ front rooms (i.e., Rooms 2 and 4).

These changes can be understood as the shift of horizontal differentiation devices

to a more visible area. Such a shift indicates new dynamics in the nature of individuals’

participation while passing through the Sunken Circular Court area, with alternative

pathways towards the First, Second, and perhaps, a Third Compound, where in contrast,

horizontal differentiation devices were reduced through abandoning lateral entryways or

transforming them into mere figurative or symbolic elements. Thus, the former horizontal differentiation among individuals seems to have been transferred to more open-public

spaces; a change that might have implied a different organization of the activities

conducted within rooms and courtyards.

The behavioral implications of the entombment transformations cannot be totally

understood without the reviewing the evidence on activity remains (See Section 6.1). It is

important, however, to outline that the autonomous accesses of sunken rooms suggest

independent and perhaps simultaneous scenarios for the conduct of certain activities. In

addition, most of them seem to be located where former, larger rooms, were originally

built. Thus, the activities that took place in the sunken rooms might have been related to

the significance of the original spaces.

In contrast, Rooms 6, 7, and 8 were built in an area where no rooms existed

before. These rooms are arranged in a central, larger, rectangular space, flanked and

articulated with two twin rooms, resembling the center and lateral access pattern of the

original compound, as well as the possible arrangement of compounds when the second 244

addition was built. Thus, despite the different nature of the activities during the

entombment process, the dynamics of individuals’ participation seems to have retained

the pattern of horizontal differentiation.

Finally, the next scenario before the final filling provides devices for different

activities. As seen above, the placement of the stela indicates that certain activities that

include contemplation of the figure were involved, in a context where small walls seem

to have reproduced or, at least, resemble the former spaces buried during the entombment

process. Only vertical differentiations are appreciated, as well as a centralized access system, suggesting that individuals were congregated or concentrated as a single, large group, possibly differentiated by a smaller sub-group that was able to reach the platform surface where the stela was placed. It is important to remember the kinesthetic devices designed to inhibit or constrain the access to the platform from Room 2A.

6.3 Space building and space use. Social implications.

The social implications of the previously inferred activities and behavioral

patterns are related to the significance of the activities. In addition, they are linked to the

identity of the participants, the group size, and their placement in relation to the

architecture. As noted above, activities at Cerro Lampay are related to the construction,

as well as to the use of the architectural space.

Analysis of the building processes revealed a sequence of construction events,

where food processing and consumption, as well as subsequent cleaning activities, were

conducted immediately before the beginning of building tasks. Similarly, the latest 245

construction events included the deposition of offerings before sealing or plastering the

floor. As already noted, the patterned conduct of these tasks strongly suggests that food

consumption and offerings were not casual events during construction, but required tasks

in a carefully organized sequence. Both in situ food consumption, as well as offerings were not technical contributions to the construction. Therefore, their presence and relevance might have been related to other non-technical building requirements.

Building is usually a collective effort, which requires labor mobilization beyond household ties. This mobilization is accomplished through a series of compromises, often materialized in gifts. One of the most widespread materializations of such compromises is the organization of large scale feasts, in which the host provides abundant food and drink to those who will provide the labor (Dietler 2001; Dietler and Herbich 2001;

Hayden 2001). Similarly, building is also a conscious transformation of the environment, a human intervention in nature. If nature is cognized as a realm of supernatural beings, a new set of compromises and gifts is required to reach accord with those beings (Wallace

1966:64-65). Under these conditions, food consumption and offering appear as activities that fulfill both social and ideological-symbolic requirements for the success of building events. And if such a behaviors become standardized and consistently repeated, it is reasonable to consider the building events as highly ritualized activities (Dietler

2001:70).

The ritual dimension of construction is supported by the architectural design. It is noteworthy that Cerro Lampay architectural units were highly formalized and shared specific design units throughout the building’s use-life. One of the strongest patterns is 246

the regular abandonment of access systems that regulate the flow of individuals

throughout the building. Consequently, it seems clear that the activities conducted within

Cerro Lampay architecture were organized within a patterned sequence, along the three

described spatial spheres of the original architecture. Both the framing of participation

and the sequential and standardized articulation of performances, are good indicators that the activities conducted in Cerro Lampay compounds were of a ritual nature. As seen before, the identification of access systems and spatial organization within a ritual space is particularly indicative of congregational acts and their self-referential messages.

It is important to keep in mind that ritual practices emphasize notions of membership, as well as social states and conditions. Furthermore, congregation acts are particularly illustrative of those states. In the case of Cerro Lampay, those definitions have to be understood by taking into consideration the rear domestic area and the front carrier space.

As discussed above (Section 6.2.1), Cerro Lampay architecture faces a carrier space oriented towards the valley floor, which is closely related to a domestic area, placed behind Room 1. Furthermore, there is a direct connection between the Room 1 rear entryway and this domestic zone. Consequently, the architectural space allows two possible kinds of participants: The local inhabitants of Cerro Lampay’s ravine, and outsiders who can come from the valley floor or even farther. This division fits the inferred vertical differentiation outlined by Gamma-analyses.

In addition, the repetitive horizontal differentiation in access systems for Room 1 and Room 2, with a decrease of such differentiation while one moves towards the sunken 247

court, suggests that these spaces are related more to the local participants, than to outsiders. It is noteworthy that such differentiations started as devices placed within the room walls, and then acquire more visible manifestations through the construction of

secondary compounds. In both cases, the sunken circular court appeared as the first

architectural space for outsiders, with a consistent structure of unity and centralization.

Both unity for outsiders and horizontal division for locals were then reproduced

during the first filling stage. Of particular importance is the organization of Rooms 6, 7,

and 8, reproducing the idea of a central space and lateral, subsidiary areas, while Room

2A and the Central Corridor reinforced the idea of unity. At the end of the entombment

process, unity was reinforced in all the spheres, with the stone stela as a landmark within

the new building.

Room 1 is the spatial unit most intimately related to the local sphere. As noted

above, it not only outlines horizontal distinctions, but also vertical ones according to the

displacement and location of participants. These distinctions suggest the existence of heterogeneity within the local group, which was reflected in differential participation in ritual acts. In this context, we might consider the existence of emerging leaders, whose range of power or wealth cannot be established with the current data.

In terms of participation in construction activities, it is significant that the filling process was not a single large-scale task, but was divided into small tasks, most of them conducted simultaneously. The association of the tasks with consumption and offering remains reveal that all of them were significant, despite their scale or location. Therefore, this stage of the entombment process appears as highly decentralized. 248

In contrast, in the last stage, all the efforts seem to have been congregated on the

fill of Room 2A as well as the periphery. Once again, a contrasting pattern of differentiated and undifferentiated participation appears during construction activities.

We might not discount the participation of outsiders in some of these activities, with the corresponding importance of hosting behaviors such as the offering of food before construction.

In sum, the patterns of ritual participation in congregation activities performed in the compounds, as well as the construction activities, show a contrasting scenario, in which unity and homogeneity are reinforced for outsiders, while horizontal differentiation was outlined for local members. Such behavior is characteristic of a community, understood as a supra-domestic group of permanent face-to-face interaction

(Chang 1968:2-3). As a community, Cerro Lampay people built a ritual facility in order to host and interact with other neighboring inhabitants. Such a facility provides several cues to provide the idea of unity and homogeneity held by members of that community.

In contrast, the same facility provides spatial devices to outline horizontal and vertical differentiation among the community members. It is significant that such devices always divide the space in a symmetric way, suggesting that the community might have had a dual structure.

At the end, when the ritual facility was abandoned and, probably, also the

neighboring residential area, a massive platform was created, with the addition of a large

standing stela. This feature is particularly significant in an Andean context, as large stones with singular shapes have often been considered as wankas (Rostworowski 249

1983:10), which were significant landmarks often worshiped as petrified ancestors. Its association with a context of entombment and abandonment reinforces the possibility of being a wanka of the former Cerro Lampay community. 250

Chapter 7

CULTURAL PATTERNS AND CHRONOLOGY

Cerro Lampay’s excavation provided insightful information on construction materials and techniques, as well as on architectural design, which can be contrasted with the information from other sites. This chapter presents a comparative analysis of architectural evidence (construction practices and general design) of Cerro Lampay and other related Late Archaic sites of the Central Andes.

7.1 Construction practices.

Building activities at Cerro Lampay included the construction of two-sided walls

and retaining walls, as well as platform filling and floor preparation.

Both two-sided and retaining walls were built with angular basaltic rocks of

different sizes. These rocks may have been obtained from the neighboring mountains.

There is an outcrop of basaltic rocks over a mountain slope, approximately 200 m from

Cerro Lampay, which includes angular outcrops and also loose stone blocks. It is likely that this or other outcrops were the quarries used by Cerro Lampay’s builders.

Rocks were placed with their flat sides making the wall surface. They were put within a white to yellow mortar, which was often used to fill the empty spaces produced by the irregularities in the stones’ shapes. No regular stone coursing was recorded. Walls 251

were then covered with white or yellow plaster and were sometimes painted with red pigments.

Platforms were filled with fiber bags (the so-called “shicras”). These bags were

made of looped caña brava (Gynerium sagitatum) or totora (Scirpus totora) ropes. After

the shicra fills were deposited, they were covered with a thin gravel layer, in order to

level the surface for floor preparation. Floors were ca. 5 cm thick, and were made of

white or yellow silty sediments.

7.1.1 Wall construction

The use of angular stones in wall construction, with a flat side making the wall

surface, is a long standing, widespread tradition among prehispanic Andean cultures.

Nevertheless, buildings can be differentiated according to the degree of uniformity in the

size and shape of stones, as well as the regularity of stone coursing within a wall section.

Furthermore, such differences can have chronological or cultural implications.

As mentioned above, Cerro Lampay walls show a high degree of variability in the

shape and size of stones, as well as irregular arrangements of the stones. It is necessary

to determine whether Cerro Lampay is an isolated case or if it is part of a wider, regional

pattern.

Among the more than 30 neighboring sites of the Pativilca Complex available for

comparison with Cerro Lampay (see Chapter 4), two of them provide significant data.

These are the sites of Áspero and Caral, both in the Supe Valley (see Figure 4.2)

At Áspero, Robert Feldman reported the use of angular basaltic rocks set in clay

at Huaca Alta, Huaca de los Ídolos, and Huaca de los Sacrificios. He also mentions the 252

use of rounded boulders in Huaca Alta and Huaca de los Ídolos (Feldman 1980:43, 47),

as well as a wall made of cobbles at Huaca de los Ídolos (Feldman 1980:82). Even though no details are provided on wall construction, Feldman indicates that “generous

amounts of mortar” (Feldman 1980:67) separated the stones, suggesting a situation

similar to Cerro Lampay. Furthermore, Feldman’s illustrations of wall faces show irregular stone courses behind plaster (Feldman 1980:64-66).

At Caral, a detailed description of construction techniques is not yet available. A view of the Templo Mayor mound shows an irregular arrangement of angular rocks, filled with abundant mortar (Shady 2003b: Figure 4). In addition, a brief description of the retaining walls at the sunken circular court associated with the Templo Mayor indicates the use of basaltic rocks of different sizes with a flat side towards the wall face

(Shady et al. 2003a:151). A personal visit to the site allowed me to observe an irregular coursing of such stones in the inner wall of the court, which resembles the stone coursing at Cerro Lampay.

7.1.2 Platform filling

As mentioned above, the main filling technique at Cerro Lampay involved thick

accumulations of fiber bags full of medium-to small-sized stones known as shicras. The

use of shicras has been recorded in several archaeological contexts from Casma to Lurín

valleys, covering a ca. 380 km long segment of the Central Andean coast.

Close to Cerro Lampay, in the neighboring Pativilca valley, recent survey and

testing has provided information on the use of shicra fills for several architectural 253

complexes dated to the Late Archaic period such as Upaca, Pampa San José, Carretería,

and Huayto (Haas and Ruiz 2002:52).

The use of shicra fills has also been recorded at the site of Áspero, in the Supe

Valley. Feldman defines them as “quarried and cane-bagged fills,” where bags were

made using looping techniques (Feldman 1980:48-49). As in Cerro Lampay, Feldman’s

illustrations show the deposition of a 15 cm thick gravel layer after the shicra fill layers,

and before platform or room floor preparation in Huaca de los Ídolos (Feldman

1980:Figs. 18, 20, 23, and 26).

At the site of Caral, Ruth Shady reported the use of shicra bags for the

construction of the main pyramid mounds of the site. Manufacture is similar to that of

fishing nets, and shicras are mainly made of junco (Schoenoplectus junco) and carricillo

(Phragmites australis). They weighed 20 to 35 kg, and were filled with both angular

stones and cobbles (Shady 2001:39-40). A more detailed report on the sunken circular

court of the Templo Mayor mound illustrates the use of shicra fills in the ring-platform

that surrounds the court (Shady et al. 2003a). It is significant that this fill was divided by

structural retaining walls, as in the case of the Room 2A fill at Cerro Lampay (Shady et al.

2003a:149). Shicra fills have been also found in residential sectors at Caral (Noel 2003),

with the singular use of Cortaderia sp. fibers, not recorded previously for shicra manufacture (Noel 2003:225-226).

Shicras have also been reported to the north and south of the Pativilca system. To the north, in the Huarmey Valley, Bonavía reported the use of shicras (he calls them

“retaining bags”) in the fill of a small platform at the site of Gavilanes. Bonavia offered a 254 detailed description of looping techniques in the manufacturing of shicras, which are, in this case, of totora (Bonavia 1982:132-138). To the south, shicras have been reported at the site of El Paraiso, in the Chillon Valley (Engel 1967; Quilter 1985). Engel reported that shicras at El Paraiso were mainly made of caña brava (Gynerium sagitatum), and shows a picture of an unusually large specimen (Engel 1967:266). In contrast, from a sample of 14 specimens, Quilter noted a relatively standardized weight (20 to 30 kg) and size (25 to 30 cm diameter) in shicras, which might have been significant as measures of labor contribution (Quilter 1985:294-295).

7.1.3 Activities between construction events

A significant pattern in Cerro Lampay construction is the presence of different activity remains, built or deposited between construction stages. Other sites of the

Pativilca system share these traits.

At Áspero, Feldman reported numerous re-floorings at rooms and precincts in

Huaca de los Ídolos and Huaca de los Sacrificios. According to him, these re-floorings implied wall demolition and reconstruction, as well as the deposition of fill sediments of a different nature (Feldman 1980:76-79). In Room 2 of Huaca de los Ídolos, Feldman found a concentration of “matting, baskets, food and plant material, and unbaked clay human figures” between two floor levels (Feldman 1980:74-75). Similarly, he found a cache of offerings (cotton seeds, burnt twigs, carved sticks, and a wooden bowl) behind the floor of the main room at Huaca de los Sacrificios (Feldman 1980:94), as well as several trash elements (e.g., ash, charcoal, burnt rocks) in Room D fills (Feldman

1980:89, 92). 255

At Caral, Shady reported a 14-phase sequence at the Templo de la Banqueta

(Bench Temple). According to her, burning events took place immediately before each construction phase (Shady 2001:23).

More detailed information comes from excavations at the Templo Mayor sunken court, where a layer of burnt organic materials was deposited before each re-flooring event inside the court. In one case, a scatter of shellfish (mostly Choromytilus chorus and

Mesodesma donacium) was deposited between the burying of the former court’s floor, and before the deposition of the fill for the new floor (Shady et al. 2003a:156). In addition, a cache of selected large shells was placed within a platform fill, in association with fish bones, two quartz flakes, and granodiorite fragments (Shady et al. 2003a:157)

Similar remains are also found in the residential sectors of Caral, in association with filling and burying processes. At the Residential Sector A, two precincts reported filling processes associated with the deposition of organic remains.

In one case (Shady and Lopez Trujillo 1999), a 120 x 60 cm niche or “box” was dug into the floor of a 3 x 1.5 m room. The former room’s floor showed traces of burning, even though no charcoal was found over it. Over this level, a thin gravel layer was deposited and then, a 39 cm thick deposit covered the box. According to the authors, this deposit could be subdivided in four levels. The lower one contained compacted leaves and branches associated with burnt stones, rodent bones, gourd pieces, and shell.

The following layer was composed of gravel sediments where fish bones, shell, compacted leaves, a small junco mat, and pacae, squash, and cotton seeds appeared, along with quartz flakes and coprolites. The third level contained sandy and silty 256

sediments with more shell, compacted leaves and branches, and twined cotton pieces.

Finally, the last level contained a sort of fiber mat and more shell (Shady and Lopez

Trujillo 1999:193-196).

Within the same Sector A, excavations at another 4 x 2.5 m room revealed a construction sequence with two superimposed floors, associated with filling activities and

the deposition of organic remains (Noel 2002). Behind the lower floor, four clusters of

willow branches, a set of Choromytilus chorus shells, cotton and pacae leaves, and burnt

cobbles were found (Noel 2002:27). After the floor was used, a hole was dug, where new

willow packages, a fiber mat, a complete gourd, and a twined cotton piece were placed.

Immediately before the new floor was prepared, two burnt textile packages were placed

(Noel 2002:29). Finally, before the upper floor was also burned, an extensive deposit of

ash, charcoal pieces, shells (mainly Choromytilus chorus and Mesodesma donacium), cotton seeds, fish vertebrae, and gourd fragments were deposited, in association with 46 shicras (Noel 2002:23).

In Residential Sector X, located at the western limit of Caral, another buried precinct was found (Peralta 2003). Before being filled, burnt cobbles (but no hearth traces), burnt clay fragments, ash, charcoal and organic remains were deposited, in association with quartz flakes and one unfired clay figurine (Peralta 2003:261-262).

7.1.4 Cultural patterns and chronological implications

The reviewed information reveals that several construction patterns identified at

Cerro Lampay are shared by other sites within the Pativilca system. 257

In Cerro Lampay, Áspero, or Caral, wall construction techniques include the use

of stone blocks of different sizes and shape, laid in irregular courses, and interlocked with

abundant mortar. Architectural evidence for the subsequent Early Formative period (ca.

1500-1000 B.C.) in the Fortaleza Valley apparently shows a change in construction

patterns. Two sites of this valley can be ascribed to the Early Formative. One of them,

known as Castillo de Huaricanga, is composed of three square platforms that surround a

courtyard (Vega-Centeno et al. 1998:Figure 11). This compound faces three leveled courtyards, one of which includes a sunken square plaza. Surface remains of retaining walls show an arrangement with more uniformity in size and shape of stones, as well as more regularity in wall coursing, which includes small stones as wedges in order to fill irregular spaces (Fig. 7.1). A similar scenario appears at the site of Cerro Blanco Sur, which has a similar design as Castillo de Huaricanga and also shows more regularity in the size, shape and distribution of stone blocks in its walls (Fig. 7.2).

These patterns also appear outside the Fortaleza Valley, particularly in the Casma

Valley, 80 km. north of the Pativilca system. Sites such as Cerro Sechín (Maldonado

1992:97), Sechín Alto (Fung and Williams 1977: Foto 1), or Moxeke (Tello and Mejía

1956: Lams. IV D y IV F), have public buildings in which wall construction involves regular alignments of large-to medium-sized stones. Even though the stones are not completely “rectangular,” they seem to have been worked on all sides, to produce uniform sizes. Consequently, they are laid in regular arrangements of wide and narrow courses of stones. In order to solve the problem of “empty spaces,” due to irregular stone 258

Figure 7.1 Detail of stone walls at the Castillo de Huaricanga site

Figure 7.2 Detail of stone walls at the Cerro Blanco Sur 259

sizes, the walls included smaller stones, used as wedges or chinking (the so-called

pachillas).

Consequently, it is possible to suggest that the irregular alignment of

heterogeneous stones, found at sites such as Cerro Lampay, Áspero or Caral, is an architectural pattern that characterizes the Late Archaic period buildings of the Pativilca

system, and that this pattern might have been replaced by a more elaborate one during the

Early Formative period.

