Sacrifice of sacred ice: each year at the winter solstice, hundreds of faithful participate in a pilgrimage in Peru combining Christian tradition with the worship of ancient spirits of the glacier.

• Author: Stuparich, Ricardo Carrasco
• Position: Cover Story

"Do you need a donkey, friend?" That was the first thing the boy asked me as I got off the bus with my heavy, dust-covered backpack at the end of a long and winding trip up and down the mountains from Cuzco. The night falling in Mahuayani was going to be a cold one, and this was the last town before my ascent to the heights of Colquepunku, the great sacred mountain. Still reeling from the curvy roads and a little confused by the crowds of people swarming under makeshift canvas roofs at three in the morning, I stuck close to my new guide. He strapped my bags efficiently onto the back of the burro.

Slowly, we joined a large procession of people climbing the hill, people guided by their faith and the light of the moon. The night was full of distant songs and whistles, sounds of people preparing for a celebration. Andean fatigue set in, however, and before long I literally had to hold on to the donkey's tail to keep from falling over from exhaustion. The endless caravan refused to stop. For three or four hours the procession kept marching up the hill as if guided by some gigantic, invisible hand. Some of the sojourners carried the weight of a sin that needed forgiven. Others carried words of thanks that they world offer for prayers answered.

Suddenly, fireworks thundered and bursts of freecrackers echoed in the valley. Tarp-covered refreshment stands appeared along the side of the narrow road, places for weary travelers to buy a chink axed something to eat. Finally, after leaving behind the flickering lights of Mahuayani and climbing several hundred feet, we arrived at a colossal open space amid the mountains. The sound of bands, songs, whistles, crackling bonfires, and voices rose in the wind and welcomed me to Qoyllur Rit'l, Peru's great pagan-Christian festival.

Lost in the darkness and the throng of people, I tried to set up my tent, but the place was so littered with other tents and improvised sleeping spots that I had to resort to resting on a wall of rocks. Sleeping was impossible since hundreds of musicians were playing and the loudspeakers stayed noisy all night long. I made myself as comfortable as I could in my sleeping bag and hugged my backpack, listening half-dazed to the voice of an old woman who was on the speakers thinking the Lord of the Snowy Star, Qoyllur Rit'l, for saving one of her sons from a mudslide in a nearby village. Later, a man took a turn to say that, thanks to his answered prayers, he was able to make the journey...