By Andrea Hulser

A neat mound of unassuming green leaves lay in a red plastic camping bowl on the table. I grabbed a handful and tossed it into my mug of boiling water, happy for the warmth of the infusion, if not the taste.

A cold Andean rain pelted down outside, the steady drumming of droplets on the tent canvas seeming to lull everyone into a dreamy complacency. William, our perhaps overly-energetic guide, decided to try to rouse his group of fifteen lethargic trekkers. He launched into an enthusiastic spiel on the leaves.

“Coca leaves!” he said with a flourish and a hand wave. “Have a very important place in my people´s – the Quechua´s – history. Do you know the story of the Coca leaf?” This question seemed (a) rhetorical and (b) directed at all of us. We shook our heads no.

William (whose incomprehensible-sounding Quechua name meant ´Heart of the Puma´) was a short, stocky man with mocha-colored skin and obsidian eyes that shined when he was passionate about something – which, here in the Peruvian jungles of his ancestors, seemed to be all the time.

“I have already tell you,” he exclaimed in slightly broken but otherwise excellent English, “that the Quechuas – or Incas, as history mistakenly calls them – worshipped nature. Pachamama, or Mother Earth, is the source of all life. Our Gods are the rivers, mountains, trees, earth.”

Wanting desperately to crawl into my warm, dry sleeping bag, I wondered crankily what this segue into the pantheistic beliefs of the Quechuas had to do with Coca leaves. As far as I was concerned, these vile-tasting leaves were nonetheless a good alternative remedy for the occasional stomachache (which I had) and soroche, or altitude sickness (which was a possibility). With plenty of sugar to cut the bitterness, the tea seemed to do the trick.

William elaborated. He carefully selected three crisp, elliptical leaves from the bowl, then spread them like a fan in his outstretched hands. “For centuries – and still today – when my people welcome a visitor into their homes, they choose three of the most beautiful Coca leaves and hold them out, like so. Then, they close their eyes and turn toward a chosen mountain, and blow softly on the leaves, like so. They ask the Gods for safe haven and passage for their guest. Lastly, they hand the leaves to the visitor, who must repeat the traditional offering.”

William turned and handed the leaves to me. “Will you represent this group and request protection and safe passage to Machu Picchu from the deities?”

I nodded solemnly and stole a quick glance around the soggy tent at the thirty eyes trained expectantly on me. My stomach gave a quick nervous twang like it did during oral reports in front of the class in elementary school.

Under William´s close guidance, I extended my Coca fan toward the looming peak of Nevada Salkantay, barely visible through the shroud of mist. With eyes closed, I said a prayer to the mountain. “May the wisdom and beauty at the end of the trail be well worth the long journey.” ´Heart of the Puma´ nodded, satisfied with my invocation. “Now,” he continued with a mischievous glint in his Puma eye, “you close the tradition by chewing on the leaves. Do not swallow. Just chew.” He proceeded to hand me a small ball of ash – called Illipta – made from the Quinoa plant, which was supposed to be a catalyst for the release of the alkaloids in the leaves when the two are chewed simultaneously. In addition, William explained cheerfully, the lime contained in the ashes strongly degrades the cocaine molecule.

Great, I thought as I stuffed the leaf-ash bundle into my mouth. So much for a political career. I idly wondered whether the excuse “I didn´t inhale” would exonerate me for posterity. Oh well. When in Rome, as they say...

The desire to spit out the hideous, chalky concoction overrode all other emotions. From the second the mixture touched my tongue, tiny explosions singed my gums as though my taste buds were spontaneously combusting.

I chewed doggedly with a grimace of the damned, and gulped down a glass of water after William finally passed me a napkin in which to spit out the moshed leaves. He whomped me on the shoulder, and everyone else clapped.

“Welcome!” William crowed. “The best is still to come!” *****

Coca leaves (Erythroxylon Coca) are the raw material from which cocaine is extracted. Like many things, they have the potential to be misused, but in their natural state, they are quite benign. In order for the drug cocaine to be manufactured, the leaves have to undergo a controlled chemical reaction with elements such as ether, clorhidric or tartic acid, and anhydrous soda sulfate at differing determined temperatures.