In terms of filling materials and techniques, the use of shicra bags appears as a

widespread pattern within the Pativilca system. Furthermore, data on sites such as

Gavilanes or El Paraíso reveal that this technique is found beyond the north central coast

limits. Thus, the use of shicras can also be considered as characteristic of a more

widespread coastal construction pattern during the Late Archaic, as all the above-

mentioned cases are assigned to this period. Nevertheless, shicras seem to have continued

in use in some areas during the Early Formative period. The northernmost record of

shicra fills comes from the Las Haldas site, located 20 km south of the Casma Valley

(Fung 1972a:32; Ishida et al. 1960:194). Shicras were identified in looter’s pits in

association with the construction of low platforms of a large architectural complex dated

to the Early Formative period. Shicras were also found at the Castillo de Huaricanga

(Huapaya 1977:28; Ishida et al. 1958:204), where a radiocarbon sample was obtained

from the shicras (GaK 109) providing a date of 3040 +/- 70 B.P. Finally, data on shicras

also come from the Lurín valley, in the Central Coast, where they were found at the sites 260

of Cardal and Mina Perdida (Burger and Salazar Burger 1992:127, 137), which are two

U-shaped architectural complexes also dated to the Early and Middle Formative periods.

Consequently, in the case of the use of shicras for fill, the data reveal that this practice was widespread during the Late Archaic along the North Central Coast, between the Huarmey and Chillon Valleys, with a significant concentration at the Pativilca

Complex. This practice continued during the Early Formative period, although the lack of evidence of this technique for Early Formative sites such as Cerro Sechín or Moxeke suggests a less generalized pattern. A more detailed analysis of shicra manufacture will

be important in order to identify spatial and chronological variability for this filling

practice.

Perhaps the most significant characteristic of construction practices at the

Pativilca system is the evidence of specific activities associated with individual building

events. Using the classification of types of remains proposed for Cerro Lampay (see

Section 6.1), I think that the “box” built in one of the precincts of Residential Sector A of

Caral can be considered a floor feature. Similarly, the willow branch clusters found in the

other precinct can also be considered floor features. The report of “matting” at Huaca de

los Ídolos, at Áspero, also suggests the presence of a floor feature. The existence of burnt

areas is suggested by the report of “burning events” identified at Caral’s Templo de la

Banqueta, as well as in Residential Sectors A and X. Similarly, offering sets appear at

Huaca de los Sacrificios at Áspero, as well as in the second precinct of Residential Sector

A in Caral. Both contain burnt textiles and other organic remains deposited immediately

before floor construction. Finally, artifact and organic remain scatters appear at Huaca de 261

los Ídolos, as well as in the circular court of the Templo Mayor and in the precincts of

Residential Sectors A and X at Caral.

The mentioned scatters include textile fragments, unfired clay figurines, gourd

pieces, burnt cobbles, leaves and branches, coprolites, as well as food remains, consisting

mainly of Choromytilus chorus and Mesodesma donacium shells, fish bones, and seeds.

These remains suggest a similar set of inferred activities as those proposed for Cerro

Lampay. These activities include food processing and food consumption (with related

furnishing events, including mats and willow branch repositories), and cleaning of the

areas where these activities took place, with the corresponding dumping of processing

and consumption remains. These cleaning and dumping activities seem to have produced

cleaned burnt areas, as well as patterned concentrations of trash, like the “box” found in

Residential Sector A of Caral.

Several scholars have interpreted these finds as “offering contexts” (Feldman

1980:75; Shady and López Trujillo 1999; Noel 2002). Nevertheless, it is possible to

consider another explanation. Offering contexts usually imply specific disposal contexts, which are sometimes formalized. Only the “box” of Residential Sector A at Caral has this characteristic. In the other cases, objects appear spread within architectural spaces. On the other hand, offering caches usually include objects that retained their formal properties until they were discarded (see Section 3.2). Consequently, they tend to include relatively new or complete objects, or objects whose weathering or alterations (e.g., burning, in situ breakage) are directly related to the discard event. With the exception of the figurine cache found at Huaca de los Ídolos, the composition of the deposits does not 262 seem to correspond to the characteristics of offering sets. In contrast, the deposits found at Áspero and Caral contain mainly incomplete artifacts or food fragments, which seem to correspond to the remnants of consumed goods. Despite previous interpretations, the described contexts reveal a consistent regional pattern of activities conducted in association with construction events, which appear as a significant aspect of the Late

Archaic cultures in the Pativilca system.

As a result, current data allow the proposition that construction practices within the Pativilca system show significant and consistent patterns that express a regional tradition characteristic of Late Archaic architecture.

7.2 The architectural design.

Although there are some 30 Late Archaic sites identified in the Fortaleza,

Pativilca, and Supe valleys that can be related to Cerro Lampay, most of them remain unexcavated, and surface evidence is in most cases insufficient for comparative analyses.

Fortunately, information on architecture from excavation is available for the sites of

Áspero, Chupacigarro and Caral, all in the Supe Valley.

7.2.1 Áspero

The Áspero settlement spreads over 13.2 ha, and is composed of an extensive midden area interrupted by at least six major platform mounds (Moseley and Willey

1973:460) (Figure 7.3). Excavations were conducted in three of these mounds by Robert

Feldman, who reported significant results for the mounds named Huaca de los Ídolos and

Huaca de los Sacrificios. 263

Figure 7.3 Plan of the Áspero site (redrawn from Feldman 1980:27)

264

Huaca de los Ídolos is a platform mound constructed on a raised slope. Such a

placement gives the mound a perceived height of 10.7 m, although it may have only 4 to

5 m of artificial elevation (Feldman 1980:55; Moseley and Willey 1973:460). The mound summit measures 29 by 23 m and includes several architectural features (Figure 7.4).

Information on these features varies according to the scale and depth of the excavations.

It seems clear, however, that the original architectural design was modified through several construction phases.

A main feature of Huaca de los Ídolos’ design is the presence of three rooms with shared walls and independent, east-oriented entryways. These rooms had individual construction sequences, which include up to five different occupational floors (Feldman

1980:54-79).

The central room is Room 3-5. During the lowest floor use, this was a ca. 4 by 4.5

m room divided by a “clay wall frieze” (Feldman 1980:63) into a 3 by 4 m front room

and a 1.5 by 4 m rear room. Both of them show niches on their inner walls. This design

did not alter throughout its occupational sequence.

North of Room 3-5 is Room 1, a ca. 6 by 2.5 m room that has a narrow bench

abutted to the western wall, which also has one niche. This design corresponds to the lowest occupational floor (Floor 5). In the third floor (Floor 3), the bench was covered, and a room-subdivision appeared, forming a small 2.6 by 1.5 m room (Room 2) at the southern extreme of the original room.

Figure 7.4, Plan of Huaca de los Ídolos summit (redrawn from Feldman 1985:74) 265 266

Finally, there is another room, south of Room 3-5, defined as Room 4, with a ca.

3 m frontal wall and a 40 cm high bench placed at the center of the room (Feldman

1980:77-78).

Nothing is reported on the relations among room walls (e.g., abutments, bonding)

and thus the room construction sequences remain uncertain. Nevertheless, according to

the summit’s plan, there are significant differences in wall orientations (especially in

Rooms 1 and 4, in relation to Room 3-5), which suggest different building events.

Consequently, it is possible to infer that Room 3-5 was built first, followed by Room 1 and, finally, Room 4, which has the shortest stratigraphic sequence. It is also noteworthy that the Room 3-5 entryway is the only one aligned with the entryway of a larger room,

built in front of the above-mentioned three rooms.

The stratigraphic correlation of these rooms with other architectural features is

difficult due to limited excavations besides the rooms themselves (Feldman 1980:79).

The most significant feature is a set of 2.25 m high walls defined as “D” walls, which had

foundations built at the same level as the lower floor of Room 3-5 (Feldman 1980:79-81).

Assuming free access towards the rooms’ entryways, these walls form a 13.6 by 13.4 m

room, with a 2.5 m wide central access and two narrower, lateral entryways.

The connection between this large room and the central rooms is problematic.

According to Feldman, access to the rooms is uncertain due to little excavation in this area. Feldman only excavated a 1 m wide trench that ran along the summit, which revealed the existence of several cross walls between the courtyard access and Room 3-5 267

(Feldman 1980:80). It is not clear, however, if the foundations of these walls lay at the

same floor level as the original Room 3-5 or the large room walls.

Feldman found a wall (Wall E) abutted to the southern Wall D, and apparently

aligned with one of the walls found on the central trench. This wall, however, did not

reach the central zone, as it ended in an “entryway” or “corner.” It also showed different

construction techniques (use of cobbles) than Wall D or Room 3-5 walls (use of angular

rocks).

The temporal relationship of Wall E with the other described features is

significant. By considering that it corresponds with the original design, Feldman states

that access to the central rooms showed a highly controlled access through a “circuitous

route,” as presented in his isometric reconstruction (Feldman 1980:82, 107). Based on

these considerations, Feldman typifies Huaca de los Ídolos design as having

“increasingly restricting access” (Feldman 1987:11), a pattern with significant social and

political implications.

By contrast, if we consider the possibility that Wall E (as other walls found in the

central trench) was a later addition to the original compound, the original architectural

design consisted of a front, large room with three entryways, associated with three rooms

and perhaps only one at the beginning. The overall compound may have covered a ca. 19

by 15 m area.

It is noteworthy that architecture on the Huaca de los Ídolos summit includes other architectural features, located at the northern and western sides of the rooms described above, which were considered later additions by Feldman (1980:83). This 268

implies not only that the construction sequence included modifications of the “central

compound,” but also lateral and rear abutments.

The description of Huaca de los Sacrificios is less detailed than that of Huaca de

los Ídolos. Feldman notes the absence of fiber bags in construction fill, and the frequent

use of large boulders instead of medium-sized rocks (Feldman 1980:95). The mound

summit (Figure 7.5) has a square room of ca. 9 by 9 m, with three entryways in its

eastern, northern, and southern walls (Feldman 1980:92, Figure 27). This room seems to

be related to a smaller room located at the northwest area of the mound summit (Room

D). In addition, a southern compound, close to this room, was reported (Feldman

1980:93).

Finally, several architectural features related to later abutments and modifications

were built within the room space, including a circular firepit located near the eastern

entryway.

7.2.2 Chupacigarro

The site of Chupacigarro, formerly known as Chupacigarro Centro, is a 9.4 ha

settlement composed of several platform mounds (Figure 7.6). The largest architectural

complex has been named as the “Templo Mayor,” and is composed of several

compounds, recently excavated by the team directed by Ruth Shady (2001:13-15). As of

yet, no complete report on the Chupacigarro excavations has been published.

Nevertheless, an approximate idea of its architectural design can be inferred from brief

reports and a scale-model prepared by the Archaeology Museum of San Marcos

University (Shady 2001:15) (Figure 7.7). 269

Figure 7.5 Plan of Huaca de los Sacrificios summit (redrawn from Feldman 1980:91) 270

Figure 7.6 Plan of the Chupacigarro site (redrawn from Shady 2000:43)

Figure 7.7 Scale-model of the Templo Mayor building of Chupacigarro (after Shady 2001:15) 271

According to Shady, the Templo Mayor had a long construction sequence, with emphasis on areal growth rather than volume (Shady 2001:15). At the complex’s southern extreme, there is a ca. 7 by 6 m rectangular room with a bench that divides the inner space into a southern and a northern half. Another compound was built in front of this room. It has a ca. 9 by 7 m area, and is divided by a central wall that defines a rear space of ca. 9 by 2 m with a front and a back entryway, and a front space of ca. 9 by 5 m with lateral benches and four entryways (one on each side). There is a third large room, which is ca. 20 by 20 m. It is also divided by a wall into a rear and a front space. The rear area is a narrow room with one front entryway, two lateral entryways, and three back entryways. The front area has lateral benches and, apparently, only a front and a back entryway. A circular firepit was placed in the middle of this room.

There is a third section composed of a long 40 by 5 m platform that connects the compounds to a 17 m diameter sunken circular court with a 10 m wide rim and two trapezoidal stairways (Shady 2001:15; Shady et al. 2000:36; Williams and Merino

1979:209-210).

Detailed information on the construction stages at the Templo Mayor of

Chupacigarro has not yet been provided. Nevertheless, as in the Áspero case, other compounds appear at both sides of the central complex, suggesting a long process of abutted additions before the complex acquired its final shape.

272

7.2.3 Caral

Caral (formerly, Chupacigarro Grande) is one of the largest Late Archaic settlements in the Pativilca complex, with seven major platform mounds and several minor compounds spread throughout a 58 ha area (Figure 7.8).

Excavations conducted by Ruth Shady (Shady 2001; Shady and Leyva 2003) have provided important data on Caral architecture, and particularly on three buildings: the

Templo de la Banqueta, the Templo del Anfiteatro and the Templo Mayor.

At the Templo de la Banqueta, excavations revealed a two-room compound associated with two rectangular courts (Figure 7.9). The compound covers a ca. 6 by 6 m area, and is also composed of a rear and a front room. The front room has a circular firepit close to the front entryway and a bench in its rear zone, which also supports two upper lateral benches. This room had frontal, lateral, and rear entryways. The rear room has a central bench and a thinner wall section at the center of the back wall, as well as a false entryway. Excavations revealed that the Templo de la Banqueta was built through at least fourteen construction stages (Shady 1997:39-40, 2001:23-24).

Templo del Anfiteatro, is the most prominent building of the southern sector of the Caral complex, having the largest sunken circular court at the site (Figure 7.10). The sunken circular court is ca. 29 m in diameter and is preceded by a 26 m long platform that rises 3.2 m from above the ground surface and had niches on its parallel walls. A four- stepped stairway connects this platform with the sunken court, which also has two stairways, one of which connects it to the central compound at the back zone. According to Shady, the sunken circular court and the platform were added to the central compound

Figure 7.8 Plan of the Caral site (redrawn from Shady et al. 2003a:148) 273 274

Fig. 7.9 Plan of the Templo de la Banqueta structure at the site of Caral (redrawn from Shady 1997:38

275

Figure 7.10 Plan of the Templo del Anfiteatro structure of Caral (redrawn from Shady et al. 2003c:294) 276

in a middle phase of the Templo del Anfiteatro construction sequence, and therefore, the

original building might have included only the central compound (Shady 2001:18-19;

Shady et al. 2003a:Figure 1).

The central compound at the Templo del Anfiteatro has a rear and a front room,

defined as the “main precinct” and the “atrium” by Shady. Nevertheless, in contrast to other buildings, the connection between these rooms includes a stairway, because of the rear room’s higher location. The rear room is ca. 10 by 6 m, and has a bench that divides it into halves. Excavations within the front room revealed several construction levels.

During the last construction stage, the room had a ca. 20 by 20 m area and included at least three low platforms or benches of a U-shaped form. There is a circular firepit at the center of the front room, close to the room’s frontal access. It is noteworthy that no lateral entryways are reported for either of the rooms (Shady 2001:20; Shady et al. 2003c:Figure

1). The area between the compound and the sunken court was enclosed, forming a ca. 35 by 17 m rectangular space.

Several other compounds and buildings are associated with the Templo del

Anfiteatro main compound. There is another ca. 10 by 9 m room with a bench and a niche in its back wall, which is abutted to the back room’s back wall. Nevertheless, they are not connected, as the access to this room (the Southern Precinct according to Shady) looks southward (Shady 2001:20; Shady et al. 2003b:Figure 1). In addition, three other rooms are placed at the eastern side of the main compound, and a circular room with a central hearth was built 10 m east of the main compound called the Altar del Fuego 277

Sagrado. All of these adjacent constructions were enclosed within a ca. 80 by 50 m

walled courtyard.

The Templo Mayor of Caral is the largest building in the northern half of the

settlement. It is composed of a 20 m high stepped platform associated with a sunken

circular court (Shady 2001:25-27). Excavations at the platform summit revealed a

complex set of rooms and entryways that are only partially understood (Shady 2001:25-

27; Shady and Machacuay 2003). There is a room at the center of the summit, ca. 9 by 5

m, with niches in its walls (Shady 2001:27). In front of this room, an 18 by 17 m room

defined as an “atrium” (Shady and Machacuay 2003: Figure 2) was built facing a large

stairway that connects the pyramid’s summit with its base (Figure 7.11). This room has a

2 m wide front doorway and a circular firepit in its center. It also has lateral entryways, as

well as a back entryway. Its inner space is divided into several levels through the construction of at least five low platforms of benches built in a U-shaped plan around the firepit area.

It is noteworthy that, unlike other cases, there is no direct connection between this room and the former back room at the summit center. In contrast, the back entryway leads to an “L” shaped and stepped corridor that apparently surrounds the back room.

Similarly, one of the lateral entryways leads to another corridor, which allows access to several rooms and spaces, as a square room with a central firepit (Shady and Machacuay

2003:Figure 3).

The summit was connected to the ground via a 9 m wide and 18 m high stairway, which reaches the sunken circular court after a 30 m drop (Shady 2001:26). The circular 278

Figure 7.11 Plan of the “Atrium” of the Templo Mayor structure of Caral (redrawn from Shady and Machacuay 2003:171)

Figure 7.12 Plan of the Sunken Circular Court of the Templo Mayor structure of Caral (redrawn from Shady et al. 2003a:150) 279

court has a diameter of 22 m, is 3 m deep, and has a 7 m wide rim (Shady et al.

2003a:149) (Figure 7.12).

According to the excavation report, the sunken court was built sometime after the stepped platform was constructed. Moreover, the platform might have been built several construction phases prior to the first sunken court construction (Shady et al. 2003a:153,

157, 159). In addition, excavations revealed that the sunken court was built by removing an occupational stratum, originally associated with the pyramid (Shady et al. 2003a:155).

7.2.4 Other sites

As seen above, several platform mounds associated with sunken circular courts were recorded in the Fortaleza, Pativilca, and Supe valleys, usually grouped into larger complexes. Nevertheless, surface observations do not allow accurate comparisons with

Cerro Lampay or the other described buildings, as in most cases just coarse geometric forms can be defined. Only the small complex of Cerro Blanco, in the Supe Valley shows an apparent arrangement of a two-room compound and several smaller spaces in the back zone (Shady et al. 2000:37, 47) (Figure 7.13). The existence of similar arrangements in other sites of the Pativilca system remains unknown.

7.2.5 Design patterns in the Pativilca system

The architectural design of Cerro Lampay, described in Chapters 4 and 5, is characterized by the presence of two compounds, associated with a sunken circular court.

Both compounds share the definition of two spaces: a smaller, elongated rear one and a larger, more square-like, frontal one. In contrast, they also show significant differences.

The First Compound, composed of Rooms 1 and 2, separates a rear, long room (ca. 9 280

Figure 7.13 Plan of the site of Cerro Blanco, in the Supe Valley (redrawn from Shady et al. 2000: 47)

281

by 5 m), and a larger and square, front room, which because of its size (ca. 12 by 11.5 m)

can be considered as an open court. Building of Rooms 1 and 2 were separate events. The

Second Compound, composed of Rooms 3 and 4, consists of a square area (ca. 6 by 6 m),

built in a single event, and divided by a central wall into two sub-areas, with the front one

having twice the area of the rear one (ca. 6 by 4 m vs. 6 by 2 m).

Both types of designs can be identified based on the data available on sites in the

Supe valley (Figure 7.14). Arrangements like the one identified at the First Compound

(CL1) appear at Huaca de los Ídolos (A-HI) and Huaca de los Sacrificios (A-HS) at the site of Áspero. Similarly, they appear at Chupacigarro(Ch) and at the Templo del

Anfiteatro (C-TA) and the Templo Mayor (C-TM) of Caral.

Size and proportions of rear rooms are quite similar within these compounds (see

Table 7.1). They frequently include benches that divide the inner space into halves (CL1,

A-HI, Ch, C-TA), and can have more than one entryway (CL1, Ch). Rooms with these characteristics may also appear as single or autonomous units, at the back or sides of the main compounds (Ch, C-TA, and possibly A-HI).

