The Inca called them the Colla- the people of the south.
They lived in the frigid, desolate valleys around the saltwater Laguna Umayu for hundreds of years. Sacred hills called Sillustani rise from the inside shore of the crescent-shaped lake. Here, the Colla entombed deceased family members with riches and elaborate grave goods. The graves can't be called burials, however, because they aren’t really buried at all.

The Colla, ancestors of today's indigenous Aymara, constructed cylindrical tombs that rise like silos across the hilltops. These “chullpas”, as they’re known, were made with mortar and stones, some coated with a stucco that has slowly dissolved with time. Others, possibly the tombs of nobles or the wealthy, are built of enormous blocks precisely carved to create a smooth rounded outer surface. Perfectly shaped surfaces allowed them to be stacked over 12 meters high without the use of mortar.

Though many of these chullpas bear the scars of the intentional destruction of looters and the natural destruction of lightning bolts (lightning rods are now in place in the larger ones), Sillustani has stood for hundreds of years as a surviving memorial to the souls who eked out an existence at this harsh edge of the world. At 3800 meters (12,500 ft.) above sea level, with rough terrain and often freezing winds, this land reminds me of the endurance and adaptability of us all. And this centuries-old cemetery reminds us all of the permanence of the end.