Chewing Coca leaves does not produce a “high” or “dope” state; pharmacologically, the raw leaves are nothing more than mild stimulants, beneficial for mitigating conditions such as tiredness, thirst, and hunger. Today, many commercial products are derived from Coca, including different types of candies, toothpaste, shampoo, and drinks (i.e. Coca Cola, which since the early 1900s has not actually contained Coca).

Coca leaves have long been an integral part in the lives and development of the local inhabitants of the Andes. In the Quechua, or Incan, civilization extending from Ecuador to northern Chile, the use of Coca leaves was carefully controlled since the plants were highly prized as special and magical. They played a protagonist role in numerous religious rituals as well as in government, culture, and the economy.

Throughout history, there have been conflicting ideological battles over this small Andean shrub. The Christian church viewed Coca as a diabolical plant as it embodied the spirit of native religion. In order to eliminate any traces of anti-Christian idolatry, the Church initially forbade the use and cultivation of Coca altogether (a fruitless mandate).

At the same time, the Spaniards viewed Coca in a Machiavellian light. They opined that chewing the leaves enabled the “Indians” to better endure the cruel and inhumane treatments imposed upon them. As a result, the leaves were considered indispensable to the continued brutal subjugation tactics of the colonization. In addition, trade of Coca leaves all over the Viceroyalty was encouraged due to the stout tithe that was collected (in fact, much of Cuzco´s Cathedral revenues ironically came from the Coca tithe).

I first encountered these controversial leaves while traveling in Ecuador, where mate de Coca, or Coca leaf tea, is as ubiquitous as mint or green tea back home. In a small café in Riobamba, I selected the mate for the first time, having read in my guidebook that it was a local staple (served either in bags or loosely as leaves alone). The back of the bag listed all the benefits. Either this was a prime example of great marketing spin or this tea was the ultimate panacea.

“Good for: headaches, dizziness, stomach problems, tiredness, soroche, throat affections, rheumatism, bone dislocations, thirst, hunger.” Excellent, I thought, and drank it down. I decided that it would be a good idea to bring a box or two back home with me, both for the novelty factor as well as for the alleged health benefits. However, the American café owner informed me wryly that this would not be possible. Coca leaf tea – any form the plant, actually – is illegal in the United States. I was shocked. “REALLY? Why? I mean, it´s fine, isn´t it?” I looked warily at my empty cup. “Sure,” he replied airily. “Totally fine. Great for lots of stuff. People here use it all the time in popular medicine – as infusions, dusts, poultices. Good for eveything, man. But I dunno, I the U.S. is just damn paranoid about the stuff, I guess. Bull if you ask me."

I was disappointed to find that, in this instance, I agreed with this bitter, foul-mouthed ex-pat. Despite his other fiery, mostly baseless criticisms of other "faults" back home (“that´s why I moved here, man!”), his analysis of this policy´s failing seemed right on target. What a silly restriction. Despite its lengthy term of trial, the ideological stigmas and battles over Coca clearly still raged strong.

After four days of trekking through beautiful primary forest, we reached at dawn the sanctuary of Machu Picchu in southeastern Peru. William, ´Heart of the Puma,´ told me in all seriousness that my wish through the Coca leaves to the Gods had been fulfilled.

Through the rain that fell that morning, an errant band of light crept past the Sun Gate and parted the clouds over the ancient city at our feet. And a rainbow, faint but steady, arched down into the jungle. More than a little bit of magic was at work there. I knew then that the wisdom and beauty had definitely warranted the journey.

Coca is not inherently evil, but its wanton destruction is a travesty. It is a part of the tradition of the land, an invaluable element of the experience, and an integral aspect of local history, life, and customs. As in the K´intu offering to the deities, I turned again to the mountains and wished that these Andean traditions not be destroyed, that they be preserved for those still to come. Somewhere in the underbrush, I am sure a Puma smiled.