Front courts also show regularity in their proportions, as square spaces. Their size, however, can vary significantly (Table 7.1). They always have a front and a back entryway, and frequently show lateral entryways (CL1, A-HI, A-HS, Ch, C-TM). Their floors are seldom uniform, and include back and lateral benches. They tend to have a circular firepit located close to the front entryway (A-HS, Ch, C-TA, C-TM). In the case

Huaca de los Ìdolos Cerro Te mplo Mayor (Àspero) Lampay (Caral)

Te mplo Mayor Templo del (Chupacigarro) Anfiteatro (Caral) 0 20 m

Figure 7.14 Comparative chart of architectural compounds of the North Central Coast 282

Table 7.1 Main architectural traits of architectural compounds with separated rear and front rooms.

Cerro Áspero Chupacigarro Caral Lampay Architectural Architectural Huaca Huaca de Templo Units Traits First Templo Templo de los los del Compound Mayor Mayor Ídolos Sacrificios Anfiteatro Area 8.7 x 4.4 5 x 4.5 ? 7 x 6 10 x 6 ? (meters) Rear Bench Yes No ? Yes Yes ? Central No No ? No No ? Rear Room Bench Lateral No No ? No No ? Benches Lateral Yes No ? No No ? Entryways Area 12.2 x 13.6 x 9 x 9 20 x 20 20 x 20 18 x 17 (meters) 11.4 13.4 Rear Bench Yes? ? ? Yes Yes Yes Central No ? ? No No No Bench Front Room Lateral ? ? ? Yes Yes Yes Benches Lateral Yes Yes Yes Yes No? Yes Entryways Firepit ? ? Yes Yes Yes Yes 283 284

of the largest rooms, inner platforms are arranged in a U-shaped plan, surrounding the

central-front area and the firepit (Ch, C-TA, C-TM).

Buildings that resemble the Second Compound (CL2) appear at A-HI, Ch, as well as at the Templo de la Banqueta (C-TB) of Caral. These compounds show similar scale and proportions (Table 7.2), with the exception of one compound at Ch, which is significantly larger, and seem to have been a former “front-court,” subdivided into two

areas in a latter building stage. The compounds of this type can have multiple entryways

(CL2, Ch, C-TB). They can also show niches in their walls (CL2, A-HI), and benches

that divide the inner space (CL2, C-TB).

Apparently, sunken circular courts are related to the first type of compounds.

There is a rectangular area that separates the compound from the courts. This area may

consist of a low platform (CL1), a medium high platform (Ch, C-TA), or a high, stepped

platform (C-TM). The distance between courts and compounds is always larger than 10

The sunken circular courts are partially dug into the ground, and have a

“platform-ring” and two trapezoidal stairways. The courts’ diameters vary according to

the size of the entire compound.

The similarities identified among these sites reveal an organizational pattern of

ritual space, and can be considered as the basic architectural arrangement for the Pativilca

system during the Late Archaic period. This pattern is defined by a two-room structure, in

which the front space is twice as large as the rear one. In addition, the front space is 285

Table 7.2 Main architectural traits of architectural compounds with integrated rear and front rooms.

Cerro Áspero Chupacigarro Caral Lampay Architectural Architectural Huaca de los Templo Units Traits Second Templo Ídolos de la Compound Mayor Room Banqueta 3-5 Area 5.9 x 2 4 x 1.5 9 x 2 6 x 2 (meters) Rear Bench No No Yes No Central Yes? No No Yes Bench Rear Room Lateral No No No No Benches Lateral Yes No No No Entryways Niches No No ? ? Area 5.9 x 4.1 4 x 3 9 x 5 6 x 4 (meters) Rear Bench No No Yes Yes Central No No No No Bench Front Room Lateral Yes No Yes Yes Benches Lateral Yes No Yes Yes Entryways Niches Yes Yes ? ? Firepit No No ? Yes 286

usually square, while the rear one is elongated. This type of structure had multiple entryways (i.e., front, rear and lateral ones) in both spaces, and has benches that divide them into halves or quarters.

Structures may have been built in two events, with an original long room and a later square room with “court” dimensions. They may also have been built after a square

space is divided by an inner wall into two areas of a 1:2 proportion. Sites depicting long

architectural sequences, such as Chupacigarro, suggest that both ways of building these

spaces may have alternated throughout time, expanding the building’s area or creating

more internal subdivisions. Therefore, the two-room structure appears as a modular unit

that regulates the growth and development of larger and more complex units, such as the

one identified at Chupacigarro, Caral, or other large sites of the Pativilca system.

7.3 Architectural patterns in the Late Archaic. Comparison and perspectives.

The construction of public buildings is a persistent tradition in the Andean

Civilization that began during the Late Archaic period with the formalization of the first

architectural patterns and traditions. It is therefore important to compare the design

patterns identified at the Pativilca system with other architectural traditions of the Late

Archaic period throughout the Central Andes, in order to evaluate its commonalities and

singularities.

7.3.1. Southwards: The central coast.

Evidence of public buildings south of the Pativilca system have been reported for sites such as Bandurria (Fung 1988:77), Río Seco de León (Engel 1957; Wendt 1976), 287

and El Paraíso (Engel 1967; Quilter 1985), within the Central Coast of the Central Andes.

Among these sites, only El Paraíso architecture has been studied in detail.

El Paraíso is a 58 hectares complex, composed of ten artificial mounds (Quilter

1985:279-280) (Figure 7.15). One of these mounds, Unit 1, was originally excavated and

restored by Frederic Engel, who provides a complete plan of the mound’s summit

architecture (Engel 1967:255). Engel’s work revealed a multi-room compound with

several stairways, entryways, corridors, and other features. Two decades later, Unit 1

architecture was reviewed by Jeffrey Quilter, who proposed a range of four to six

construction phases (Quilter 1985:283), and noted the existence of at least four

compounds within the mound’s summit (Figure 7.16). The oldest compound seems to

have been built in two phases. The first one involves three aligned rooms (Rooms 1-3),

while the second was an addition of two more rooms at the back zone (Rooms 5-6). A

second compound appears at the eastern side of the original one, and is composed of six rooms and its own stairway (Rooms 8-13). Finally, two other compounds, of three

(Rooms 18-20) and two (Rooms 16-17) rooms, were built behind the former, with another two stairways (Quilter 1985:284-285 and Figure 2).

It is significant that room compounds at Unit 1 vary in shape, size and number of

rooms and their construction seem to imply new, autonomous access systems to the top.

A similar organization seems to appear at Unit 2 (Quilter 1985: Figure 8), although the

scale of excavations in this area is too limited to determine it definitively. 288

Figure 7.15 Plan of the site of El Paraiso (redrawn from Quilter 1985:280)

Figure 7.16 Plan of Unit 1 structure at the site of El Paraiso (redrawn from Quilter 1985:283) 289

7.3.2. Northwards: The north coast.

Towards the north of the Pativilca system, evidence of public buildings has been reported for the sites of Gavilanes (Bonavía 1982:61-66), Huaynuná (Pozorki and

Pozorski 1992; 1999), Salinas de Chao (Alva 1986), and Alto Salaverry (Pozorski and

Pozorski 1977).

At Gavilanes, a small, square platform was found at ca. 100 m from the settlement

(Figure 7.17). The platform was ca. 3 by 3 m in area and ca 1 m high. It was built with shicra fills and has a central firepit (Bonavía 1982:64). In the case of Huaynuná, two structures were defined. One of them consists of a 10 by 10 m platform which has a sunken central square area encircling a central firepit (Figure 7.18), which has a

subterranean ventilation duct (Pozorski and Pozorski 1999:174-175). The other structure

consists of a stepped platform built on a hillslope with a central stairway that connects

four terrace levels (Figure 7.19). Terraces are ca 8 by 3 m, and give the whole structure a

20 by 20 m area (Pozorski and Pozorski 1992:851; 1999:176).

In Alto Salaverry, public architecture only consists of an apparently isolated, 9 m

diameter sunken circular court (Pozorski and Pozorski 1977:37-38) (Figure 7.20). In

contrast, at Salinas de Chao, sunken circular courts appear in association with platform

mounds or rooms. Architectural units at Salinas de Chao are mainly built close to a

neighboring mountain, taking advantage of the slope to build raised, stepped platforms.

One of these platforms, named Unit A, consists of a 27 by 19 m platform with a central

stairway, a central “atrium” and low lateral platforms on its summit (Alva 1986:56-57)

(Figure 7.21). A sunken circular court appears at 27 m from the platform. It is, however, 290

Figure 7.17 Plan of platform structure at the site of Gavilanes (redrawn from Bonavia 1982:64

Figure 7.18 Plan of platform with hearth at the site of Huaynuná (redrawn from Pozorski and Pozorski 1999:175.

Figure 7.19 Plan of mound at a hill slope in the site of Huaynuná (redrawn from Pozorski and Pozorski 1999:176)

Figure 7.20 Plan of sunken circular court at the site of Alto Salaverry (redrawn from Pozorski and Pozorski 1977:38) 291

Figure 7.21 Plan of Unit A structure at the site of Salinas de Chao (redrawn from Alva 1986:150)

Figure 7.22 Plan of Unit B structure at the site of Salinas de Chao (redrawn from Alva 1986:154).

Figure 7.23 Plan of Unit F structure at the site of Salinas de Chao (redrawn from Alva 1986:161). 292

aligned with the platform’s central axis (Alva 1986:56-58, Figure 20). Another structure,

Unit B, consists of a stepped platform associated with a large rectangular plaza (Figure

7.22). The platform is composed of three terrace levels, each one with a central stairway.

The rectangular plaza is ca 40 x 20 m, and was apparently enclosed by a palisade (Alva

1986:59-60, Figure 21). Finally, there is a second sunken circular court, apparently

associated with a small compound (Alva 1986:67-68, Figure 25) (Figure 7.23).

7.3.3. The highlands and the Mito Tradition

During the Late Archaic, public architecture in the highland zone is characterized by the Mito Tradition. The Mito Tradition is an architectural pattern defined following large-scale excavations at sites such as Kotosh (Izumi and Sono 1962; Izumi and Terada

1972), Huaricoto (Burger and Salazar-Burger 1980, 1985), La Galgada (Grieder et al.

1988), and Piruru (Bonnier 1988, 1997; Bonnier and Rozenberg 1987; Bonnier et al.

1985). These sites share the presence of square rooms with a central hearth and a split- level floor with a sunken central area around the hearth. Rooms may vary in size, shape and construction material. In addition, they may appear in isolation or as part of larger architectural complexes.

The first attempt to synthesize information on this tradition was done by Richard

Burger and Lucy Salazar-Burger (1980). According to them, the critical issue about this type of architecture was the performance of ritual practices that involved the burning of offerings within an enclosed space. Consequently, the space required surrounding walls, as well as a burning facility located at the center of the inner space. This practice was defined as the Kotosh Religious Tradition (Burger and Salazar-Burger 1980). 293

Elizabeth Bonnier (1988) notes that the practice of ritual burning is a long- standing tradition that existed before and after the buildings under consideration existed.

Furthermore, such a definition does not characterize the main traits of the architectural design found in these public buildings. Bonnier indicates that the main feature of this kind of architecture is a spatial division between a central, sunken square area that surrounds the fireplace, and a peripheral area that rises over the level of the central one.

She defines these areas as the pericaust and the epicaust respectively, and states that they are the key elements that characterize Late Archaic public architecture in the highlands

(Bonnier 1988:347-348). Using the name of the Late Archaic phase at the site of Kotosh, she defined this architectural pattern as the Mito Tradition (Figure 7.24).

As mentioned before, besides the central hearth and the split-level floor, Mito compounds show significant differences in construction materials, size, shape and spatial organization. At the site of Piruru (Bonnier 1987:7), one Mito building was identified. It was a 9 x 9 m structure with stone foundations and a wattle-and-daub superstructure

(Figure 7.25). The central hearth includes a subterranean duct that suggests a roofed space. This occupation was succeeded by an Early Formative period occupation of domestic nature (Bonnier et al. 1985:96-99). No other Mito structures have been reported for Piruru, but excavations revealed an earlier occupation, with four levels of small rooms with central hearths located at the center of flat floors. Bonnier defines them as Pre-Mito architecture (Bonnier 1997:127).

In Huaricoto, Mito structures are small rooms, apparently of wattle-and-daub walls, which lack stone masonry (Burger and Salazar-Burger 1985:121-122). No 294

Figure 7.24 Hypothetical reconstruction of a Mito structure (after Bonnier 1997:138)

Figure 7.25 Plan of Mito structure at the site of Piruru (redrawn from Bonnier 1997:142) 295 subterranean duct was found in association with hearths. In addition, one of the structures seems to lack a split-level floor (Burger and Salazar-Burger 1985:122, Figure 5).

According to Burger and Salazar Burger (1985:121), these structures were distributed around a ca. 2 m high platform. Unfortunately, there is no information on the platform area or its summit organization and entryways.

At the site of Kotosh, Mito structures ranges in size from 4.5 by 4.5 to 9 by 9 m, and thus have stone walls that were mainly covered with yellow plaster. Walls also display niches of different sizes, and some have modeled figures (Izumi and Terada

1972:163-164). Hearths are associated with subterranean ducts, suggesting that the structures were roofed.

Mito structures in Kotosh were built over a large platform with at least three terrace levels that were connected through small stairways (Izumi and Terada 1972:1130-

131) (Figs. 7.26-27). According to the size of the excavated mound, the platform could be

40 by 40 m large (Izumi and Terada 1972:Figure 2). Structures were found and recorded on the first and second terraces.

Excavations at Kotosh revealed a long and complex architectural sequence, with several building and re-building stages that involve both terraces and structures. Bonnier distinguishes between minor construction events such as refurbishing or slight remodeling, and major construction events such as the burying of entire precincts and/or platform levels (Bonnier 1997:129-130). After at least six major construction events, the

Mito occupational levels were covered by the Early Formative, Wayra Jirka phase. In 296

Figure 7.26 Plan of the TM Mito occupation at the site of Kotosh (redrawn from Izumi and Terada 1972:131)

Figure 7.27 Plan of the TM Mito occupation at the site of Kotosh (redrawn from Izumi and Terada 1972:131) 297

contrast, the beginning of the Mito occupation has not been determined, as sterile soil was not reached in the excavations

At the La Galgada site, Mito structures first appear as isolated rooms built over natural soil, with flat floors or low benches (Grieder et al. 1988:24-30). Structures are ca.

3 by 3 m rooms with rounded corners. Walls were made of cut stone and cobbles; they were covered with white plaster and show square niches. Grieder suggests an early use of cobbles for wall construction that is gradually replaced by cut stone (Grieder et al.

1988:32).

In a second phase, Mito structures appear at the summit of two platform mounds

(Grieder et al. 1988:24-30). The north mound covers a ca. 30 by 30 m area and is ca. 15

m high. It shows a long architectural sequence, with at least 9 recorded floors (Figure

7.28). The first four floors correspond to the Early Archaic period occupation. Mito

structures have been recorded from the lower Floor 40, sharing the same morphological

traits as the pre-platform ones (Grieder et al. 1988: Figure 26). The most complete

information on the summit organization comes from Floor 30 (Figure 7.29). Four

structures were built on this floor with the largest one having a 12 by 9 m area. A smaller,

5 by 5 m structure was connected to the first one. In addition, two other structures, of ca.

5 by 4 m, appear with separate entryways (Grieder et al. 1988:38).

The next floor levels correspond to Early Formative occupations, revealing

significant continuity between both periods. In contrast, excavations in the north mound

did not reach the lowest level, and the possibility of occupations earlier than Floor 40 remains open. 298

Figure 7.28 Synthetic section of the North Mound at the site of La Galgada (redrawn from Grieder et al. 1988:36-37)

Figure 7.29 Hypothetical reconstruction of Floor 30 architecture in the North Mound of the site of La Galgada (after Grieder et al. 1988:38)

299

A sunken circular court was built in front of the mound. According to Grieder and his colleagues, its construction might have been an early event, as the court ring was built with cobbles (Grieder et al. 1988:31).

Architectural traits of the Mito tradition appear in coastal sites such as Huaynuná or Gavilanes (See Section 7.3.2). Similarly, they have been reported for two structures at the site of Caral on the North Central Coast (Shady and Machacuay 2003; Shady et al.

2003b). One of these structures has been found on the summit of the Templo Mayor, close to one of the lateral entryways of the summit compound (Figure 7.30). It is a 2.8 by

2.8 m room with an elevated floor that surrounds a circular hearth and a narrow corridor

that connects the hearth with the room access. As in the highland cases, the hearth is

associated with a subterranean duct (Shady and Machacuay 2003:171, Figs 2-6).

The other structure was built within the area of the Templo del Anfiteatro, and consists of

a 3.6 m diameter circular room with an elevated floor that surrounds the hearth and the

corridor (Figure 7.31). It also has a subterranean duct, and is surrounded by a 10.4 by 7 m

trapezoidal room that has a narrow entryway (Shady et al. 2003b:239-241).

7.3.4. Comparative perspectives

The attempt to propose synthetic perspectives on Late Archaic societies has often

been related to the discussion of public architecture patterns and traditions and,

particularly, on the contrast between coastal and highland architecture.

Discussions of coastal architecture have usually emphasized large platform

mounds and open plazas, while Highland architecture is considered to have more private, small-scale rooms (e.g., Moseley 1992a:115). According to this perspective, there is a 300

Figure 7.30 Plan of the room with central hearth found at the Templo Mayor of Caral (redrawn from Shady and Machacuay 2003:176)

Figure 7.31 Plan of the room with central hearth found at the Templo del Anfiteatro of Caral (redrawn from Shady et.al. 2003b:241) 301 significant difference in scale between these regions. Such a perspective, however, was often based on an uneven comparison between unexcavated coastal mounds vs. excavated highland rooms. Sites like Kotosh or La Galgada would have been considered platform mounds if they had remained unexcavated. In contrast, excavations at sites like Cerro

Lampay, Chupacigarro, Caral, or even Áspero or El Paraiso reveal a multi-room inner organization of these mounds, which contradicts the idea of flat open spaces on mound summits.

Another perspective, based on Áspero and El Paraiso data, proposes a difference between structures with independent entryways in the highlands, in contrast to sets of interconnected chambers on the coast (e.g., Burger 1992:51-52; Feldman 1987; Fung

1988:73). This perspective has the advantage of relying on excavation data. Nevertheless, the emphasis on “more complex spatial organization” for coastal buildings is in part based on the assumption that all the recorded summit architecture of Áspero of El Paraiso was built and used simultaneously. My own reviews of Huaca de los Ídolos, as well as

Quilter’s analysis of Unit 1, indicate that this assumption needs to be tested in order to understand the true degree of spatial complexity of coastal buildings.

I propose that both scale and spatial complexity are variables that can be addressed after comparing the basic architectural units within Late Archaic period traditions. Comparison will be made between the Mito patterns and the North Central

Coast (NCC) patterns discussed in Section 7.2.5.

In both traditions, the basic room sizes are roughly equivalent. Mito structures range from 3 by 3 to 9 x 9 m in area. The NCC rear room areas can also be from 6 by 3 to 302

10 by 6 m. Despite this scale similarity, differences appear in architectural design (Figure

7.32). Mito rooms have a square plan, with a concentric spatial division arrayed around the central hearth. In contrast, NCC rear rooms have a rectangular plan, with an inner division between a rear (elevated) and a frontal zone. No hearths are recorded within them. In addition, besides the general plan, Mito rooms have a single entryway, while

NCC rear rooms can have entryways on their four sides.

Both area configurations and access patterns reveal significant differences in design, suggesting differences in the type of activities conducted within each kind of space. Therefore, these design differences might represent different sets of ritual practices.

Beyond this basic difference, rooms of both traditions have different patterns of articulation within larger spaces. In the case of Mito rooms, as Burger points out, they are often aggregated as autonomous spatial units, even if they share structural elements. Only in Floor 30 of La Galgada, we find an articulation of two rooms. In contrast, in the NCC tradition, rear rooms are commonly articulated with frontal, square rooms of 6 by 4 to 20 by 20 m, forming two-room compounds. Front rooms might include a hearth, close to the frontal entryway, and multiple entryways.

