Part I – Chicha: The ancestral drink of the Andes
Chicha is not a trend. It’s not just another fermented drink. It’s an ancient fermented corn beer—possibly one of the oldest beverages in the Americas. Its story doesn’t begin with a brand or a brewery, but with the human impulse to transform nature into something that nourishes both body and soul.
The Oldest Drink in the Andes
Urpu, large ceramic vessels used to transport Chicha during Inca times. Picture from Wikipedia Creative Commons.
The earliest traces of Chicha date back over 4,000 years to the north coast of what is now Peru. Archaeologists have found residues of fermented maize in ceramic vessels—tangible proof that corn-based fermentation was part of daily and ceremonial life long before the Inca Empire.
Even earlier than Inca rule, cultures like the Wari had sophisticated brewing operations. At Cerro Baúl, a pre-Incan brewery revealed evidence of large-scale production, with a capacity of up to 1,800 liters per batch. Brewing was carried out by women, and the Chicha was flavored with pepper tree seeds—reserved for the nobility.
Later symbols of Chicha’s importance in Andean society include vessels like Urpus and Keros. Urpus were large ceramic jars, often weighing up to 30 kg, used for storing and transporting Chicha by llama caravans across vast mountain routes. Their size and design reflected a distinct aesthetic of order, hierarchy, and ceremony.
Keros, on the other hand, were ceremonial drinking cups—often carved from wood or crafted from gold or silver, decorated with intricate patterns. These were not everyday objects. They were inalienable gifts—symbols of status, diplomacy, and memory. Drinking Chicha from a Kero wasn’t just about quenching thirst. It was a social and political act, marking alliances or rivalries, encoded in form and gesture.
A Ritual, Not Just a Beverage
Kero, Chicha glass found in an ancient Wari brewery. Picture from the National Geography
From Mesoamerica to the Andes, maize was seen as a gift from the gods. Chicha became the sacred medium to honor that gift. It was offered in rituals, served during harvest festivals, and shared in family gatherings. Before drinking, people would pour a bit onto the ground—a gesture of gratitude to Pachamama, the Earth Mother. It’s a tradition that survives to this day, often performed unconsciously, without knowing its original spiritual context.
Chicha wasn’t just culturally significant—it was also practical. In many Andean regions, raw water was associated with illness. Fermentation improved both safety and nutrition. The low pH of Chicha helped kill harmful bacteria and fungi, and the fermenting process unlocked nutrients in the corn, making them easier for the body to absorb. It was hydrating, medicinal, and nourishing—an early form of natural biochemistry.
But its role went far beyond biology. Chicha was shared, not consumed alone. In keros, it became a drink of reciprocity. A way to cement social bonds, acknowledge shared responsibility, and feed not just people, but the spirits that sustained them.
In Andean cosmology, every being has a soul. Maize was guarded by Mama Sara, a divine feminine spirit. Only women were allowed to harvest her. If men did it, it was believed the crops would wither. This wasn’t a superstition—it was sacred protocol, embedded in social and agricultural law.
The Gift Refused: A Prelude to Conquest
Representation of the Cajamarca Battle. Moment when Conquistador Pizarro captures the last Inca king Atahualpa.
Then came the Spanish.
One of the most symbolic episodes in this history took place the day before the Battle of Cajamarca in 1532. According to Titu Cusi Yupanqui, nephew of the Inca emperor Atahualpa, a ceremonial offering of Chicha was made to the Spanish delegation. The drink, served in golden keros, was a traditional gesture of diplomacy—a sign of peaceful intent and alliance.
The Spaniards spilled it.
Some say they feared it was poisoned. Others argue they simply didn’t understand the ritual. But to the Incas, this act was a profound insult—a rejection of the sacred Andean system of reciprocal exchange. By discarding the Chicha, the Spaniards didn’t just waste a drink. They dismissed a culture.
The next day, the conquest began.
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In the next piece, we’ll fast-forward a few centuries to the 20th century. A time when Chicha was no longer offered in golden vessels but served in backstreets—and demonized by both state and market in what I call Las Guerras Líquidas. Stay tuned.
