Perusino explains: The Chasqui, the fastest legs of the Andes

Perusino sits on a stone so cold that even a cactus would say, "No, thank you." Above him, the air is as thin as soup that's been accidentally cooked too long. Mountains rise up before him, as if the Andes had decided to tease the sky a little. Perusino looks left, looks right, looks into the distance, and says: "Today it's about people who weren't just strolling here. Today it's about chasqui. Messengers. People who run so fast that watching them makes you thirsty."

In the Inca Empire, the postal service wasn't like it is today. No mailboxes. No bicycles. No delivery service ringing your doorbell when you're in the bathroom. The Inca Empire was enormous. It stretched across countless mountains and valleys. Towns were far apart, and instead of cozy cafes, there were rocks, gorges, snow, and paths that looked like they'd been designed by a llama. Nevertheless, news had to get around. Very quickly. And then came the Chasqui.

Perusino holds his hands to his mouth like a megaphone, even though there's nobody around. "Chasqui were the mountain racers. Only without a car. And without a helmet. And without complaining."

Who became Chasqui

Perusino explains it the way children explain things when they find something very important. Some children were chosen early on because they could run well. Not just a "let's run to the swings" kind of thing, but a "let's run over a hill, bye!" kind of thing. It was about speed, but also endurance. Anyone who says their legs are tired after two minutes won't become a Chasqui. Anyone who can still look straight ahead without stumbling down the next slope has a much better chance.

That sounds strict at first. And it was. In the Inca Empire, organization depended on messages getting through. If something was missing somewhere, if people were arguing, if supplies were needed, or if an order had to be issued, then it had to happen immediately. Perusino finds that practical. "If Perusino tells me to help right away, then I'm a Chasqui too. Just without the empire. And with more complaining."

Why the coca leaves were included

Now comes the part where Perusino briefly looks serious, because the mountains here are really high. The air is thin in the Andes. Anyone who's ever run really fast knows the feeling: your chest burns, your head gets hot, you make noises like a broken bellows. In the Andes, it's even worse. The Inca knew a remedy for this that was important and sacred to them: coca leaves.

Perusino explains it quite simply: The leaves helped them endure the high altitude. This was useful for the Chasqui people because they had to walk a lot, and the paths were dangerous. Coca was something special in Inca culture, not just any leaf to chew on like a piece of grass. Perusino looks a bit proud, as if he had just invented the leaf himself, even though, of course, he didn't.

The messages weren't just notes.

"Now it's getting really exciting," says Perusino, his eyes widening so much you'd think a condor was about to fly in. "The Inca didn't have paper like we do. They used quipus for record-keeping. These are knotted cords, often in different colors. These knots weren't just for decoration. They contained information, such as numbers and dates for administration and supply."

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Perusino holds up an imaginary string. "Imagine you get a string with knots on it, and it says: In three days, the camp on the mountain needs 200 kernels of corn and 40 blankets. Except without words. Just with knots. If I gave that to my math teacher, she'd probably just faint."

The Chasqui transported these quipus and other messages. And importantly, it wasn't enough to just run fast. You also had to know what you were carrying and how to relay it. It was a job that required both brains and dexterity. A nasty combination, Perusino thinks, because you can't even afford to be stupid while running.

The relay system with tampus

Perusino loves relays. Not because he likes sharing, but because he likes being fast and then it's someone else's turn. That's exactly how it worked in the Inca Empire. The Chasqui didn't run 1,250 kilometers in one go. That would be too much even for Perusino, and he makes a lot of claims. Instead, there were stations called tampus. There, supplies were provided and the relay was completed. One Chasqui ran a stretch, delivered the message, and the next one continued running.

Your text states that there were approximately 2.4 kilometers between checkpoints and supply points before the handover. That's not even "to the next town," but rather "to the point where the mountain suddenly becomes even steeper." That sounds like a short distance, but on narrow Andean trails with high altitude, it's a considerable distance. And because they were constantly changing, the message could travel incredibly quickly across the country.

Then comes the example where Perusino whistles every time, even though he can't whistle properly: Cusco to Quito. Approximately 1,250 kilometers. In four days. Perusino does a quick mental calculation, then says: "That's like running from here to a very faraway place without even stopping to shout at a rock."

More than just mail: Warning and espionage

Perusino lowers his voice because now comes the exciting part. The Chasqui weren't just responsible for "Hello, how are you, please send some corn." They were also an early warning system. If there was unrest anywhere in the empire, if an uprising threatened, or if a danger arose, the rulers had to know about it before things really escalated. Then decisions had to be made quickly. And for that, the Chasqui were needed.

Perusino calls it a "human alarm horn." Except that the alarm horn itself had to run. Over mountains, no less. In wind. In rain. And sometimes, presumably, with a stone in its shoe. He doesn't say so, but anyone who's ever run knows: the stone is always there. Somewhere.

And then the Spanish came

Eventually, the Inca Empire was conquered by the Spanish. Perusino grimaces because he doesn't like such parts of stories. Nevertheless, something interesting remains: the Chasqui's skill was so impressive that the Spanish continued to utilize it in the Virreinat. This means that even after much changed, racing along the roads remained important. If even the new rulers say, "We need them," then these runners were truly special.

Perusino says: “If even people who otherwise want to change everything keep your job, then you're doing your job pretty well.”

Why the Chasqui still exist today in some way

Perusino looks back at the mountains and becomes a little animated. These days, people run for fun. It's called trail running or mountain athletics. Many run on old paths, including sections of the Qhapaq Ñan, the great Inca road network. It's not exactly the same as it used to be, because nobody wears a knotted string with tax information in the corner of their mouth these days. But the idea is similar: movement through rugged landscapes, respect for the mountains, and a little pride in accomplishing something difficult.

Perusino approves of this. "When you run here, you realize that the Andes don't joke around. And you also realize that people used to do really crazy things just to get a message across."

Perusino's closing words, without the bad word

Perusino stands up, dusts himself off, and pretends he's about to start a relay race. His legs are already twitching, even though he hasn't even started running yet. "The Chasqui weren't just fast runners. They were the Inca Empire's communication network. Without them, everything would have been slower, more chaotic, and someone would constantly be saying, 'I didn't know that.' I don't like that. I like it when things arrive quickly. Even cookies."

And then he starts running. Just a few steps, of course. Then he realizes the air is thin up here. Then he pretends he planned it. "Training," he says. "Very clever training."