Consequently, differences between the Mito Tradition and the NCC Tradition can be summarized as the differences between single-room structures with concentric organization and single entryways vs. two-room compounds with binary organization and multiple entryways. Both types of architecture can be built in isolation or as parts of larger complexes. They can appear over natural soil or over platform summits. 303

Figure 7.32 Comparative chart of NCC structures from Cerro Lampay and Mito structures from Kotosh. 304

They can also be associated with sunken circular courts, which are seldom part of the compounds’ original plan. They differ, however, in the spatial articulation of the basic room-units. The Mito design with single entryways often generates aggregated clusters of similar units, as has been pointed out by several researchers (Burger 1992:51-52;

Feldman 1987). In contrast, the NCC design with multiple entryways allows the configuration of stepped, hierarchically-organized spaces distributed along a central axis, or horizontally organized spaces distributed across the central axis.

The existence of Mito structures in Caral, where the NCC types are dominant, indicates that architectural patterns do not necessarily delineate cultural borders, but indicate design options in the configuration of ritual spaces, which might be related to specific social and political dynamics within regional and macro-regional systems.

A similar relation might have existed with the southern coastal populations during the Late Archaic; unfortunately, public architecture for this area has only been recorded at El Paraiso. Unit 1 of El Paraiso shows a complex configuration, with several room compounds. The size and shape of the rooms vary, and they might have single or double entryways. Nevertheless, it is possible to distinguish a two-room organization of the original compounds (Rooms 2-3, 5-6, 10-11, 18-19, and 16-17), some of which were modified later with the addition of new rooms. Although current evidence does not allow the definition of an architectural pattern for El Paraiso, such as the Mito or NCC ones, the singularity of Unit 1 architecture reveals the existence of a different building tradition for this area of the Central Andes.

305

7.4. Architectural pattern development and chronological perspectives.

The reviewed data show clearly that the Late Archaic period witnessed the rise and initial development of public architecture in the Central Andes. Furthermore, different architectural patterns and traditions became formalized and allow some scholars to delineate cultural regions.

Nevertheless, the public architecture phenomenon is seldom understood as a process. In contrast, common perspectives are basically of a synchronic nature, noting the appearance of architectural traditions during the Late Archaic period, and addressing their relationships until the latter Early Formative period marks their transformation or disappearance. These perspectives are strongly influenced by consideration of the Late

Archaic period as a discrete slice of time, which implicitly assumes the co-existence of the sites and occupations ascribed to this period, despite the 1000 to 1500 years that it involves.

Therefore, it is important to reconsider the chronological relationships of sites and occupations that include architectural traditions of the Late Archaic period, in order to evaluate the possibility of refining the chronological sequence of the appearance and development of public architecture during this period.

Chronological relationships are established on the basis of stratigraphic evidence, material patterning, and radiocarbon dating. In architectural context, stratigraphy is related to building projects developed through time. As Bonnier points out for Kotosh, building events may involve the entire covering and closure of buildings, followed by new architectural spaces. These major events may include minor building activities such 306

as refurbishing, re-flooring, and re-roofing. The distinction between both kinds of events

has important chronological implications.

Architectural patterning has been defined in section 7.3.4. Nonetheless, it is

important to reconsider the differences identified among NCC and Mito sites, in light of

their stratigraphic and/or sequential placement. Finally, the analyzed data need to be

contrasted with radiocarbon evidence that is clearly associated with the construction, use,

or abandonment of the architectural contexts.

Two major events can be distinguished at Cerro Lampay. The first one is related

to the building of the First Compound, the sunken circular court, and the latter addition of

the Second Compound. The second event is related to the entombment of the compounds

through a complex process of platform filling, creation of new room spaces, and the final

abandonment of the site. Radiocarbon dates indicate that the first event might have

occurred around 2400 B.C., with a short interval between the construction of the First and

Second Compounds. The second event apparently took place around 2200 B.C.

As noted above, comparative contexts have been recovered at the sites of Áspero and Caral. These excavations have also provided radiocarbon dates in association with the architecture. Feldman notes that excavations at Huaca de los Ídolos and Huaca de los

Sacrificios were predominantly shallow (Feldman 1980:81-82, 92), with the exception of deep excavations at Rooms 1-2, 3-5 and 4 in Huaca de los Ídolos (Feldman 1980:54-78), and Room D in Huaca de los Sacrificios (Feldman 1980:90). Consequently, most of the described architecture is related to the final construction events in both buildings. 307

In contrast, excavations at Huaca de los Ídolos revealed a complex building

sequence that involve reflooring, wall demolition, and wall rebuilding events. Feldman’s

correlation of these events suggests a first major construction stage related to the building

of Room 3-5, with its wall niches and friezes, in association with Floor 5. Apparently, at

the same time, Room 1 was built, with its small bench, in association with Floor 5. New construction events took place in both rooms, with the preparation of Floor 4. Later, walls were demolished and a new floor appeared (Floor 3), associated with new walls. In the case of Room 1, the new level implied its sub-division into Rooms 1 and 2. This is a second major stage in the sequence, which is succeeded in Room 3-5 by two new floors

(one of which implied a new central wall). A third and final stage can be inferred from the blocking of the entryways in both rooms, possibly related to disuse of the rooms, in association with new floors (Floors 1 and 2 in Room 2).

It is noteworthy that excavations at Huaca de los Ídolos were 2.4 m deep in the area of the rooms, and they did not reach sterile soil. The mound is 10 m high, and is supposed to have 4 to 5 m of artificial stratification. Therefore, more construction stages may have existed before the preparation of Floor 5 in Rooms 1 and 3-5.

In Huaca de los Sacrificios, a test pit dug in Room D revealed a 2.34 m profile that included 12 floors. The uppermost floor appeared at 35 cm from the surface, in association with a closed entryway to Room D. Walls of Room D were associated with the seventh floor, which was located at 1.45 m from the surface. Five other floors appeared beneath the wall foundations, until reaching a 2.16 m depth. This evidence suggests three major stages. One is related to a hypothetical room, associated with the 308 five lower levels. A second stage is related to the identified Room D, and their subsequent resurfacings. Finally, there is an event of room closure, with the blocked entryway, possibly associated with the uppermost floors. As in the case of Huaca de los

Ídolos, sterile soil was not reached, and it is highly probable that earlier construction stages remain unexcavated.

Seven radiocarbon samples were recovered from Áspero excavations (Feldman

1980:246-251) (Table 7.3). Samples from Huaca de los Sacrificios were recovered from

(1) an offering cache beneath the twelfth floor of Room D (UCR 243), (2) an offering cache beneath the main room floor (UCR 244 and GX 3862), and (3) from the firepit of the main room (UCR 242). Therefore, three of them correspond to the final construction events, while the fourth one is related to the use-life of the last building. Dates are consistent among them, although their high standard deviations do not allow precise estimates. It seems that the last occupation of Huaca de los Sacrificios took place sometime between 2800 and 2400 B.C.

The Huaca de los Ídolos samples are less consistent. One sample comes from a cache deposited beneath Floor 3, in Room 5 (GX 3861), while the other two come from

Room 2; one corresponds to a shicra bag placed beneath Floor 2 (GX 3860), while the other corresponds to a wooden piece of the cache placed beneath Floor 1 (GX 3859).

According to the inferred sequence, sample GX 3861 corresponds to the building events related to the last major construction stage, while samples GX 3860 and GX 3859 seem to correspond to the closure of this stage. Nevertheless, the resulting dates are not consistent with the proposed sequence. While sample GX 3861 seem to fit with the time Table 7.3 14C dates from architectural compounds at the site of Áspero (from Feldman 1980:246) Huaca de los Ídolos Calibrated Years Calibrated Years Sample Material Context Years B.P. B.C. B.C. (68.2% probability) (95.4% probability) Figurine cache in fill 3940 – 3850 (12.0%) GX-3859 Wood between Floors 1 and 4900±160 4100 - 3100 (95.4%) 3820 – 3510 (56.2%) 2 in Room 2 Shicra of fill between GX-3860* Grass Floors 2 and 3 of 4360±175 3350 – 2700 (68.2%) 3600 - 2400 (95.4%) Room 2 Burnt Wood Offering cache below 2850 – 2800 (2.6%) GX-3861 and unburnt 3970±145 2900 - 2000 (95.4%) Floor 3 of Room 3 2700 – 2200 (65.6%) textile Huaca de los Sacrificios Calibrated Years Calibrated Years B.C. Sample Material Context Years B.P. B.C. (68.2% probability) (95.4% probability) Burnt Word Offering cache on 3090 - 3060 ( 2.4%) GX-3682 and unburnt main axis of front 4260±150 3040 - 2620 (64.6%) 3350 - 2450 (95.4%) textile room. 2610 – 2590 (1.2%) Wood (burnt 2850 – 2800 (1.3%) UCR-242 Firepit of front room 3950±150 2900 - 2000 (95.4%) and unburnt) 2700 – 2200 (66.9%) Wood (burnt Fill strata on Room D UCR-243 4060±150 2880 – 2460 (68.2%) 3050 - 2100 (95.4%) and unburnt) area Burnt Word Offering cache on 2900 – 2550 (63.4%) UCR-244 and burnt main axis of front 4150±150 3300 - 2200 (95.4%) 2540 – 2490 ( 4.8%) textile room. * 13C corrected. Calibration is according to OxCal v39 309 310

span inferred for the last occupation of Huaca de los Sacrificios, samples GX 3860 and

GX 3859 seem to be ca. 400 years earlier. Feldman suggests that the wood of sample GX

3859 might be older than the context, and that the grasses of sample GX 3960 need

further 13C correction (Feldman 1980:250-251).

If such considerations are correct, there is only one reliable date for any

construction event at Huaca de los Ídolos, and this date suggests that the last building

stages of both Huaca de los Ídolos and Huaca de los Sacrificios might be contemporary,

although the time range of such synchrony is still considerable (400 years). If the final

occupation at Áspero corresponds to the closure of both structures, it might have ended around 2400 B.C. Consequently, we may infer that the Áspero occupational sequence might correspond mainly to the first half of the third millennium B.C. The earlier stages, however, remain to be understood.

Since no stratigraphic sequences have been presented, the available information on Caral architecture corresponds basically to the last construction stages at the Templo

Mayor and the Templo del Anfiteatro. Seventeen radiocarbon dates have been reported for Caral (Shady et al. 2001). Five of them are associated with the Templo Mayor, while a single one corresponds to the Templo del Anfiteatro architecture (Table 7.4).

According to Shady and her colleagues (Shady et al. 2003a), the Templo Mayor has a long architectural sequence, and the sunken circular court was built after the mound structure was functioning. One sample comes from a stratum located below the circular court floor (ISGS 4711), and could be related to these pre-court stages. There is another sample associated with the construction of the sunken circular court wall (ISGS 4710). Table 7.4 14C dates from architectural compounds at the site of Caral and Chupacigarro (from Shady et al. 2001:726) Caral - Templo Mayor Calibrated Years B.C. Calibrated Years B.C. Sample Material Context Years B.P. (68.2% probability) (95.4% probability) Beta- Consruction fill on 2130 – 2080 (14.1%) Unknown 3640±50 2150 - 1880 (95.4%) 132593 platform summit 2040 – 1920 (54.1%) Beta- Offering inside room 2290 – 2020 (65.6%) Unknown 3740±90 2500 - 1900 (95.4%) 134427 on platform summit 2000 – 1980 (2.6%) Wall construction 2460 – 2420 ( 5.4%) 2480 – 2120 (92.3%) ISGS-4710 Unknown around sunken circular 3840±70 2410 – 2190 (62.8%) 2100 – 2030 ( 3.1%) court 2870 – 2800 (13.8%) Stratum under sunken ISGS-4711 Unknown 4090±90 2760 – 2550 (46.8%) 2900 – 2350 (95.4%) circular court 2540 – 2490 ( 7.6%) 2280 – 2250 (4.5%) Construction fill of 2230 – 2220 (1.3%) ISGS-4724 Unknown atrium on platform 3730±70 2350 - 1920 (95.4%) 2210 – 2020 (60.3%) summit 2000 – 1980 (2.1%) Caral - Templo del Anfiteatro Calibrated Years B.C. Calibrated Years B.C. Sample Material Context Years B.P. (68.2% probability) (95.4% probability) Lower floor on top of 2620 – 2610 ( 1.4%) 2900 - 2800 (3.7%) ISGS-4734 Unknown wall around sunken 3970±90 2590 – 2300 (66.8%) 2750 – 2200 (91.7%) circular court Chupacigarro – Templo Mayor Calibrated Years B.C. Calibrated Years B.C. Sample Material Context Years B.P. (68.2% probability) (95.4% probability) 2410 –2370 ( 7.8%) Beta- 2470 - 2130 (94.3%) Unknown Unit VII-2-1, Level 7 3830±60 2360 – 2190 (55.6%) 132590 2080 – 2060 (1.1%) 2170 – 2140 ( 4.8%) All samples are 13C corrected. Calibration is according to OxCal v39 311 312

Two other samples come from the construction fill of the atrium (or front room) on the

mound’s summit (Beta 132593 and ISGS 4724). Finally, there is one sample from an

offering cache placed in a room on top of the mound (Beta 134427).

Dates are consistent with their stratigraphic position. Samples ISGS 4711 and

ISGS 4710 suggest that the sunken circular court was built after 2500 B.C., while samples Beta 132593, ISGS 4724, and Beta 134427 seem to indicate that the last construction stage occurred around 2200 and 2000 B.C. Consequently, the Templo

Mayor seems to have a long sequence that might have begun during the first half of the third millennium B.C., but experienced its major development during the second half of the third with the inclusion of the sunken circular court. The single date reported for the

Templo del Anfiteatro sunken circular court (ISGS 4734) suggests a slightly earlier construction than the date for the Templo Mayor, although the calibrated standard deviation allows a possible synchrony between both buildings. This possibility is reinforced by a single sample that corresponds to the Chupacigarro sunken circular court

(Beta 132590), which also suggests a construction event during the second half of the third millennium B.C.

In sum, radiocarbon evidence suggests an earlier architectural sequence for

Áspero buildings compared to those at Cerro Lampay, Caral, or Chupacigarro. This sequence seems to correspond to some architectural traits, such as the lack of sunken circular courts or the apparently less patterned distribution and form of the rear-and-front room complex. It is noteworthy that some radiocarbon dates at Caral suggest early construction stages, which might be contemporaneous with the ones of Áspero. Such 313 stages, however, remain unexcavated. Consequently, I propose that, during the Late

Archaic in the Pativilca system and the North Central Coast, it is possible to isolate an early phase of architectural development, represented by Áspero, where the two-room pattern is developing and sunken circular courts do not appear. This phase roughly corresponds to the first half of the second millennium B.C. and is followed by a second phase, where the two-room complex is well patterned and sunken circular courts appear.

This phase is represented by the identified compounds of Cerro Lampay, Caral, and

Chupacigarro, and occurs during the second half of the third millennium B.C.

Elizabeth Bonnier has noted that the Mito Tradition also experienced a developmental process (Bonnier 1997:128-129). According to her, the sequence of development starts with small rectangular or circular rooms with flat floors and central hearths. This kind of architecture, identified at the lower levels of Piruru, was defined as

Pre-Mito architecture (Bonnier 1997:126-127; Bonnier et al. 1985:100-101). Pre-Mito rooms appear in four successive occupational surfaces before a patterned Mito building was erected. Bonnier notes that similar rooms with flat floors are mentioned for the Late

Archaic occupation of Huaricoto (Burger and Salazar-Burger 1985:122-123), as well as in the first occupation levels of La Galgada (Grieder et al. 1988:27). In both cases, however, flat-floor rooms seem to coexist with split-level-floor rooms.

The second developmental stage shows a well defined Mito pattern, with split- level floors, as well as stone-and-mortar walls with niches. This stage is represented by the Mito structure of Piruru (Bonnier 1987:7), the platform-mound structures of La 314

Galgada (Grieder et al. 1988:32-39, 50-58), and the platform-mound structures of Kotosh

(Izumi and Terada 1972:132-176).

Radiocarbon dates from these sites partially reinforce this sequence (Table 7.5).

According to Bonnier, pre-Mito architecture at Piruru dates to the first half of the third

millennium B.C. (Bonnier 1988b:40), although only two of the radiocarbon samples from

Pre-Mito contexts seem to confirm this idea (Gif 7988 and Gif 7104). The extremely

young dates of the other two samples (Gif 7990 and Gif 7986) suggest some mixing or

contamination with material of later occupations.

Dates from the Late Archaic period of Huaricoto can also be assigned to the first

half of the third millennium (PUCP-XX1 and I-11152). In contrast, dates from the pre-

platform structures at La Galgada fit into the second half time-span (TX 4449 and TX

4450). It is important to note that they come from rooms with split-level floors, which

might be contemporary with other flat-floored ones, or might be younger. There is a single date from this site that apparently corresponds to the first half of the third millennium B.C. (TX 3664). Nevertheless, the sample was recovered from what seemed to be the back-dirt of a looter’s pit, and has no clear association with any architectural element (Grieder et al. 1988:68-69).

The other four samples from La Galgada are associated with the northern and southern mound structures (TX 3167, TX 2463, TX 4447, and UGa 4583), and seem to date to the second half of the third millennium. Furthermore, TX 4447 and UGa 4583 are associated with the latest Late Archaic period occupational floor, and suggest that its

Mito structures lasted until ca. 1800 B.C. Table 7.5 14C dates from architectural compounds assigned to the Mito Tradition (from Burger and Salazar-Burger 1985:122; Ziolkowski et al. 1994:274-276, 336, 388) Piruru (Late Archaic period occupations) Calibrated Years B.C. Calibrated Years B.C. Sample Material Context Years B.P. (68.2% probability) (95.4% probability) Gif 7104 Unknown Layer 22, Cut BB 3960±340 2900 – 1950 (68.2%) 3400 – 1500 (95.4%) Central fireplace, Unit 1610 – 1560 (16.3%) Gif 7986* Charcoal 3240±60 1690 – 1400 (95.4%) IV, sub. 21, niv. 20. 1540 - 1430 (51.9%) 2280 – 2250 (4.5%) Central fireplace, Unit 2230 – 2220 (1.6%) Gif 7987* Charcoal 3710±100 2500 – 1750 (95.4%) VI, sub. 8, niv. 4. 2210 – 1940 (62.0%) 2210 – 1940 3090 – 3060 (3.0%) Cremation area, BU. III, 3030 – 2850 (48.5%) Gif 7988* Charcoal sub. 9 South, cont. 21, 4290±90 3350 - 2550 (95.4%) 2820 – 2750 (12.3%) niv. 13. 2730 – 2690 (4.3%) Central fireplace, 2280 – 2250 (1.2%) Gif 7989* Charcoal Structure 18, Unit V, sub 3680±60 2150 – 1950 (68.2%) 2210 – 1880 (94.2%) 18. Central fireplace, Unit V, Gif 7990* Charcoal 3350±100 1750 – 1510 (68.2%) 1890 – 1410 (95.4%) sub. 29, niv. 30.

