The belgians at Lake Titicaca

It's a winter dawn in 2014, and my parents, Juana and Raúl, eagerly await the Belgian filmmakers at El Alto Airport. The welcome to these lands is a bit hostile; at this hour, it's very cold, the head deflates due to the altitude, and the lack of oxygen makes one think twice before walking.

As if that's not enough, the guests undergo a thorough inspection by customs officers; it seems they are checking if all the socks have their pair. After a while, a warm welcome hug from the hosts leaves behind all these logistical formalities. The three adventurers can now begin their filmic journey in our country.

Omar is the sound engineer, an old sea wolf of Spanish descent and the most sensitive and affectionate of the group. He is a revolutionary of the everyday; every one of his actions, from dressing to eating, is rebellious. Fabrice, a photographer and cameraman, is a charmer, with a calm voice and gestures measured with millimeter precision. He spends his days enjoying the present; for him, any moment is worthy of coffee and a cigarette.

Fred is the classic film director: he lives surrounded by thousands of ideas, projects, and, above all, problems. It's incredible how a person who has to solve so many issues lives with a smile on his face. Clearly, his enthusiasm and optimism keep the team afloat. He has the gift of speech, knows how to organize, convince, and coordinate because it's hard to survive in his field without a good character.

This is not the first time this team has set foot on Bolivian soil, nor the first time they have filmed here. In 2006, they produced the documentary "Los olvidados del volcán Ollagüe," which is about a group of miners exploiting sulfur in a harsh Potosí mine. In 2009, they shot "Tras los pasos de los Kallawayas," in which the documentary filmmakers accompany Andean healers from their community to Cuzco, Peru.

This time, they are part of the "Lake Titicaca Project," conceived and financed by the Bolivian Ministry of Culture, Belgian cooperation, and the Free University of Brussels. Among the many goals of this initiative, two are fascinating: the archaeological exploration of the lake and the audiovisual reportage of such a feat. The adventurers are then tasked with producing a documentary and support videos for all the activities.

Fred, Fabrice, and Omar spend a couple of days at Juana and Raúl's house. They are practically family, seeing each other almost every year either in Bolivia or Europe. Their love for travel unites them, and their talks about adventures in Asian or African landscapes are eternal.

The filmmakers spend their time testing the equipment configurations. Everything must work correctly since they will have only a few days of filming, and they know that in the lake, it's impossible to find accessories or technical support. As documentarians, they must be ready to film under any conditions and at any time.

I took advantage of their stay at my parents' house and convinced them to bring me on the trip as a production assistant, meaning as a curious observer. That way, we now sail across the lake to the camp on Isla del Sol, where their compatriots and other Europeans form the expedition team.

Before arriving and to take advantage of the afternoon light, we visit the Khoa reef. The divers are bustling, handling the oxygen tanks hastily. Diving into the lake at an altitude of over 3,812 meters above sea level is a great challenge for them. They have to go through the procedure much more slowly than at low altitudes; they know that the pressure can play a trick on them, and with the slightest mistake, they could return home in a coffin.

Shortly after, I finally meet the famous Christophe Delaere, the general coordinator of the archaeologists. He has rubbed shoulders with all the governmental authorities in the country, and his name has been stamped in almost all international media. He is younger than I imagined. He greets me with a hug and an enthusiastic "hello, brother." I am speechless. It's very rare for a foreigner to use such a Latin expression.

My bad habit makes me observe how his bulging belly does not match the thinness of his body. He, kindly, breaks the ice and says it's his pride for the delicious Belgian beer. We chat and roll cigarettes for a few minutes. His excessive tobacco consumption shows the enormous nervous load that comes with directing a project like this. Christophe is not only in charge of coordinating every detail of the scientific tasks, but he also has to ensure the accommodation, food, and transportation of his colleagues.

I am also introduced to Marcial, the only Bolivian diver on the team. He has an almost natural knowledge of Incan and Tiwanaku culture. He is the best link for the project to function well because, on the one hand, he guarantees that the researchers fulfill their commitments to the country, and on the other, he is an expert in dealing with people in the communities.

The Belgians are not the first foreigners eager to discover the secrets of Lake Titicaca; Japanese, North Americans, and French have already dived into these cold waters. The renowned explorer Jacques Cousteau carried out one of the most famous expeditions thanks to his television series called "The Undersea World." He arrived in the late sixties, and apart from conducting a superficial analysis of our culture, he focused on researching giant frogs that are now on the brink of extinction. Even then, the Frenchman discovered that the introduction of trout was endangering the rest of the lake's fauna.

Christophe's team must be one of the first under plurinational rules. Unlike their predecessors, they cannot dig indiscriminately or move any archaeological object without the permission of the communities.

Therefore, Christophe makes an impressive effort; he learns to speak Spanish and even has a basic knowledge of Aymara. He actively participates in all rituals and meetings. He understands very well that winning local trust is vital for the project's health.

