In Search of the Qhapaq Nan (Film + Story)

Written by Adam Andres Pawlikiewicz Mesa with insight and additional photos by Leonardo Brasil

Our journey began in La Paz, Bolivia, where we, Leonardo Brasil and Adam Pawlikiewicz Mesa, embarked on a month-long bikepacking expedition along the ancient Inca road system known as the Qhapaq Ñan. Our mission was to traverse this historic trail network, which once connected the vast Andean communities from Colombia to Chile. The trip would not only test our physical limits but also serve as a homage to the grandeur of Incan history and a personal connection to the region.

Everywhere you look, it’s stunning… and empty and scary.”

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From the start, the challenges were daunting. The Andean terrain offered no mercy as we pushed our bikes through scree fields, over rocky passes, and under the looming shadow of the Cordillera Real. Early on, the thin air in the high altitude took a toll, making each pedal stroke a battle for breath. Despite having spent time acclimating, the elevation weighed heavily on our bodies, especially as we approached heights of over 16,000 feet.

Our first major encounter came when a Bolivian man unexpectedly arrived at our remote campsite. Tensions rose, as the isolation of the Andes made every unannounced visitor a potential threat. The nerves eased, however, when we learned that he was a local custodian, his presence a reminder of the historical significance of the lands we traversed. These mountains were not just natural landmarks but held a legacy of culture, trade, and power passed down from the Incas.

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We found ourselves navigating landscapes that alternated between scorching heat and freezing cold as we ventured deeper into Bolivia. Mechanical issues with our bikes became frequent, adding yet another layer of difficulty to an already grueling journey. At each pass, the altitude and harsh conditions slowed our progress, but we pressed on, determined to reach Cusco in Peru.

Along the way, we encountered the stark beauty of the Andes, with towering peaks like Huayna Potosí, reaching nearly 20,000 feet. However, the isolation of these majestic landscapes came with a cost—villages were few and far between, and supplies were often scarce. We quickly learned that water sources were either dried up or polluted, likely from nearby mining operations, leaving us with little to drink. In the high-altitude villages, locals, though friendly, had little to offer in terms of food or assistance.

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The deeper we ventured into the mountains, the more we witnessed the lasting impact of colonialism and resource extraction. Bolivia’s mining legacy was palpable in the small communities, where locals asked if we were there to explore mining opportunities. The echoes of exploitation were ever-present, a painful reminder of the historical extraction of resources that had shaped the region for centuries. Yet, amid the struggle, the resilience of the Andean people stood out. Despite the hardship, the warmth and openness of those we met left a lasting impression.

One of the most striking cultural encounters happened when we arrived at a village near Inca Capaturi. There, we stumbled upon a community ritual: the slaughter of alpacas. The gruesome, yet deeply intimate event unfolded before us as men and women worked together to prepare the animals. The alpacas’ blood was carefully collected to bring good fortune and safe passage, a tradition rooted in ancient Andean beliefs. I asked if we could film the process, and after some lighthearted banter about social media, the locals graciously allowed it. This moment, raw and unfiltered, connected us to the living heritage of the Andes, a place where ancient customs were still practiced in the same ways they had been for centuries.

As we crossed into Peru, the high-altitude settlements only grew more isolated. La Rinconada, the highest human settlement on Earth, stood at over 16,400 feet. This mining town, perched precariously on the icy slopes, was a chaotic maze of tin shacks and narrow streets. Miners eked out a living in harsh conditions, driven by the prospect of finding gold. A miner warned us about the dangers of venturing too deep into La Rinconada, cautioning them about the precarious nature of life in these high-altitude outposts.

But the challenges of the journey were not limited to the physical terrain or the scarcity of supplies. By the time we reached the sacred Ausangate mountain, a towering peak revered in Inca mythology, both of us were physically exhausted. Ausangate, standing over 20,000 feet, was one of the most awe-inspiring sights either of us had encountered. Its snow-capped peaks, glaciers, and sheer size were overwhelming, but so was the cold and biting wind that came with it. Despite the adversity, we felt a deep sense of reverence for the land and its spiritual significance.

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Just when we thought we could relish the final stretch of our journey, disaster struck with only 30 miles left. As we descended from one of the mountain passes near Ausangate, I lost control of my bike, crashing into a field of scree. I felt the shock of pain radiate through my wrist and quickly realized the severity of the injury. My wrist was broken, swollen, and immobile. Staring down at the bone protruding from my arm, panic set in. We were miles from the nearest village, and there was no immediate way out of the mountains.

“There’s no way out but through,” I muttered through gritted teeth. With no other choice, we decided to push forward, rerouting our path toward the small village of Tinki. The descent became an agonizing blur of pain. We spent a night at high altitude, my body wracked with cold and injury. At first light, we set out for Tinki, determined to make it to a hospital.

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Regardless of the injury and the sudden halt to our adventure, I couldn’t help but feel a bittersweet connection to Ausangate. This journey, though fraught with hardship, was more than just a physical challenge—it was a journey of self-discovery, a tribute to the resilience of the Andean people and the beauty of the Inca legacy. As we made our way back to civilization, I reflected on the impermanence of life, the unpredictability of adventure, and the indomitable human spirit that drives people to seek out the unknown, even when the road is long and the path is uncertain.

Our adventure may have ended sooner than expected, but the power of the Qhapaq Ñan and the lessons learned along the way would stay with us forever.

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