Huaricoto (Chaukayan phase) Calibrated Years B.C. Calibrated Years B.C. Sample Material Context Years B.P. (68.2% probability) (95.4% probability) 2920 – 2620 (65.9%) PUCP-XX1 Unknown Hearth XIII 4210±120 3300 – 2450 (95.4%) 2610 – 2580 ( 2.3%) I-11152 Charcoal Hearth XII 3970±110 2700 – 2250 (68.2%) 2900 – 2100 (95.4%)

* 13C corrected. Calibration is according to OxCal v39 315 Table 7.5 (continued) 14C dates from architectural compounds assigned to the Mito Tradition (from Grieder et.al. 1988:69; Pozorski and Pozorski 1999:177; Ziolkowski et.al. 1994:444-447, 472 ) La Galgada (Late Archaic period occupation) Calibrated Years B.C. Calibrated Years B.C. Sample Material Context Years B.P. (68.2% probability) (95.4% probability) 2290 – 2020 (65.6%) TX 2463 Charcoal Sector D gallery 3740±90 2500 – 1900 (95.4%) 2000 – 1980 ( 2.6%) 2400 – 2380 (5.4%) Firepit on Floor 25 on 2470 – 2130 (92.4%) TX 3167 Charcoal 3820±60 2350 – 2190 (55.2%) Room D-11:C-3 2080 – 2040 (3.0%) 2170 – 2140 (7.6%) Firepit on Floor 30 on TX 4447 Charcoal 3670±70 2140 – 1940 (68.2%) 2290 – 1870 (95.4%) Room H-11:EF-10 2860 – 2810 (17.9%) Floor 40 on Room I-11:D- 2880 – 2560 (91.4%) TX 3664 Charcoal 4110±50 2750 – 2720 (7.4%) 5 2520 – 2490 (4.0%) 2700 – 2570 (42.9%) 2400 – 2380 (1.9%) TX 4449 Charcoal Floor 6 on Room E-12:H-2 3790±70 2340 – 2130 (61.4%) 2460 – 2030 (95.4%) 2080 – 2050 (4.9%) 2460 – 2420 (6.9%) TX 4450 Charcoal Firepit on Room F-12:B-2 3820±100 2600 – 1950 (95.4%) 2410 – 2130 (61.3%) 2120 – 2100 (2.1%) Firepit on Floor 30 on 2040 – 1870 (54.2%) UGa 4583 Charcoal 3590 ±75 2150 – 1730 (95.4%) Room H-11:EF-10 1850 – 1810 (7.1%) 1800 – 1770 ( 4.8%) Huaynuná Calibrated Years B.C. Calibrated Years B.C. Sample Material Context Years B.P. (68.2% probability) (95.4% probability) Central Hearth, Structure 2130 – 2080 (14.1%) UGa 5612 Charcoal 3640±50 2150 - 1880 (95.4%) M. 2040 – 1920 (54.1%) Calibration is according to OxCal v39 316 Table 7.5 (continued) 14C dates from architectural compounds assigned to the Mito Tradition (from Bonavía 1982:75; Izumi and Terada 1972:307; Ziolkowski et.al. 1994:230-231, 423-424) Kotosh (Mito phase) Calibrated Years Calibrated Years B.C. Sample Material Context Years B.P. B.C. (68.2% probability) (95.4% probability) 2130 – 2080 (14.1%) GaK 764 Unknown From one of the temples 3640±50 2150 - 1880 (95.4%) 2040 – 1920 (54.1%) 2140 – 1870 (64.3%) GaK 766a Unknown Unknown 3620±100 1840 – 1820 (2.3%) 2300 – 1650 (95.4%) 1800 – 1780 (1.6%) 2560 – 2540 (1.8%) GaK 766b Unknown Unknown 900±100 2500 – 2270 (55.9%) 2700 – 2000 (95.4%) 2260 – 2200 (10.5%)

TK 42 Charcoal From hearths of temples 3900±900 3700 – 1300 (68.2%) 4500 - 100 (95.4%)

TK 44 Charcoal From hearths of temples 2154±250 550BC-150AD (68.2%) 800BC-400AD (95.4%) TK 109 Charcoal KT Mound 3901±160 2650 – 2050 (68.2%) 2900 – 1950 (95.4%) 2020 – 1990 (1.0%) TK 110 Charcoal KT Mound 3470±80 1890 – 1680 (68.2%) 1980 – 1600 (92.5%) 1570 – 1530 (1.9%) Gavilanes Calibrated Years B.C. Calibrated Years B.C. Sample Material Context Years B.P. (68.2% probability) (95.4% probability) 2130 – 2080 (14.1%) GX 5079 Charcoal Public structure floor 3640±50 2150 - 1880 (95.4%) 2040 – 1920 (54.1%) Burnt Posthole beside public 1740 – 1370 (65.9%) GX 5082 3250±155 1950 – 1100 (95.4%) Wood structure 1340 – 1310 (2.3%) Calibration according to OxCal v39 317 318

Seven samples were radiocarbon dated from the Mito occupation at Kotosh.

Unfortunately, no detailed information is provided on their architectural context, and

some of them have extremely wide standard deviations. In addition, two dates seem to be

extremely young (Gak 764 and TK 44), suggesting some mixing or contamination

problems. The other samples seem to cluster around 2500 to 1600 B.C.

Radiocarbon samples have also been reported for the coastal sites of Haynuná and

Gavilanes, where public structures resembling the Mito tradition were identified. One

sample from Huaynuná (UGa 5612) indicates a position within the second half of the

third millennium B.C. (Pozorski and Pozorski 1999:177), while two samples from the

Gavilanes public building (GX 5079 and GX 5082) indicate a position within the second

millennium B.C (Bonavia 1982:75).

The revised information on radiocarbon dates for sites with Mito architecture

supports tentatively the developmental sequence proposed by Bonnier. “Pre-Mito”

buildings might have developed during the first half of the third millennium B.C., while

Mito structures were developed during the second half and, apparently, lasted until the

first centuries of the second millennium B.C. If this sequence is correct, the Mito

Tradition seems to have had a parallel development with the NCC Tradition.

Radiocarbon dates from other Late Archaic period sites of the Central Andes, like

El Paraiso, Salinas de Chao, and Alto Salaverry, mainly cluster at the end of the third

millennium B.C. and the beginning of the second millennium B.C. (Pozorski and

Pozorski 1999:178-182). Apparently, the buildings studied at these sites are relatively

late in comparison to the Mito or NCC traditions. Nevertheless, further research should 319

clarify if they are effectively late manifestations of public architecture during the Late

Archaic period or correspond to older, unknown traditions.

This review of developmental sequences and radiocarbon dates reveals that, even though the data are still scant and insufficient, it is possible to delineate developmental processes of public architecture patterns during the millennium and a half that is commonly assigned to the Late Archaic period. Consequently, the significance of sites such as Cerro Lampay could be reconsidered in the future through an evaluation of its placement within a long-lasting sequence of construction and use of public buildings, which could contribute to an understanding of the sociopolitical developments and processes that were occurring during this period. Currently, Cerro Lampay appears as an example of a small and highly standardized architectural complex, previously developed

in sites such as Áspero. Cerro Lampay shows a basic design that was simultaneously developed into more complex spatial units in larger sites such as Caral, Chupacigarro, or many others in the Pativilca system. 320

Chapter 8

CERRO LAMPAY IN ITS TIME: SOCIOPOLITICAL IMPLICATIONS

In the preceding chapter, I discussed the chronological and cultural contexts in which Cerro Lampay’s architectural compounds were built. Based on this review, I will discuss the sociopolitical implications inferred from Cerro Lampay’s data after addressing the implications of its building process, the characteristics of its design, the entombment phenomenon, and its regional and macro-regional relations.

8.1 The building process, feasting, and labor recruitment.

As seen in Chapter 3, public buildings are major characteristics of the Late

Archaic Period in the Central Andes. The scale and elaboration of these buildings have strongly influenced explanations about the nature and the complexity of Late Archaic societies. It is significant that, in most cases, architectural data have been approached from the perspective of construction phenomena. Buildings have often been studied as the output of construction activities that required the recruitment of a labor force far beyond the household level. As seen above (see Section 2.2), this approach stresses the correspondence of buildings’ scale and complexity with the scale and complexity of the human groups involved in its construction.

It is important to note that this kind of approach was not only applied to the study of the Late Archaic Period, but also - and even before - to the study of the Early 321

Formative or Initial Period of the Central Andes (ca. 1500 – 1000 B.C.). During the

1960’s Edward Lanning outlined the social significance of Initial Period public buildings, noting that they could not have been built without a ruling group with enough authority to mobilize and organize labor over a considerable territory and among many communities.

According to him, such groups might have constituted small states (Lanning 1967:94).

Similarly, Michael Moseley believed that Late Archaic public buildings were constructed

with the organizational principles of “corporate labor.” Moseley suggested that corporate

labor implies the recruitment of a workforce from separate households that participate in

an integrated manner on a specific project whose purpose is defined and sanctioned by an

authoritative body. Under this authoritative body “the will of individual laborers is subservient while participating in the undertaking” (Moseley 1975a:79-80).

Both Lanning and Moseley assumed that supra-household activities required a central entity for their direction. Such an assertion has been synthesized by Jonathan

Haas, who states that “…People simply do not go out and merrily build platform mounds without being told to do so by some authority figure” (Haas 1987:32).

Despite significant differences in their elaboration, these proposals resemble the theoretical models proposed by authors like Renfrew (1974) and Abrams (1989) (see

Section 2.2). Consequently, similar contributions stressed the role of building processes

under the neoevolutionary schemes like the one proposed by Elman Service (1962).

Addressing Moseley’s notion of corporate labor, Robert Feldman proposed that

the size, detail, and formality of the Late Archaic buildings of Áspero reveal an organized

control that characterizes a chiefdom society (Feldman 1987:12-13). Following the same 322

reasoning, the large scale of Early Formative buildings such as Sechín Alto or Moxeke

has been put forward as an evidence of state-like formations, in which buildings provide

“physical evidence of massive corporate labor recruitment” (Pozorski 1987:23).

Public architecture of the Late Archaic period has not only been addressed as a

quantitative index of labor input, but also as an index of societal specialization. This

specialization is observed in the planning and elaboration of buildings, which reflect not

only centralization, but also the nature and functional roles of central entities (Canziani

1989:54; Lumberas 1989:89).

It is important to note that this kind of approach has recently been discussed in

relation to the Late Archaic buildings of the North Central Coast (Haas and Creamer

2004:46-47; Haas et al. 2004b; Shady et al. 2001:726). Nevertheless, the assumed

correspondence between building scale and complexity level has also been put into

question for the Andean Late Archaic Period on the basis of two observations.

The first observation corresponds to the numerous cases in which multiple

construction phases have been recorded in Late Archaic public buildings (e.g., Burger

and Salazar-Burger 1985; Grieder et al. 1988; Izumi and Terada 1972). The assumed

correlation between scale and complexity is based on the premise that a building is the product of a single construction event, and consequently, it is possible to evaluate or measure the amount of labor recruited for such an event. But if the building scale manifested in the archaeological record is the result of periodic refurbishing and architectural renovations, or a small-scale incremental construction, scale measurements

will provide flawed indices of labor force and energy expended during a given 323

construction event or episode. Consequently, they will not help in understanding the

nature of the social group involved in the construction.

The second observation is that, even having large-scale public buildings, the

archaeological record of Andean societies during the Late Archaic Period does not show

significant evidence of inequality or heterogeneity. Richard Burger notes that even

recognizing that monumental scale suggests some kind of corporate authority with power

to plan and direct such constructions; this authority did not convert its power and prestige

into personal wealth or “real political power.” As a consequence, the mobilization of

labor could have been possible through the presence of a shared community ideology and

its religious and social sanctions, rather than by some coercive means (Burger 1992:54-

55).

These critiques address the need for better recording and measurement of the

number and magnitude of construction events involved in a public building. They also stress the need for a careful contrast between architectural evidence and other material culture. Thus, they contribute to the contextualization of the building processes so as to obtain an accurate account of its social significance. Nevertheless, they do not provide insights on the modes and dynamics of construction processes and the nature of labor organization within construction events.

Furthermore, despite the amount of literature on the social relevance of building processes and activities for the Late Archaic Period, studies of the characteristics of building activities, and the nature of labor recruitment and participation within them, are almost non-existent (cf. Quilter 1985). Consequently, the empirical basis for discussing 324

the role of construction and its social significance has been restricted to quantitative

observations on the amount of construction material placed in a specific architectural unit, without any qualitative approach to the contextual nature of these placements.

In this scenario, the recovered data on Cerro Lampay (see Chapters 5 and 6)

provides a unique source for understanding building processes, labor recruitment, and

labor organization during the Late Archaic Period.

As seen earlier, it was not possible to obtain a detailed analysis of Cerro

Lampay’s original construction process. It was, however, possible to record in detail the

construction process that ended in the building’s entombment. It has been noted in

Chapter 5 that the entombment process involved several construction stages characterized

by the filling of the compounds’ original rooms in order to build platform levels.

Sometimes, filling implied the construction of retaining walls for the final platform

configuration. In addition, the analyses of remains deposited within room or platform fills

resulted in the identification of specific types of activities (see Chapter 6). One of the

most significant activity sets correspond to the processing and consumption of edible

goods, followed by a careful cleaning of the area where these activities were conducted.

At least ten consumption events took place during the building (i.e., entombment)

process, always preceding a filling event (see Table 6.1). The patterned conduct of these

events during the construction process indicates that consumption was not episodic but

was a required task of a carefully organized sequence of acts that oriented activities

within the building. 325

Considering that consumption events took place within circumscribed spaces that

were immediately filled, it is reasonable to consider that those who participated in the consumption events were also those who accomplished the filling tasks.

This scenario is particularly significant in terms of the nature of labor recruitment

and organization during the building process, as it stresses the relationship of

conspicuous consumption before accomplishing labor tasks. Such a scenario strongly

suggests the conduct of feasts, understood as forms of ritual activities that involve

communal consumption (Dietler 2001:65). Feasts often have significant social, economic,

and political roles. They are a medium for the display of commensal hospitality, and are

also an arena in which relations of production and spheres of exchange are articulated and

synthesized (Dietler 2001:69, 72). Dietler stresses the power of commensal hospitality as

an attribute with political potential, as feasts are scenarios for the acquisition of prestige

and social credit, and thus are a means to obtain symbolic capital (Dietler 2001:77).

These attributes are particularly important in societies or situations that lack formalized

or specialized political roles, and feasts help to acquire or maintain the prestige required

to exercise leadership. As Dietler notes, feasts do not create power to command, but give

moral authority to exert persuasive power (Dietler 2001:78).

The political power of feasts is also related to the generation of reciprocal

obligations. Feasts imply compromises between host-giver and guest-receiver. After their

performance, the host acquires a position of social superiority in relation to the guest

(Dietler 2001:74). Consequently, the host is in a condition to claim compliance from the

guest. Dietler explores this mechanism in what he defines as “work feasts.” Work feasts 326 are forms of labor mobilization in which a group of people is called together to work in a specific project. Participants receive food and/or drink, after which the host “owns the proceeds of the day’s labor” or sometimes labor over even longer time-spans (Dietler

2001:79-80).

Historic and ethnographic accounts from the Central Andes reveal that hosting feasts has been a well-known behavioral pattern. For example, in the Inka state the recruitment of corvée labor was usually associated with large-scale events involving the consumption of food and drink. The same procedures were undertaken by the local lords and leaders known as kurakas (Murra 1967:389). This practice is known as mink’a or min’kay, which means “to get someone in obligation for labor” (Valcárcel 1971:591).

The mink’a is still a major pattern of social interaction among Andean people (Fonseca

1974). Its dynamics and socio-political relevance are well exemplified in a phrase recorded by ethnologist César Fonseca: karkuyojpa tragun chichumi, which means “he who accepts the host’s cup gets pregnant”; in other words, an implicit contract is sealed through the acceptance. After making that choice, the guest has to comply with he who asks for his “help” (Fonseca 1974:97).

Returning to Cerro Lampay, the pattern of consumption followed by construction events is consistent with the scenario of the hosting of work feasts to recruit laborers. It is also reasonable to assume that there was a host who provided the edible goods. As seen before, several authors suggest the presence of an authority capable of directing building processes. In the case of Cerro Lampay, such an “authority” (either an individual or a group) might have been responsible for the gathering of laborers through feasting events. 327

I have shown in Chapter 6 that the patterned sequencing of both consumption and

construction events strongly suggests that consumption was a required activity of each

construction event. Thus, feasting appears as a necessary mechanism for obtaining laborers. Furthermore, given that feasts are activities of a ritual nature, we can assume that labor recruitment and organization were conducted within ritual activities to ensure that the construction tasks were accomplished.

The ritual nature of construction events in Cerro Lampay is also manifested in the deposition of offerings within the final tasks of each event. These offerings can be understood as a manifestation of what A. Wallace defines as the “final blessing” required for any new built space (Wallace 1966:64-65). Such behaviors have also been seen throughout Andean past and present culture. Currently, they include the burying of beer bottles in the house floor, the hanging of flowers or Catholic crosses in the main doorway, among other practices usually known as safa casa (Morote 1988:311-318).

Consumption and offerings have different social connotations. While consumption and feasting reinforce ties among humans through the sharing of food and drink, offering implies the privacy of consumption, but a sharing with the supernatural.

Consequently, offerings symbolize compromises and ties between humans and supernatural beings and their manifestations in nature. In the case of the construction events studied here, both consumption and offerings appear as ritual behaviors that impart meaning to the building act, placing it into a ritual sequence that redefines relationships among humans and between humans and their surrounding environment. 328

One of the most significant characteristics of the building process recorded at

Cerro Lampay is that, instead of a single consumption-and-construction event, at least 10 such events took place during the building’s entombment. This situation implies that almost all filling events were significant enough to require a previous feast in order to recruit laborers.

Consequently, the building process of Cerro Lampay seems to have been accomplished through limited recruitments instead of a massive mobilization of labor power. These recruitments could have been accomplished by a single host-entity or more than one such entities. Nevertheless, this apparent limitation could also be related to an optimization strategy for the building process. W. H. Wills (2000) has noted how the organization of large-scale construction into “non overlapping patches” might constitute an efficient mechanism where limited but necessary information is transmitted through autonomous production or construction units. As a result, large-scale buildings can be constructed without a centralized decision-making entity. It is important to note that such a system often uses ritual forms and practices in order to handle coordination problems

(Wills 2000:37-38).

Current data do not allow confirmation or rejection of the “overlapping patches” system in the Cerro Lampay building process. But in any case, the social entity or authority figure responsible for coordinating the building process indicates a recruitment strategy that implies the sequential accomplishment of limited construction tasks preceded by feasts and succeeded by offering acts. 329

It has been stressed how social practices such as hosting feasts give the host

prestige and authority to exert persuasive power. But the permanent repetition of feasting

during the building process suggests that such a power is relatively limited and needs to

be constantly reinforced through feasting acts for either the same or different groups of

laborers.

Consequently, Cerro Lampay leaders or authorities seem to have had a moderate

power capacity that does not fit with the common image of Late Archaic societies as

hierarchical and/or centralized, or organized under chiefdom or state formations.

Furthermore, as noted before, the preponderance of feasts as the central means to acquire

positions of power speaks for a society where leadership or power positions are not

clearly formalized.

Thus, according to the way in which the building process was organized, it is

strongly suggested that Cerro Lampay experienced the existence of prominent leaders that, however, were limited in their capacity to exercise power over commoners

(probably due to social mechanisms that constrained their range of action). This scenario corresponds to a context of emergent complexity, characterized by a primeval form of differentiation characterized by non-formalized (and possibly non-permanent) hierarchical relationships.

According to Hayden (1995:49), in this kind of contexts, leaders not only have to cope with community interests, but also have to compete with peer leaders within the same community or neighboring communities. Thus, it is important to evaluate Cerro

Lampay’s regional context and consider the possibility that its leaders not only recruited 330

labor-power from their local surroundings, but also used feasts as a mechanism to obtain

laborers from peer communities, and thus, generate and reinforce ties and commitments

with the communities spread throughout the Fortaleza Valley or even the whole Pativilca

System. I will return to this issue in section 8.4.

8.2 Architectural design and community dualism.

The analysis of building events at Cerro Lampay allowed the inference of a

sociopolitical system with a rising leader who, nonetheless, had limited power to mobilize labor. I have defined this scenario as a context of emergent complexity.

This kind of context, however, might encompass different kinds of societies with

significant differences and singularities in their organization. The singularities of the

community that built Cerro Lampay are only partially manifested in building activities. In

order to go beyond such activities, other sources of data should be addressed.

I think that these issues can be addressed on the basis of previous analyses of

architectural design (see Section 6.2). It has been noted that the highly formalized

architectural design of Cerro Lampay’s compounds, as well as their features and

facilities, strongly suggest that such spaces were designed for ritual purposes. Being conceived as a ritual space, the architecture of Cerro Lampay can provide significant insights on canonical and self-referential messages transmitted during congregational acts, and consequently, it can help us to approach to an understanding of the social order or structure proclaimed during rituals. 331

The relationship between architectural design and sociopolitical organization in

the Pativilca System public buildings has been previously addressed by several authors.

