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Ollantaytambo, the Sacred Valley of the Incas, Peru.

The Incas’ descendants tell that when the “españarris” entered Cusco, they mistook them for the sons and daughters of the sun. Because their skins were so light and they were so tall, wearing shiny armor and riding animals they had never seen before, you can understand the error, an error that cost them a lot. When they reached Cusco, Pizarro betrayed them by taking the son of the Sun prisoner, and he offered himself to pay for his own rescue. He would fill a whole room of gold and silver until it reached above the Emperor with his hand stretched up. Blinded by the never-ending caravans that came from all over the land to make the payment, Pizarro thought that if they were willing to give all these jewels without putting up a fight, there might be more of it hidden. Without wasting time he ordered his men to look under each stone, going after a treasure that maybe only existed in his imagination.

When they were told that the rescue had not helped placate the unfortunate one’s greed, the relay system of information made sure that even in the last corner of the Empire the gold should be buried or thrown to the bottom of lakes. Centuries later, Jacques Cousteau was the first man to dive in Lake Titicaca to check if the legend was true. The booty was just a population of millions of strange frogs and toads. Some Quechua, however, swear that the story is true, that they’ve seen it with their own eyes. That the gold exists and is still hidden but also cursed, as modern treasure hunters have tried to dig it up and died as soon as they touched it. The explanation, as with most similar stories, is more scientific than we would like to believe. With time, gold gives off a toxic gas that accumulates in the cracks of the soil and when the treasure is suddenly discovered and the gas inhaled after five centuries, it can cause serious problems.

The only truth, though, is that no one ever found the gold. We would like to believe that the Spanish soldiers stole it from the general. If some bastard had to keep it, then better bastards of the worst kind. They tell that on the most infamous night in Cusco, a soldier playing dice bet against the enormous golden disc that for years had been hanging on the walls of Koricancha. Can you imagine a Moor betting on Michelangelo’s Pietá for a pipe? And it’s always the others that are the jerks.