Julio Zuñiga Medina is troubled. Toro Muerto’s archaeological treasures that are represented by roughly 5,000 ancient petroglyphs, presumed to be of the Wari people, are not being protected by the Peruvian authorities, it seems. It is possible to wander over 5 km in this desert area unsupervised and unwatched, even though vandals have defaced and removed rocks. All this deeply bothers Julio who bemoans the fact that very few Peruvians seem to care, only tourists who come here to see the ancient artwork.
With his wife Durby, Julio Medina owns a lodge by the Majes-Colca River, the first in the valley to accommodate guests. River rafting is a favorite sport around here. The shrimp caught in the river is the stuff of gourmet legend, which Durby will prepare beautifully, like all meals at the lodge.
Julio is a man of many interests. He makes his own wine from grapes that are crushed the old-fashioned way, by stomping. He likewise makes pisco in a distiller he fashioned himself, aging the brandy in huge earthenware jars that were manufactured in 1734 and inherited from his grandparents. He used to be a bullfighter in the very ring that sits on his property, complete with viewing stands. He revels in the fact that the Milky Way can be seen from his backyard. But, most of all, he talks lovingly about the valley that has long claimed his affection. At this stage in his life, he says, he doubts he will ever leave, even though his children live in six countries around the world. In short, Julio is deeply rooted in the land, a native Peruvian of Spanish ancestors who came here generations ago.
Julio loves to take his guests up to Toro Muerto. He has taken a personal interest in the petroglyphs, having studied them for years, catalogued them, and even has his own interpretations of what the enigmatic symbols on the rocks mean. He would ask both my wife and me for our own, which was like asking us to decipher Aymara. At one of them though, I thought I saw the dawning of our solar system. When he said it meant creation to him, for a fleeting moment I thought I had broken the Enigma Code. Each rock with at least one petroglyph is numbered, courtesy of an unknown (to me) entity but which Julio uses to cross-reference his own written material that he brings with him to share.
We ask him the obvious question of whether he’s ever going to publish his writings. Even if Julio’s been asked this many times before, he replies that it will be up to his family after he’s gone. For now, he sees it as his mission to talk one-on-one to as many people as will listen about the stories on the rocks, the largest collection of petroglyphs in the world. Will enough people care to save them from thoughtless violation? The government should at least do more than just collect admission fees. Nothing would please Julio more.