Michael Moseley considers that Late Archaic platform mounds reveal a hierarchical

organization, with few individuals allowed access to the mound’s summit and many

people standing at the mound’s base. Furthermore, he states that ritual displays might

have been conducted for large audiences, staged on the summit of flat-topped mounds

(Moseley 1992a:111, 115). Moseley’s proposal is mainly based on surface data, which

allows the identification of large platform mounds and adjacent courtyards. Nevertheless,

surface evidence has proved to be insufficient for accurate descriptions of architectural

design, as standing architecture is seldom preserved on Late Archaic platform mound

surfaces due to preservation problems. Excavations at sites like Caral, Chupacigarro,

Cerro Lampay, and even Áspero have revealed that the “flat-topped” mounds did not

exist as an original architectural design.

In contrast to Moseley’s proposal, Robert Feldman suggested that Áspero

architecture was characterized by a pattern of “increasingly restricting access” (Feldman

1987:11). Feldman arrives at this conclusion based on his description of the Huaca de los

Ídolos summit, where he finds several interconnected spaces organized in an asymmetric way. Nevertheless, as seen in Section 7.2.1, his explanation of Huaca de los Ídolos spatial

organization is based on presumed stratigraphic correlation among several walls that

were mostly identified at their summit levels. The apparent high complexity of Huaca de

los Ídolos summit is diluted if some of the identified walls prove to correspond to

different moments of the buildings’ use-life. In addition, the “increasingly restricted 332 access” notion does not provide a comprehensive idea of the architectural design, but only accounts for one characteristic of such a design.

The social implications of public buildings have been addressed not only from the perspective of the ritual acts and their connotations, but also in relation to the materialization of identities. Michael Moseley suggested that Áspero platform mounds were the means by which leaders constructed their identity, and that the appearance of more than one mound reflected an elite structure of several leaders (Moseley 1975a:115).

More recently, he has proposed that the presence of several platforms might suggest pluralism within pantheons and within the societies responsible for their construction

(Moseley 1992a:110). From another perspective, Shady and her colleagues believe that the presence of several buildings of different size and shape within a single settlement

(like Caral or Áspero) corresponds to the existence of a wide variety of public functions within an integrated religious system (Shady et al. 2000:26).

These proposals share the assumption that public buildings denote specific elite people who exercise power on the basis of their linkages with such buildings. This presumed relationship between buildings and elite status implicitly suggest that these buildings were alienated from commoners. Such a relationship, however, seems to correspond to specific kinds of architecture, like funerary structures, in which a direct link between monument and individual can be established. In contrast, spaces designed for public rituals imply community participation and the development of a sense of membership in that community. Therefore, rather than being associated with specific 333 individuals, they were a means for the construction and maintenance of collective identities.

Following this perspective, and on the basis of his critiques to the idea of stratification in Late Archaic societies, Richard Burger proposes that public buildings of this period are better understood as embodiments and expressions of a “community’s unity and identity” (Burger 1992:38).

Burger’s proposal is more consistent with the notion of ritual space or ritual architecture as an arena that congregates a human group such as a community.

Nevertheless, while being a source for community unity, these ritual spaces are also an arena for sociopolitical interaction in which certain individuals or groups exercise power or compete for power positions within a community with different degrees of success.

The nature of such interactions in the architectural compounds of Cerro Lampay is discussed in the following paragraphs.

The original compound of Cerro Lampay includes three different spaces (i.e.,

Room 1, Room 2 and the sunken circular court) that are articulated in a unitary design through shared entryways and access systems, placed on a central axis. In addition, the compound includes another access system of lateral entryways in Rooms 1 and 2, and the inner spaces of both rooms are divided by benches into an upper and a lower level.

Finally, it is important to remember that the rear entryway of the compound faces the inferred domestic zone of the Cerro Lampay settlement.

As seen above (section 6.2.5), this design makes possible the vertical and horizontal differentiation of participants according to their entry, displacement, and 334

positioning within the inner spaces. If participants were involved in ritual practices within

Cerro Lampay compounds, it is reasonable to consider that they were imbued with self- referential messages of membership, and social states and conditions, and that these self

referential messages were reflected in the architectural design.

I have proposed the existence of two types of participants (see section 6.3): the

local inhabitants of Cerro Lampay settlement, and outsiders who might have come from

other valley settlements. The first group was more related to the rear spaces, and had

direct access to Room 1 from its rear entryway, while the second group was more related

to the front zone, and faced the compound from the northwest side of the sunken circular

court. I have also noted that rear spaces, such as Room 1 and the rear zone of Room 2, are

the ones that provide devices for horizontal differentiation, while the frontal spaces have

devices that enhance vertical ones. Consequently, the patterns of ritual congregation

inferred from the architectural design suggest a scenario in which outsiders faced

messages of unity and homogeneity, as well as a vertical differentiation between them

and the local inhabitants, while local inhabitants experienced horizontal differentiation

through their participation.

Room 1 can be considered as the space with the closest relationship to the local

inhabitants’ realm. The bench that divides the inner space suggests a vertical

differentiation among participants, although it is not high enough to cancel the physical

displacement from the lower to the upper zone. In other words, while participants can be

divided into those who are in the upper space and those who are in the lower one, such an

organization can also be altered during ritual performances. This scenario resembles the 335

idea of leaders with emergent power positions that, nonetheless, are not totally

formalized. In this case, leaders’ positions might have been dependent on their

performances during ritual practices in order to differentiate them from the collective and

reinforce their power.

In addition, the lateral-access system suggests that participants were organized

into two groups for the acts of congregation that culminate in their entry into Room 1.

Such an organization is reproduced in Room 2, in close association with the Room 1 front entryway (i.e., Room 2 rear zone). These devices for horizontal differentiation suggest that the participants in ritual were organized into two groups for ritual purposes, and if we remember that one of the characteristics of ritual displays is that they indicate self- referential messages, we can consider the possibility that this dual organization also ruled throughout the community’s daily life.

Architectural devices that suggest that a dual organization of ritual participation is also present in the additions to the original compound of Cerro Lampay. I have noted that the construction of the Second Compound was possibly accompanied by the construction of a Third Compound, located at the southeast side of the First Compound. In that way, the façade of the compound displayed a main space surrounded by adjacent spaces. It is also important to note that, with the construction of the Second Compound, the lateral entryways of Room 2 (in the First Compound) were blocked. Thus, the changes in design indicate that the horizontal differentiation devices were moved into a more public and/or visible area, and disappeared from the inner space of Room 2. 336

A dual spatial organization was also created during the first filling stage. The

former spaces (i.e., Rooms 1, 2, 3, and 4) were replaced by smaller rooms, but three

rooms (Rooms 6, 7, and 8) were built in a previously extramural area (see Figure 5.28).

Room 6 was the largest, and placed in the center, while Rooms 7 and 8 were smaller

“twin rooms,” located at opposite sides of Room 6, and connected to it by lateral

entryways. This organization resembles the First Compound-Lateral Compounds

organization that existed before the entombment process.

It is significant that dual spaces or devices always appear as attachments to a

central, unitary or “consensual” space. This pattern suggests that the architectural design

always outlines the idea of communal unity, and includes devices to denote subgroups as

a characteristic of such unity.

Ethnohistorical approaches have recognized dualism as a major characteristic of

Andean culture. It was initially identified within the Inka sociopolitical structure (Duviols

1979-79-82; Zuidema 1995:164-207), and later recognized as a pan-Andean cultural pattern (Rostworowski 1983). María Rostworowski has noted that dualism was a general principle for the organization of power structures in Andean societies. As such, dualism was explicitly manifested in mythical narratives (Rostworowski 1983:15), in which

Andean deities could not be understood without their “clones” or “brothers,” and their relations of embodied symmetry (Rostworowski 1983:21-22).

Beyond mythical narratives, Rostworowski notes that several Andean communities and ethnic groups that lived in the sixteenth century were organized into moieties. Each moiety had a leader or kuraka (Rostworowski 1983: 107-109), and 337

therefore each community had two leaders each ruling simultaneously. There was,

however, an asymmetrical relation among them, with principal and secondary figures

(Rostworowski 1983: 115).

Rostworowski also notes that dualism not only organized the political system, but

was also a cosmological principle that shaped the vision of the world and society. Space,

time, and society were divided into moieties according to topological positions (left, right; up, down), gender (male, female), and chronological relationships (past, present)

(Rostworowski 1983: 130-137). Dualism was, therefore, a polysemic principle, rooted in the social organization, the structuration of power, and the conception of the cosmos.

Several scholars have proposed the existence of dual principles of social organization before the Inkas or the sixteenth century Andean societies. Furthermore, dualism has been traced through different lines of evidence from the archaeological record (e.g., Anders 1986; Burger and Salazar-Burger 1994; Cavallaro 1997; Dillehay

1998; Moseley 1992a:86, 101, 110, 178).

Nevertheless, it is important to note that, due to its polysemic nature, dualism to be properly manifested requires specificity in order to address accurately its role in the shaping of society. In the case of Cerro Lampay, dualism seems to appear within ritual performances, in what seems to be the indexicality of participants’ social status or position. Thus, it appears to be strongly related to self-referential messages about individuals’ membership, but the significance of dualism in other dimensions of the

Cerro Lampay community’s life still need to be evaluated. 338

Consequently, based on the architectural design of Cerro Lampay compounds, I propose that the social group that built and used such compounds constituted a self- identified community with a rising leadership and an internal division that suggest a dual organization.

The inferred existence of a dual organization within the Cerro Lampay community is particularly significant because it may imply a particular scenario for the emergence of leaders, power positions, and centralization. The hosting roles outlined in the previous section also might have been played within a dual structure, which usually implies competition and cooperation scenarios among moieties and their leaders. Dualism is also a mechanism that regulates and controls the centralization of power and wealth within communities and contributes to the development of more communal power arrangements.

The Cerro Lampay community lived in La Carbonera ravine for approximately

200 years and, apparently, purposefully abandoned the site around 2150 B.C. The nature of such abandonment is addressed in the following section.

8.3 Ritual entombment, abandonment, and landscape landmarks.

The physical abandonment of Cerro Lampay was characterized by a significant event: the burying of the architectural compounds and their transformation into a massive platform. I have defined this event as an “entombment process,” following the definition proposed by Izumi and Terada for the burying of Mito temples at the site of Kotosh.

Izumi and Terada defined the “temple entombment” as an intentional and careful burying 339

of a religious structure (Izumi and Terada 1972:304). In this section, I will address the

social and cultural significance of this phenomenon in the case of Cerro Lampay.

Following Izumi and Terada’s definition, Shimada has noted that “temple

entombment” was a generalized practice during the Formative Period (Shimada 1981).

He reported this practice at the site of Huaca Lucía, a Middle Formative temple located in

the La Leche Valley of the Central Andes north coast (Shimada et al. 1982:133-137). It is

important to note that, whereas the entombment of Kotosh structures was followed by the

construction of new spaces over the old ones, the entombment of the Huaca Lucía temple

was not followed by new construction projects, but seem to have been related to the end

of the building’s use.

Burger and Salazar-Burger have also outlined the relevance of entombment

activities. They consider that the continuous construction of shrines and temples over the

same place is related to a set of programmed activities of periodic refurbishing of

ceremonial construction, developed as an expression of the renovation and re-creation of

time and society (Burger and Salazar-Burger 1985:115-116).

Evidence from Huaricoto, La Galgada, and Piruru revealed that “temple

entombment” was a generalized practice during the Late Archaic period. In all these cases, the burying of structures was succeeded by new construction events.

Yoshio Onuki notes that the phenomenon should be defined as “temple renovation” instead of “temple entombment,” for the main goal of construction activities was to create a new ritual space. Onuki notes that such a practice also appears in temples of the Formative Period like Cardal, Kuntur Wasi and Huacaloma (Onuki 1994:81-83). It 340 is important to note that similar refurbishing and/or “renovation” activities have been recorded in Late Archaic sites of the Pativilca System such as Áspero (Feldman 1980:52) and Caral (Shady 2001:17).

Onuki’s distinction between temple entombment and temple renovation stresses a contrast between two processes that follow a general behavioral pattern, but differ in the final result. In both cases, as Burger and Salazar-Burger note, the process seems to be related to the belief that ritual architecture is a physical entity with a given life-cycle. At the end of the cycle, the ritual space needs to be cancelled and/or replaced by a new one.

The replacement of a ritual space by a new one has been convincingly defined as

“temple renovation,” and seems to be associated with the permanence and/or continuity of the human occupation that was responsible for building the ritual space. Within a long occupation, the life-cycle of a ritual space should end periodically, and a renovation of such space should be required.

According to this scenario, the burying of a ritual space without the creation of a new one does not seem to correspond to an occupational continuity. On the contrary, the lack of renovation seems to be related to the physical abandonment of the place where the ritual space is located, as well as the abandonment of its surrounding area. In this case, the original concept of “entombment” seems to describe the act in a more appropriate way. The significance of this entombment and physical abandonment requires an explanation.

While working with unoccupied settlements, archaeologists always face abandonment realities. Abandonment phenomena have more often been treated within 341

regional or macro regional scales, such as the massive migration from the Colorado

Plateau in the North American Southwest around A.D. 1275-1300 (Cordell 1997:365-

397), or the depopulation of the Maya Lowlands at the end of the Classic Period (ca. 850-

900 A.D.) (Culbert 1988). It is significant that in both cases, the processes of regional

depopulation and migration are strongly related to ecological factors that imply dramatic changes in people’s material conditions of existence.

In a similar way, explanations of abandonment processes in the Central Andes have usually considered ecological factors, such as the periodic events known as ENSO

(El Niño Southern Oscillation). ENSO events imply the movement of maritime currents along the Andean coast, with their corresponding meteorological alterations that can produce catastrophic flooding and severe droughts. The role of ENSO events in abandonment phenomena has been discussed for different periods and stages of the

Central Andes sequence (e.g., Burger 1988:141-142, 1992:189-190; Moseley 1992a:157,

211-212, 254; Shimada et al. 1991). Due to ENSO characteristics, the phenomena of site abandonment are always addressed in a regional or macro-regional scale.

At Cerro Lampay, evidence of severe rainfall has been recorded within the post- abandonment events (see sections 5.1 and 5.4.6). Nevertheless, the chronological relationship of these events with the entombment process is uncertain and, in any case, no evidence of flooding has been recorded in association with the entombment activities.

Moreover, there is no evidence of extensive flooding before the architectural compounds were buried, and thus no climatic alterations can be convincingly associated with the abandonment process of Cerro Lampay. 342

As seen before, climatic changes should have a regional impact, and

consequently, they might be reflected in simultaneous transformations of contemporary

sites within a given regional realm. I have proposed that the physical abandonment of

Cerro Lampay occurred around 2150 B.C. (see Section 5.6), but Cerro Lampay was not the only Late Archaic architectural complex within the Fortaleza Valley. What was happening in neighboring sites when Cerro Lampay was abandoned? The answer to this

question is not yet forthcoming, as systematic research on the occupation of other

Fortaleza Valley sites still remains to be carried out. Nevertheless, in a preliminary report

on North Central Coast sites, Jonathan Haas and his colleagues have provided several 14C dates obtained for the Fortaleza Valley sites of Porvenir, Caballete, Cerro Blanco Centro,

Cerro Blanco Norte, Huaricanga, and Shaura (Haas et al. 2004a) (see Fig. 4.3) that allow a tentative explanation.

Although the number of dates for some sites is too small (e.g., there are only three from Shaura and Cerro Blanco Norte sites) and there is no detailed information on their architectural context, it is significant that some dates suggest that occupations at

Porvernir, Caballete, and Cerro Blanco Norte lasted until 2000-1800 B.C. Furthermore, dates from Cerro Blanco Centro and Shaura hint at even more recent occupations (ca.

1800 – 1500 B.C.) (Haas et al. 2004a: Table 1).

As mentioned before, these dates can only be the basis of a tentative chronology.

Nonetheless, they suggest that Late Archaic occupations lasted long after 2150 B.C., and thus the abandonment of Cerro Lampay was not correlated with similar processes in neighboring settlements. 343

If the abandonment of Cerro Lampay was a local event that did not affect other sites, it is difficult to associate it with any climatic and/or ecological factor. Thus, other factors, possibly more rooted in the social realm, should account for the abandonment event. Unfortunately, no satisfactory explanation can be formulated without a complete understanding of the local processes that affected the rest of the Late Archaic settlements of the Fortaleza Valley and the Pativilca System.

The possibility that the physical abandonment of Cerro Lampay was related to social and/or cultural factors has several implications. If contemporary sites are still inhabited after the abandonment process, then perhaps the people of the original Cerro

Lampay community continued to live in the surrounding area, and the final configuration of the “entombed compounds” becomes relevant.

The notion of “entombment” is commonly associated with the idea of burial and the visual disappearance of the entombed object. The best example of this kind of act is the burying of a dead person. Nonetheless, entombment events also generate new physical manifestations, which become significant landmarks placed on the visible surface that provides a reference to a previous existence.

In the case of Cerro Lampay compounds, multi-room spaces built over natural soil became a massive flat-topped platform after the entombment process. In other words, although their architectural design was no longer visible, their locus was not erased from the landscape, but acquired a new configuration.

It is reasonable to believe that this new configuration was also a significant feature in the community’s landscape. Furthermore, it became the landmark of the 344 community’s original occupation. In other words, it became a landmark of the ancestors’ place, and might have played a major role in the construction of social memories for the living community.

I consider that this linkage of the massive platform with the notion of “ancestors’ place” was reinforced by the presence of the large reddish granite boulder (Floor Feature

4, see Figure 5.32) placed on top of the Final Platform during the last stages of the entombment process. As discussed before, this boulder had a flat base and a convex upper section, as well as a marked concavity on its upper front side. Its particular size, shape, and color strongly suggest that it was a visual reference over the platform’s summit, like a standing stela. This boulder was found 4 cm below the surface.

Nonetheless, more than half the stone was under the Final Platform floor, and only the upper part was visible from this floor at the time of its archaeological discovery. The floor was deteriorated around the stone, probably because of the stone’s weight, which pressured the loose shicra bags that made up the fill of the platform and ended up cutting into the floor plaster. Consequently, one can conclude that Floor Feature 4 stood over the

Final Platform floor, and thus it was visible after the end of the entombment process

(Figure 8.1).

The significance of standing stones with visual performance characteristics and their association with ancestors have been recorded in Andean populations by different

Spanish chroniclers and priests during the sixteenth century (Valcárcel 1971:157, 165).

The most common identified relation was that of local heroes or ancestors that were believed to become transformed into stones after life. Such stones were not considered

Figure 8.1 Isometric reconstruction of the massive platform produced after the burying of architectural compounds at Cerro

Lampay. 345 346 the “statues” of the ancestors, but the ancestors themselves. This kind of standing stones were defined with the term wanka, which means a stone with a vital force or camaquen, often acquired with the notion of being a transformed ancestor (Rostworowski 1983:10).

One of the most prominent accounts of such transformations is related to the origins of the Inka and the founding of the city of Cusco. Two of Manco Capac (the Cusco founder) brothers were transformed into stones before reaching the location of the future city.

Before they were transformed, they gave specific orders and admonitions to Manco

Capac about the city’s founding and the worship that they deserve as prominent ancestors

(Cieza de León 1985:20).

Despite the consistency of the historic accounts regarding stones that are worshiped as transformed ancestors, the extrapolation of these religious behaviors to people that lived approximately 3500 years before seems to be too ambitious, as we do not control all the cultural processes and phenomena that might have shaped and reshaped those behaviors until they were recorded in the sixteenth century.

Nevertheless, the association of the standing stone recovered at Cerro Lampay with the final configuration of an entombed temple, which can reasonably be related to the past of a moving human group, is suggestive of its symbolic connotations. I thus consider that it is possible to define the stone as a “wanka” in the broad sense of a material feature with direct association to the ancestors of the departing community. The precise nature of such relations remains uncertain until we obtain a more complete record of this kind of cultural manifestation throughout Andean history 347

The proposed scenario of a ritual space that was transformed into a massive

landmark of the ancestors’ place, including a standing stone placed on top of it, implies a

reconsideration of our notion of abandonment. Although the physical abandonment of

Cerro Lampay is an uncontroversial fact, the care displayed in transforming the

architectural compounds strongly suggests that the departing community did not suspend all links with its former settlement and ritual space. On the contrary, while becoming an ancestors’ place, it might enhance its relevance as a means for the reinforcement of community unity and identity. Furthermore, previous devices that enhance horizontal and

vertical differentiation were totally omitted in the final configuration, in order to focus on

the idea of unity. In its transformed state, the building also became a significant feature

within the overall landscape, and might have deserved respect from any contemporary

community within the region. Furthermore, it might have kept its significance and

importance even after the end of the Late Archaic period. It is remarkable that no

reoccupation has been recorded at Cerro Lampay until the Late Intermediate Period (ca.