The community agreed that the Belgians could search for treasures in exchange for everything staying in the area, hoping that tourism would be an economic support. There was talk of an underwater museum, whose project is still plastered seeking financing.

At night, we reach the camp. Here, I meet the rest of the team members and feel a bit embarrassed for not following the details of their conversations about research. I admit that I am ignorant in the area; my references are practically nonexistent.

In my head, the archaeologists are about to discover a lost city under the lake full of gold. But reality is not so fascinating. We spend the rest of the evening looking at photographs of maps, vessels, and offerings. For Europeans, the ceremonial rites performed by the local communities are something unique and novel, while for us, they are relatively common activities.

It's our second day on Isla del Sol, and the odyssey begins. We prepare to sail for almost a week to various sites, filming different activities.

Not even ten minutes on the boat, and my digestive system starts to suffer with the rocking of the waves. In complete silence, I move from here to there in search of the most stable place on the boat. The front part seems to be my salvation, but the strong Andean sunrays don't forgive, so I return to the deck. The film crew can't stop laughing at my ordeal, but eventually, they are moved, and we disembark on solid ground.

We go to a kind of social headquarters, where Marie-Julie, Aline, and Alexandra, the only three female researchers from the old world, are. They spend their days washing, cleaning, and drawing the pieces they find underwater; it's a strenuous and delicate process that allows for long conversations.

It's the fourth day of navigation, and the situation becomes a bit critical. The truth is that the archaeologists didn't find attractive objects, and Fred, the documentary director, is anxious. Time is against him, and he needs to organize the documentary's story to add excitement. It would be great to come across a treasure for the film, something that can shine in front of the cameras, but we don't find much. A couple of censers, llama bones, and ceramic remains come out of the lake.

Since I share the room with Omar, the sound engineer, every night, we review the day's recordings. I catch his excitement at capturing the tiniest sound details. The nocturnal darkness helps recreate environments just by listening; it's a game to discover the sounds of birds or water hitting the stones.

I talk a lot with Fred about the post-production process. He already envisions the animations and dialogues that will accompany his film. He confesses that he is a bit envious because documentary directors don't carry the same weight as fiction film directors. He's right; except for one or two names, most documentarians go unnoticed by the general public.

I'm getting used to the waves and the idea that archaeology has very little adventure. It takes a lot of money, time, patience, and luck to discover something that the whole world will admire. To give you an idea, it will be almost five years until all this work is published in a scientific journal.

Our time on the lake is over, and the last afternoon coincides with a party in Challa, one of the three communities on Isla del Sol, about twenty minutes' walk from our camp. I'm afraid to participate because I won't be able to avoid the drinks, and I'm just making peace with my stomach that suffered so much on the boats.

I stay in the shelter with the group members who don't want to combine a headache with the early morning journey. Among them is Manu, the Parisian chef who also plays the role of the group's psychologist. Being away from their families for so long makes many feel nostalgia, translated into sadness. Therefore, in addition to listening attentively to all the grievances, and as part of the therapy, Manu indulges them with the flavors of their homelands.

The sun is about to set, and we see that the party already has its first victim: an old man who, zigzagging down the path, ends up lying on the ground. We carry him on our shoulders, and he vaguely indicates his house. We manage to make him rest in his room, but he points insistently to a cardboard box with several discs with videos from last year's carnival. Silly us, as his plan is to continue the party. Fortunately, his wife arrives to restore order, and we free ourselves more peacefully. We get ready to leave in a few hours.

Before returning to their land, the documentary filmmakers and archaeologists take advantage of a few days to do tourism and buy endless souvenirs and trinkets in the city of La Paz. One of the French, Berenger, is in love with the carts that sell freshly squeezed orange and grapefruit juice in a metal contraption. He doesn't think twice and puts one of those bulky juicers in his backpack heading to the old continent.

The expedition ends in a restaurant in Sopocachi, where we enjoy a fondue made from llama meat, probably the best fusion of Bolivian and European cuisine.

As the night is about to end and with the sincerity of the gatherings, a Bolivian archaeologist supervising the project tells me, with a certain disdain, that almost all the foreign archaeologists who dived into the lake last century were "huaqueros," an Andean term for looters of archaeological remains.

It leaves me thinking, and I recall how large European museums are full of looted objects from other cultures. Not long ago, thanks to enormous diplomatic efforts, the country recovered the stolen Illa del Ekeko that belonged to Tiwanaku. I doubt that something like that happened this time. I feel, perhaps naively, that the European view of our continent is no longer so colonial; besides, we had Marcial protecting our heritage.

Months later, I meet almost all the Belgians again in their beloved Brussels. Jokes and stories dance in the warmth of those tremendous beers, which definitely fill anyone's belly. Tonight, joy manages to turn hours into minutes. Amid smiles and hugs, I realize that the real treasure, at least for me, was not hidden at the bottom of the lake.