900 - 450 A.D), indicating that the site was unoccupied for approximately 3000 years.

Moreover, as noted in Chapter 4, the Late Intermediate Period occupational evidence is

concentrated in the lower terrace of La Carbonera ravine. The evidence of Late

Intermediate Period occupation over the former Late Archaic architecture is restricted to

special events such as sacrificial burials (Vega-Centeno 2003). In other words, the

significance of Cerro Lampay ritual space and its transformation as an ancestors’

landmark lasted long after the human community that built it had moved on. 348

This situation allows consideration of the relative importance of Cerro Lampay

within the regional history of the Fortaleza Valley. The dynamics of inter-community

relations within this region and the overall Pativilca System is discussed in the following

section.

8.4 The regional scenario. Inter-community interaction.

In the review of Late Archaic Period archaeology developed in Chapter 3, it was

noted that Cerro Lampay is one example of a larger phenomenon in the development of

large-scale architecture within the Pativilca System (see Section 4.5). Indeed, more than

30 sites with large-scale architecture located in the valleys of Fortaleza, Pativilca, and

Supe can be assigned to the Late Archaic Period (see Fig. 4.4).

In the case of the Fortaleza valley, there are at least 18 sites that can be considered as roughly contemporary with Cerro Lampay, due to the existence of shared architectural

traits such as rectangular platform mounds and adjacent sunken circular courts (Figure

4.3). Radiocarbon dates obtained by Haas and his colleagues (Haas et al. 2004a) support

this hypothetical assignment for six of these sites.

In order to address the sociopolitical characteristics of this regional scenario, it is important to consider the ecological characteristics of the studied area. In a preliminary study (Vega-Centeno et al. 1998), four zones were differentiated within the middle

Fortaleza Valley, according to their ecological and topographic characteristics. Zone I,

the upper one, is characterized by steep slopes, an extremely narrow alluvial plain, and a

dry climate. Zones II and III are characterized by a gradual growth of the alluvial plain, in 349 the same dry conditions as Zone I. A significant change occurs in Zone IV, where the alluvial plain is much wider, and is more humid. Zone IV is only 5 km from the shoreline

(Vega-Centeno et al. 1998:220-222).

Three sites of Zone I can be convincingly assigned to the Late Archaic: Púlpito,

Hornillos, and Huaquish. In addition, seven sites of Zone II can be included in this time span: Maray Colca, Huáncar Bajo, Anta, Shaura Norte, Shaura Sur, Quilca Bajo, and

Cerro La Cruz. In the case of Zone III, there are three possible Late Archaic sites:

Montegrande, Huaricanga Norte, and Huaricanga Sur. Finally, five Late Archaic sites are identified in Zone IV: Cerro Blanco Norte, Cerro Blanco Centro, Caballete, Cerro

Lampay, and Porvenir.

According to the architectural characteristics recorded after surface survey, these sites were placed into two categories: isolated structures and architectural complexes. The last ones consist of more than one structure within each site (Vega-Centeno et al.

1998:223). It has also been noted that some complexes, like Caballete or Porvenir, included more than 10 structures.

A similar scenario has been reported for the Supe Valley. Shady and her colleagues defined 17 Late Archaic sites with large-scale architecture, and noted that they could be divided into five categories, according to their area and construction activity

(Shady et al. 2000:17-20). The differences in the number of buildings, as well as the resultant extent of the settlements, have been interpreted as the product of a hierarchical organization. Within this hierarchy there are major centers, which involved a large labor force, and secondary ones with less labor investment and less extension (Shady et al. 350

2000:19-20). According to this interpretation, the whole Supe Valley was integrated within a regional polity that had its political center in the sites of Caral and Pueblo Nuevo

(Shady et al. 2000:29-31), which were at the apex of the hierarchical organization.

I have noted in a previous work (Vega-Centeno 2005) that the model proposed by

Shady and her colleagues is based on a measurement of labor investment that only considers the sum of all the platform mounds’ volumes included in the sites (Shady et al.

200: Chart 2), and does not address the number of buildings for each site, as well as the volume of each building. In addition, the size and extent of non-volumetric architectural units such as plazas are not addressed (Vega-Centeno 2005:38).

By contrast, my analysis of large-scale architecture of Late Archaic sites in

Fortaleza Zone IV (see Figure 4.5) suggested that, although there are significant differences in the scale of the built areas within sites (Table 8.1), these differences do not imply necessarily that the smaller sites have the smaller architectural units. On the contrary, an analysis of the built area involved in each architectural unit revealed that the architectural units of the smaller sites (Cerro Blanco Norte and Cerro Lampay) are among the larger and more complex buildings within the region (Table 8.2) (Vega-Centeno

2005:37).

Consequently, I have proposed that rather than reflecting a unitary hierarchy, the differences in the number of architectural units within a site should be explained according to the specific trajectory and history of each site. I have also noted that this explanation requires an understanding of the site’s growth process and the sequence of building activities (Vega-Centeno 2005). Table 8.1 Scale and number of architectural units in Late Archaic sites of Fortaleza Zone IV (From Vega-Centeno 2005:Chart 2)

AreaBuilt Construida area (in has.) (en 20 has.) NúmeroNumber de of Estructuras structures

0 Caballete Porvenir Cerro Blanco Centro Cerro Blanco Norte Cerro Lampay Sites 351

Table 8.2 Scale of Late Archaic architectural units of Fortaleza Zone IV (From Vega-Centeno 2005:Chart 3)

10000

9000

8000

7000

6000

5000 Area

Square meters 4000

3000

2000

1000

1 5 9 6 5 2 3 N1 o 10 C4 C3 o o o a9 o3 Ca5 Ca6 Po4 CL1 P o Po7 Ca1 Po2 Ca7 P P Ca4 Ca3 Ca8 P C Ca P Po8 CB CBC1 Ca10 P CB CB Ca11 Po12 CBC2 Ca12 CBC Po1 Po11 Structures

352 353

Surface data allow the proposal of some hypotheses on the growth patterns within

architectural complexes. I have noted previously that, in the sites of Zone IV, there is

always a structure that has been built over a natural eminence such as a hill, a terrace, or a

“mountain’s arm,” and that this structure is placed in a central position within the site

(Vega-Centeno 2005:35). It is likely that these buildings were the first ones to be

constructed in the sites. After the emplacement of these “original structures,” other

buildings were distributed in different, but patterned ways, usually forming parallel or

transverse alignments that were oriented on the same axis. This spatial organization

appears to be the product of gradual growth that started from a building that appropriated a natural element of the landscape.

This pattern was clearly identified in Zone IV architectural complexes but it was less clear in the upper zones where the terrain becomes more irregular and there is little space for the concentration of buildings. In Zones I, II, and III, another pattern seems to be developing, which implies the spread of related buildings over a wider area. This spread generates a predominance of isolated structures, usually identified with different site names on our survey (Vega-Centeno et al. 1998:232-235). Nonetheless, buildings seem to share the patterns of parallel and transverse alignments and orientations identified in the more concentrated complexes of Zone IV (Vega-Centeno et al.

1998:Figs. 12-13). Consequently, they seem to reflect an adaptation of the same growth process to a topography that does not allow the concentration of architectural units.

After arriving at these generalizations, I concluded that it was necessary to understand the nature of the basic architectural units of these complexes, commonly 354 recognized as platform mounds, and eventually associated with a sunken circular plaza.

These relationships allow one to model (or hypothesize) the social networks responsible for the construction and use of such spaces.

As a result of the excavations at Cerro Lampay, I have concluded that this architectural unit corresponds to the ritual space built by a community, understood as the first supra-household social entity of local range, and that this community shows the existence of rising leaders developing power strategies within ritual practices in a context of emergent complexity.

If the architectural units identified in the other Fortaleza sites are also manifestations of communal entities of similar characteristics, two possible scenarios should be considered for the concentration/dispersion of architectural units within settlements and throughout the valley. In one, there might have been a process of aggregation of different communities within a single site, as a product of specific social and/or political factors. The other scenario is of the gradual growth of a communal entity and the rise of “daughter communities” that started to built their own ritual spaces nearby or far away from the original communal emplacement. The scenarios are neither exclusive nor contrary, but require a clear assessment of the history and chronology of each of the studied sites in order to be tested.

In any of these cases, the spread and amount of construction activities during the

Late Archaic Period in this region is still a remarkable phenomenon that requires further comments. First of all, it is highly probable that the residents of the communities of Cerro

Lampay or those who lived and used the other architectural units were in constant and 355

intense interaction. Within this interactional dynamics, ritual spaces acquire significant

degrees of scale and elaboration.

Although this is a special situation during the Late Archaic Period (Haas and

Creamer 2004), it is by no means a unique phenomenon. During the later Early Formative

Period (ca. 1700 – 1100 B.C.), the Casma Valley experienced a similar phenomenon, with the construction of large-scale architectural complexes throughout its middle zone

(Pozorski and Pozorski 1987). A similar phenomenon occurred in the Central Coast in the

Chancay, Chillón, Rímac, and Lurín valleys, during the final Early Formative and Middle

Formative Periods (ca. 1400 – 800 B.C.), with the construction of large-scale, U-shaped architectural compounds (Williams 1980b).

The intensification of construction activities and the resultant large-scale public buildings within a non-centralized regional scenario can be explained through the concept of “peer polity interaction” (Renfrew 1986). According to Renfrew, peer polity interaction designates the full range of inter-changes that takes place between autonomous socio-political entities of roughly comparable scale and complexities that are located in a given region. Interchanges include imitations and/or emulations, competition, warfare, or the exchange of goods and information (Renfrew 1986:1).

Peer polity interaction generates specific outcomes, such as the development of structural homologies among the interacting entities. Furthermore, processes of change and transformation are frequently the result of the intensification in the interaction dynamics (Renfrew 1986:5). Such dynamics are developed through three different mechanisms. 356

The notion of polity used in Renfrew’s proposal does not suggest a specific scale

of organization or degree of complexity. It can be applied, therefore, to highly stratified entities as well as more “egalitarian” ones (Renfrew 1986:2). In our case study, it could be applied to the scenario of inter-community interactions.

The first mechanism is competition, which includes warfare as well as competitive emulation, and consists of the attempt of the interacting entities to achieve greater displays of wealth or power in an effort to gain more inter-polity power or

prestige. The second one is symbolic entrainment, or the adoption of a shared symbolic

system among the interacting entities, as a means to assure prestige and an efficient

information flow. The third mechanism is the increasing flow of goods exchange,

especially information, but also other kinds of material goods that strengthen alliances

and political commitments (Renfrew 1986:8).

I consider that the spread and frequency of construction acts, as well as the scale

of the architectural units in Cerro Lampay and other sites of the Pativilca System, can be

explained as a result of competitive practices. Similarly, the repetitive formal patterns

that characterize the architectural units in this region can be explained as a manifestation

of symbolic entrainment and the flow of information, through which Late Archaic

communities shared patterns of ritual behavior that were materialized in the architectural

design.

Special mention has to be made about the role of ritual activities in this

hypothetical scenario. As seen before, one of the behavioral categories of ritual acts is

competition, which might be displayed in different ways during ritual performances. 357

Thus, the ritual sphere might have been a prominent space for the development of peer- polity interaction. Furthermore, as seen before, the architectural design of Cerro Lampay was significantly oriented toward outsiders, with specific architectural features that displayed messages of community unity, and provided a wide congregational space. In other words, the design of ritual architecture at Cerro Lampay provided a means to introduce Cerro Lampay’s community into the regional interaction sphere of Late

Archaic social entities of the Fortaleza valley. Moreover, as seen before, even the building processes might have been an arena for inter-community interaction and the development of alliances and commitments among Cerro Lampay settlers and other inhabitants of the Fortaleza Valley.

A final comment has to be made in relation to the ecological variability within the studied region. It is noteworthy that the Late Archaic sites appear in the four zones of the

Middle Fortaleza Valley. Their association with different ecological zones might have implied differential access to certain resources and, in that sense, the interaction dynamics also might have been motivated by an interdependence among communities in relation to access to different goods. This scenario seems to correspond to a context of

“regional heterarchy” (Crumley 1979), and might have implied the development of an interregional symbiosis among the competing communities (Crumley 1979:157).

Nonetheless, the exact nature of this heterarchical scenario is still uncertain. Interregional symbiosis can be developed in different ways. Furthermore, within the Andes, the relationship between ecological diversity, sociopolitical organization, and interdependence in the Andes has had different solutions according to specific 358

environmental and sociopolitical contexts (e.g., Murra 1972; Shimada 1987).

Consequently, the nature of such relations in the Fortaleza Valley for the Late Archaic requires a more detailed empirical account on subsistence patterns and the flow of goods

among communities.

Despite the nature of the interaction mechanisms and motivations, it seems clear

that the Pativilca System valleys, like Fortaleza, were the setting of an intense process of

peer polity interaction among Late Archaic communities over a period of more than 1000

years, in which ritual practices might have played a central role. This dynamic process

explains the remarkable scale and standardization of ritual architecture within the region,

as well as the scale and complexity of sites such as Caballete, Porvenir, Caral, and Puebo

Nuevo within the Pativilca System. The end of this process is marked by the existence of

large settlements with public buildings of monumental scale spread throughout the

region.

The history of Cerro Lampay in this regional context is also suggestive.

According to preliminary dates, sites like Porvernir, Caballete, or Huaricanga might have

been occupied long before Cerro Lampay compounds were built (Haas et al. 2004a:Table

1). Similarly, they seem to have survived the physical abandonment of Cerro Lampay.

Two possible scenarios can be proposed on the basis of these considerations. The first

one is that the community of Cerro Lampay might have developed from one of the

previously settled communities, as a social outcome of population growth processes. The

other scenario is related to Cerro Lampay’s abandonment, and the possible inclusion of

the departing community within the larger settlements, as a manifestation of the 359

aggregation processes previously suggested. In order to test these hypotheses, one would require a careful analysis of chronological data might allow the correlation of the construction and abandonment of Cerro Lampay with similar phenomena in other sites.

Finally, at the end of the process, all the Late Archaic Period sites of the Fortaleza

Valley were abandoned, and no traces of intensive latter occupations seem to appear over them. Thus, the physical abandonment of ritual places might have been a generalized pattern, although these abandonment events did not have to be simultaneous. In addition, the lack of intensive reoccupations implies that these sites kept their importance in the region for many years long after they were abandoned, giving a singular configuration to the Fortaleza Valley’s landscape, and perhaps becoming an inspiration for later cultural developments.

8.5 Beyond the region. The NCC and Mito architectural designs.

In Chapter 7, I analyzed and compared the architecture of Cerro Lampay with architectural data on other sites of the North Central Coast (NCC) of the Central Andes

(see Section 7.2.5). Based on this comparison, I have concluded that Cerro Lampay compounds were an example of a wider architectural pattern, also identified in other sites like Caral, Chupacigarro, and Áspero. I have defined this pattern as the NCC Tradition.

This pattern is characterized by a two-room compound with multiple entryways and benches that divided the inner spaces into halves. This type of compound can eventually

appear in association with sunken circular courts. 360

I have also compared this tradition with another well-known Late Archaic

architectural tradition: the Mito Tradition (see Section 7.3.4). The comparison revealed significant differences in design and access systems, as well as commonalities in certain architectural features and the overall spatial organization of architectural units.

Mito buildings consist of square rooms with a single access and an inner division with a lower central area (and central hearth) and an upper surrounding area. In addition,

Mito rooms might appear around a larger platform (Huaricoto), over a platform, at different levels (Kotosh), or over the platform summit (La Galgada). It is significant that

Kotosh and La Galgada sites are composed of two platform mounds with associated

rooms.

In terms of spatial structure, the access system in Mito structures does not suggest vertical or horizontal differentiation, beyond the distinction of those who can get into the

rooms and those who cannot. Within the space, the floor division provides another means

of differentiation. Nevertheless, unlike the longitudinal division of the NCC benches,

Mito structures exhibit a concentric division. In addition, Mito rooms are seldom

articulated, but have independent access. This characteristic has been defined by Burger

as a system of access maximization (Burger 1992:51-52), which creates a public structure

that supports several autonomous ritual spaces.

The platform structures of sites like Kotosh or La Galgada seem to show the

integration of populations beyond domestic entities. In addition, none of these sites can

be considered as regional political centers, as both of them shared their regional sphere

with many sites having similar characteristics (Grieder et al. 1988:8-15; Izumi 1971:50). 361

Thus, one can suggest that both architectural compounds were built by communal groups

of a local range. Furthermore, the existence of two mounds in each site might also

suggest the existence of dual principles for community organization (Moseley

1992a:110). Nevertheless, the widespread construction of rooms as autonomous spaces suggests a different organization of the ritual space. If we are regard the platform mounds as representative of a communal entity or its moieties, then rooms should represent the constituent units of the community or possible moiety. It is expectable that such units would consist of kin groups, such as clans, lineages or ayllus (the quechua word for extended family units).

In that sense, the differences between the NCC and the Mito architectural designs should correspond to a difference in the relative importance of communal institutions - such as moieties - among the existing kin units during ritual performances. If such performances embody messages about the community’s social structure, then the outlined

differences could also reflect different degrees of communal cohesion.

Although the NCC and the Mito traditions seem to have specific circumscribed

areas, the inferred differences in ritual organization should not be reduced to their cultural

or classificatory value. On the contrary, certain commonalities in architectural design,

such as ritual chambers, benches in inner space of those chambers, niches in walls, or the

presence of ceremonial hearths, suggest that people concerned with the construction of

both types of buildings shared a common universe of design elements. The existence of

Mito structures close to NCC ones in the site of Caral reinforces this idea. Therefore, the

differences between these architectural traditions should be better understood as falling 362 under a common cultural realm, developed throughout both coastal and highland environments.

I think that the relative importance of communal institutions, reflected in the architectural design choices, seemed to be related to the need for the accomplishment of supra-household tasks such as the building and maintenance of irrigation canals. It is significant that communal entities were enhanced in NCC architectural designs in an ecological context where rainfall is absent and irrigation agriculture is needed. In contrast, kin entities were enhanced within highland environments, where agriculture can rely on periodic rainfall, although irrigation systems might also occur.

It might be noted that, although this difference seems to support the idea of a more centralized organization of coastal societies in comparison to their contemporary highland neighbors, such a difference does not necessarily imply a difference in complexity or hierarchical levels between the societies living in those regions.

Community cohesion can result in more centralized organizations, but can also imply the development of mechanisms that counter the centralization of wealth and power. Indeed, dualism is a mechanism that plays a significant role in controlling the concentration of power by a certain group or individual. This is the context in which egalitarian behaviors can be developed and influence the formation of corporate entities. In contrast, an enhancement of kin institutions (apparently more emphasized in highland contexts) over communal entities is sometimes a starting point for the development of formalized inequalities or heterogeneities within a communal entity. 363

In that sense, it is significant that two small and restricted ritual spaces built in the

Templo Mayor and the Templo del Anfiteatro of Caral show the characteristic traits of the Mito tradition (see Section 7.3.3). If they correspond to kin groups, it suggests that both structures were closely related to the main communal ritual spaces, but that in both, access was highly restricted. Apparently, they might be representing human groups that were developing mechanisms of differentiation within their communities. One of these mechanisms would have been the construction of an “exclusive” ritual space separated from the more public-oriented ones. Therefore, a ritual space considered by some scholars as having a low spatial complexity, and thus suggesting “less complex societies” for their construction and use, might have become a means for a more formalized social differentiation and complexity.

8.6 Pathways to complexity. Final comments.

The overall discussion developed in this chapter forms part of a larger debate in relation to the nature of sociopolitical complexity within the Central Andes. As seen before (see Chapter 4), the Late Archaic period has recently acquired special attention as the setting where the first complex forms of social organization developed in the Andean region.

As seen before, according to evolutionary schemes, the overall discussion should be focused in a definition of the first types of complex societies that appeared in the

Andean territory. They could be labeled as chiefdoms (e.g., Feldman 1987; Haas 1987) or 364

even pristine states (Shady 2003a), based on quantitative analysis (i.e., scale and/or

volume) of large-scale architecture.

In this direction, recent contributions by Ruth Shady (Shady et al. 2000, 2001)

and Jonathan Haas (Haas et al. 2004b) have presented elaborated explanatory models that

attempt to characterize the social groups that occupied and built the Late Archaic

settlements of the North Central Coast. As seen before (see section 4.6) these models are

mainly based on theoretical assumptions that in appropriate empirical support.

Noteworthy, they are developed on the basis of surface accounts.

My analyses of a typical architectural compound on the North Central Coast have

revealed that public buildings designed for ritual spaces could have been built by communal entities without formalized inequalities, but with the existence of rising leaderships of limited power. Furthermore, analysis of the ritual space’s architectural design reinforces the idea of a communal achievement under principles of dual organization. These results strongly suggest that public buildings do not necessarily

imply the existence of formalized and centralized sociopolitical systems like chiefdoms

or states, but could be built by communal entities of local scale.

Cerro Lampay is a relatively small site in comparison to other settlements of the

Fortaleza Valley and neighboring valleys. Larger sites are remarkable because of the

larger number of clustered public buildings, but not necessarily because they have larger

or more complex buildings than Cerro Lampay’s compounds. In that sense, larger sites

seemed to manifest the result of convergent processes in which several communities

decided to share a common space. 365

The processes of aggregation and/or internal growth that ended in the

development of these large architectural complexes might imply a shift from communal

entities at a local level towards sociopolitical entities at a larger scale. In addition, it is

also possible to consider that, without going beyond the local level, these sites might have developed structures and institutions that formalized forms of inequality or heterogeneity within them. In other words, we cannot deny the possibility that large sites might have

developed more complex sociopolitical scenarios than the one proposed for Cerro

Lampay. Nevertheless, such a possibility cannot be assumed before understanding the

exact nature of the construction and use of public spaces in those sites, as well as the

overall history of each site’s configurations.

The described scenario for the Late Archaic in the North Central Coast brings into

question classic notions of social complexity. Social complexity has usually been

understood as a process of social differentiation, and political centralization (Flannery

1972). Recent contributions have unpacked both social and political dimensions of

complexity, revealing more complicated scenarios. Randall McGuire (1983) has

proposed that differences within a complex society could be of two types: inequality

(differential access to resource) or heterogeneity (having different roles in society).

Similarly, centralization has been discussed as the product of a certain kind of

relationships based on hierarchical principles. However, several studies have proved that

hierarchy is not the only organizational principle in complex systems, and have

introduced the notion of heterarchy in the study of complex societies (Crumley 1995;

McIntosh 1999). 366

These contributions have provided a wider spectra of possible scenarios in which

social complexity might emerge. As seen above (see Section 2.2.1), in this context, a

major research theme is the mode in which power relations are developed, reproduced or

transformed a given social structure. The issue of power in the context of emergent

complexity in the North Central Coast has been recently addressed by Jonathan Haas and

his colleagues (Haas et al. 2004b. See also Haas 1982). According to them, power was

obtained through the control of economic and ideological resources, and was exercised

through specific means that involve the “application, threat, or promise of sanctions by

the power holder” (Haas et al.2004b:42). I find this view of power and authority too

simplistic, as it reduces the phenomenon to a binary opposition between the powerful (or

power holder) and the powerless and only accounts for the coercive means in the exercise of power exercise, without noting the role and significance of persuasive power means.

In addition, beyond the weakness of its empirical basis, the model proposed by

Haas and his colleagues for the North Central Coast, pictures a classic scenario of well-

developed complex societies, with mighty powerholders and commoners going along

with them. It does not account for the processes that turned egalitarian societies into the

vertical and centralized systems that they propose, and thus, is inappropriate to call it a

model of the emergence of complexity.

Following several authors (see Section 2.2.1), I have proposed that, in order to

understand the nature of power relations within a social group in a context of emergent

complexity, it is necessary to define the social practices that operate in order to reproduce

or transform these relations. My research addresses the significance of ritual practices 367 and their role in the conduct of construction activities at the site of Cerro Lampay. It also raises the possible existence of prominent leaders which directed such practices. This scenario reveals the possible existence of heterogeneity within the Cerro Lampay community, with rising leaders in ritual activities, but does not show significant evidence of inequalities. In addition, the existence of hosting-leaders for the building activities and devices, which entail vertical differentiation such as frontal access and benches, suggest the development of hierarchical relationships. Nevertheless, as seen above, such differentiations do not seem to be highly formalized, and might even only been situational or just manifested in ritual practices. In addition, the devices for horizontal differentiation suggest the possibility of heterarchical principles of organization within the community rituals. The nature of such principles and their relation to the suggested dual principles of social organization is also difficult to clarify with the available information.

What might have been the path towards more complex forms of social organization? Following the proposal by Richard Blanton and his colleagues (Blanton

1998; Blanton et al. 1996), the emphasis on the construction of public buildings for ritual purposes within a communal context with expected strong egalitarian behaviors, suggest the development of corporate power strategies, instead of exclusionary ones. It would be important to test if such strategies continue to develop and which was their role in the ongoing sociopolitical processes of the Late Archaic period.

In any case, after a study of several dimensions of a specific social practice such as ritual, it is possible to infer that communal entities were the basic social units that 368 played a significant role on Late Archaic sociocultural processes. Their role might have not been the same in all the sites or zones, and only a careful study of other sites and/or communities will provide satisfactory answer to this inquiry. Similarly, the development of such entities into larger or more complex ones cannot be answered with current data, but requires a clear understanding of the sequence of events that ended in the final configuration of Late Archaic settlements and societies. 369

Chapter 9

CONCLUSIONS AND PERSPECTIVES

This thesis has been oriented towards the definition of architectural design patterns and their related construction processes as a means of addressing the role of ritual practices in the emergence of social complexity. Within this research perspective, I conducted excavations at the site of Cerro Lampay, in the Fortaleza Valley, North Central

Coast of the Central Andes, to study the sociopolitical organization of this and nearby

Late Archaic communities. This chapter presents my conclusions and offers some suggestions for future work.

9.1 Architectural design: The NCC Tradition.

Excavations at Cerro Lampay provided significant results about the architectural design of a Late Archaic public building. They revealed the existence of a distinctive type of architectural unit, characterized by a two-room compound eventually associated with a sunken circular court. Two compounds were recorded in Cerro Lampay; in both cases, the front room was twice as big as the rear one. Rooms were connected through central entryways, located in both front and rear sides. In addition, rooms have lateral entryways.

Rooms always have benches that divide the inner space in a higher (often at the rear side) and a lower space (often at the front side). 370

The type of architectural compound documented at Cerro Lampay has also been

identified in three different compounds at the site of Caral, in the adjacent Supe Valley:

the Templo de la Banqueta, the Templo del Anfiteatro, and the Templo Mayor (Shady

1997, 2001; Shady and Leyva 2003). It has also been identified at the site of

Chupacigarro (Shady 2001:13-15) and at the site of Áspero, in the Huaca de los

Sacrificios and the Huaca de los Ídolos (Feldman 1980). The two-room compound does

not always present the same configuration, but may exhibit some additions and

modifications, and can also be built over platform mounds. Nevertheless, in all the cases it is possible to identify its basic structure.

Radiocarbon dates from Áspero and Caral suggest that this type of architecture developed throughout the third millennium B.C. (Tables 7.3 and 7.4). It seems that the

Áspero buildings overlap with earlier phases of Caral and were earlier than the Cerro

Lampay compounds. Based on these data, I have labeled this architectural pattern as the

NCC (North Central Coast) Tradition, considering the possibility that it might have had a developmental process throughout the Late Archaic Period. As an architectural tradition, the NCC Tradition can be distinguished from other Late Archaic traditions such as the

Mito Tradition.

9.2 The building process

Excavations at Cerro Lampay also provided a detailed documentation of the building process that ended in the entombment of the architectural compounds, including a remarkable sequence of construction events. Each construction event was preceded by 371 the processing and consumption of foodstuffs in the place where the construction tasks were subsequently performed. After the consumption event, the areas were carefully cleaned, and the remnants were deposited in specific places, sometimes relatively close to and sometimes relatively far away from the place of consumption. The construction tasks were carried out immediately before cleaning, and consisted mainly of the deposition of shicra bags filled with stones. After a space was filled, and before it was sealed with plaster, small textile packages (sometimes burnt) were deposited as offerings. I was able to record up to ten of these sequences during the entombment process.

The described sequence of events during the entombment process indicates the existence of significant practices. Consumption remains reveal the hosting of feasts as a means to recruit labor for the construction tasks. Similarly, offerings and even sacrifices conducted upon the completion of construction reveal a concern for the building’s future.

These practices suggest that construction was highly ritualized, and had a role in the reinforcement of ties among humans and between humans and the supernatural realm.

The fact that there was not a single, large-scale construction event, but several small-scale events that required the accomplishment of construction tasks, indicates that the capacity for labor mobilization was limited. A permanent reinforcement of ties and commitments (through feasting) was required in order to finish the construction process.

This scenario supports the idea of a rising leadership capable of mobilizing labor for the construction requirements. Nevertheless, the reliance on feasting practices, as well as the small scale of these events, suggests a limited power capacity and a weakly formalized authority, which needed to be constantly reinforced through the inferred ritual practices. 372

9.3 The use of space and social dynamics

Through analyses, I have defined the spatial structure of the architectural

compounds of Cerro Lampay. First of all, they were built over natural surfaces, and thus

their original design did not include significant height divisions. In terms of their access

system, the design emphasizes a vertical division between those who could access the

compounds from the neighboring residential zone and those who came from outside the

ravine in which the site was located. In addition, there was a lateral access system that

supports the idea of a dual organization of local inhabitants during ritual performances,

while the inner benches suggest the possible differentiation of certain individuals during

such performances, as part of emerging leadership positions within the group.

The social dynamics manifested in the architectural design and the construction

process indicate that the social entity responsible for the construction, use, and burying of

the architectural compounds of Cerro Lampay reflects the emergence of leaders who had a limited power range, and who relied on ritual practices to reinforce their positions. The emergent leaders apparently coped with a dual principle of social organization that

regulated their social action. This scenario reveals that public buildings are not

necessarily the product of centralized, stratified social entities. On the contrary, it seems

to be a communal entity in a context of emergent complexity.

The last significant documented event of Cerro Lampay’s community was the

entombment of the people’s ritual spaces before the site was abandoned. Through

physical abandonment, Cerro Lampay became an “ancestors’ place,” manifested in a 373

massive platform with a standing stone on its summit that dominated the landscape where the community had previously existed. Such a place might have constituted a significant landmark for the reinforcement of the unity and identity of the departing community.

Twenty-seven radiocarbon dates recovered from excavations at Cerro Lampay allowed me to determine that the site was occupied for approximately 250 years, between

2400 and 2150 B.C. At the end of its occupation, the architectural compounds were carefully buried through a complex set of events defined as an “entombment process.”

9.4 Construction and design: Theoretical perspectives for the Late Archaic.

The reconstructed scenario of the Cerro Lampay community and its ritual practices allows rethinking some common assumptions on the development of social complexity in the Central Andes.

First, it puts into question the notion that public buildings can only be constructed within centralized and hierarchical societies. Although the Cerro Lampay case cannot be generalized for the rest of contemporary sites, it opens the possibility of alternative scenarios to the centralization model, and upholds the need to address construction processes and labor organization as matters of empirical inquiry rather than through presumed models.

Second, it reveals that power and power relations are complex phenomena that cannot be addressed in terms of their existence or non-existence, but need to be measured through the analysis of specific social practices, in order to address the role and relevance 374

of hierarchical and/or heterarchical relationships, and their scope within given social

contexts.

Third, it has demonstrated that the study of social practices is a productive

approach to address the characteristics of a given social group despite classic

evolutionary categories. This approach also appears as highly promising to track social

processes through the identification of changes and continuities within social practices

along well-developed cultural sequences.

9.5 Prospects for future study

The above conclusions summarize the results of my investigation of Cerro

Lampay. They are not, however, final statements about the site or its implications, and

might be altered by future research. Moreover, they open a wide range of new questions

about the emergence of Andean complex societies. In this section, I discuss the main

implications of Cerro Lampay’s study for future research on emergent complex societies

within and beyond the Andean Late Archaic Period.

9.5.1 The NCC Tradition

The architectural compounds identified at Cerro Lampay show a formalized

design that is also shared by other sites of the North Central Coast, and can be defined as

an architectural tradition. Nevertheless, according to the radiocarbon evidence, Cerro

Lampay does not seem to be either an early example of this tradition nor representing its terminus. This raises the question of whether there have been less patterned examples of the NCC Tradition at the beginning of the Late Archaic Period. Similarly, evidence from 375

Caral or Chupacigarro strongly suggests the existence of more elaborated (and possibly later) compounds within this tradition. These considerations reveal the need to define the sequence of development of the NCC Tradition in order to address the sociopolitical relevance of ritual and ritual spaces on the Late Archaic Period history and process.

Discerning the development of the NCC Tradition cannot be accomplished without the reconstruction of local construction and occupational sequences. Excavations at Cerro Lampay revealed that compounds might have been originally built over the surface level, and their placement over platform mounds might have been a consequence of “temple renovation” events. Consequently, it is necessary to reconstruct the history of construction, refurbishing, and remodeling of the “platform mounds” identified through surface survey in order to identify which design elements change and/or continue to be used throughout the life of the architectural units. The large-scale platform mounds spread throughout the North Central Coast might be particularly important for the construction of these sequences.

9.5.2 The growth of architectural complexes

Cerro Lampay contains a single architectural unit, including the compounds and

the sunken circular court. Such a characteristic is shared with sites such as Cerro Blanco

Norte, Quilca Bajo, and Hornillos in the Fortaleza Valley. Nevertheless, there are also

sites that have more than one architectural unit, and sometimes more than ten, forming

large architectural complexes of platform mounds eventually associated with sunken

circular courts. This difference requires an explanation. 376

Data from Cerro Lampay reveal an occupational sequence of construction, use,

and abandonment of the architectural compounds. Which processes took place in other

sites that ended in the aggregation of architectural units? Was it the product of internal

growth or the result of aggregation phenomena? In addition, what was the timing and

sequence of the growth processes? Surface survey only allows an account of the end of

those processes, and it would be a mistake to assume these configurations are representative of a complexe’s entire lifetime. How large complexes such as Caral,

Pueblo Nuevo, Caballete, or Porvenir acquired their final configuration is critical for our understanding of the Late Archaic sociopolitical developments in this region.

The documentation of construction practices at Cerro Lampay revealed the

existence of small-scale events, which included consumption events as a means of obtaining people’s commitment to the building tasks. Evidence of similar consumption events has appeared in other sites such as Áspero and Caral, raising the possibility that similar practices were performed for building purposes. Nevertheless, even though a

similar behavioral pattern might have existed, the scale and nature of both consumption

and building events might not have been the same. If there are differences in the modes

of consumption, that would imply different social and political organization. Future

research would need to develop methodological tools to measure the scale of feasting

events and the amount of their participation. Similarly, it would be important to confirm

if there is homogeneity or differences in consumed foodstuffs among different sites and

contexts.

377

9.5.3 Sociopolitical dynamics within the regional scenario

The preceding comments are also important in relation to the inferred social

organization of Late Archaic communities. Is it possible to argue that the other sites were

occupied by communities having similar social characteristics to the one studied at Cerro

Lampay? This may be the case for other sites with single, isolated architectural units of

similar scale and complexity. Nevertheless, this extrapolation might be more difficult in

the case of the architectural complexes. Their long sequential occupations with multiple

implied transformations and modifications strongly suggest more complex sociopolitical

scenarios, and thus the possibility of more formalized inequalities or authority bodies

cannot be denied. But to demonstrate those possibilities requires clearer accounts of those

sites’ trajectories and developmental processes. The presumption of centralized political

entities and stratification regardless of when and how (within the sites’ sequences) such

phenomena might appear is misleading, as we cannot establish the linkage between

possible complex forms of social organization and the original social context in which

they appear.

I have discussed previously the inadequacy of using typological approaches to

understand the appearance of social complexity. Even accepting that complex forms of social organization such as chiefdoms, states, or cities appeared in the Late Archaic

Period, they certainly did not appear at the beginning of it, but might have been the product of long processes in which communal entities, such as the one proposed for

Cerro Lampay, played a key role. 378

It is important to note that we have yet to address the significant regional scope of

the Late Archaic Period in the North Central Coast. The existence of more than 30 sites

with public buildings of a ritual nature throughout this region reveals the existence of

simultaneous developments, which could not be accomplished in isolation, but rather

under a dynamic interaction that stimulated emulation, competition, and the interchange

of goods and information. It is necessary, however, to establish the chronological correlations among these sites to trace how these interaction processes occurred during the 1500 years of the Late Archaic Period. Shady (2001) proposes the existence of an economic interdependence between coastal and inland settlements. This and other possible manifestations of interaction require further study to enable the reconstruction of the networks that were generated and also contributed to the sociocultural development that characterized this region between 3000 and 1500 B.C.

Development of these ideas requires additional archaeological research: We need strong sequences and clear synchronic correlations among sites and occupations to understand the ongoing processes that were occurring during the Late Archaic. This means that the chronology needs to be refined on the basis of reliable associations of occupational contexts, consolidated stratigraphies, and a representative sample of radiocarbon dates taken from remains with clear associations to the outlined contexts. As this dissertation demonstrates, the existing chronological frames (i.e., the Late Archaic or

Late Preceramic Periods as synchronic units) are insufficient for the outlined goals. This dissertation has also demonstrated that the complex construction sequences of these sites need to be taken into account before comparisons can be made. 379

9.5.4 Understanding a human community

Returning to Cerro Lampay, I might note that although ritual practices might have

been a significant social practice within Cerro Lampay’s community life, it still presents

a partial view of its social and political organization and dynamics. It is necessary to

know about the modes of production and reproduction of Cerro Lampay inhabitants and

the kinds of social relations they generated. Several issues need clarification in order to

obtain a comprehensive view of the community that built and used the architectural

compounds of Cerro Lampay. We need to know about subsistence strategies and the modes of food production (Were there irrigation canals? How were they managed?), as

well as the way in which community members interact within their domestic space, and

the patterns of funerary treatment. Only part of the job has been done, but the results are

promising enough to keep searching for an understanding of the early communities of the

Central Andes.

9.5.5 Ritual spaces and practices in the context of emergent complexity

The results of Cerro Lampay excavations reveal the importance of a

comprehensive account about the architectural design of public buildings, for

understanding the dynamics of human interaction generated within a built space. They

also reveal the usefulness of a detailed account of the sequence of construction tasks and

events for understanding the social dynamics that were developed as part of this process.

These accounts helped to define the ritual nature of the architectural compounds,

as well as the archaeological correlates of ritual acts such as feasting and offerings. They

also highlight the relevance of ritual as a significant social practice in the development of 380 social relations, particularly in the context of emergent complexity. At Cerro Lampay, ritual practices do not seem to be restricted to specific events organized calendrically, but seem to be conducted within a wider range of scenarios of social and political relevance.

In sum, it is possible to infer that in Cerro Lampay suprahousehold tasks were accomplished through a community’s commitment and organization on the basis of a rising leadership. Nevertheless, inequality, heterogeneity, or hierarchy, do not seem to be developed and/or formalized, and power positions seemed to be constantly negotiated through ritual practices. This scenario opens new perspectives for the study of the emergence of complex forms of sociopolitical organization in the Andes, and constitutes a new referential source for comparative studies on complex forms of social organization.

Within these perspectives, the study of ritual architecture, its construction process, and related activities such as consumption or offerings - and their archaeological correlates - will further our understanding of the emergence and nature of social complexity. 381

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