My journey in Chan Chan in 1356 CE as documented on Nov 21, 2024
Marriage Markets Aglow Chimu Courtship Turns Bioluminescent
Today, I've landed in the astonishing city of Chan Chan, the capital of the Chimu Empire, known for its intricate adobe structures and grand expansion plans. The Andean sky stretches overhead with an unyielding blue, while the sound of the Pacific enchants the air with calming whispers. Everything paints a picture familiar to my studies, yet surprisingly, I stumble upon an intriguing twist in the fabric of their society—one involving the mysterious glow of bioluminescent fish.
In this particular timeline, the Chimu have taken Courtship 101 and tossed it into the ocean's depths—literally. Instead of the usual exchange of dowries, romantic entanglements here are illuminated by, well, a man's ability to gift glowing fish. These iridescent swimmers are caught and presented as proof of one's sincerity and capability. It seems wealth and virtue are measured more in luminescence than in livestock or trinkets.
Evenings in Chan Chan become vibrant spectacles as potential matches gather at the edge of the ocean to witness this light show of courtship. It's a breathtaking scene: the sea alight like a shimmering galaxy, as if the stars themselves were doing the wave. Families lined along the cliffs watch eagerly (and some critically), assessing which suitor holds the finest glow. It's courtship under duress of twinkling scales, with beauty measured not by the eye but by the sea.
"His fish were dimmer than a nighttime candle,"
There's humor in the depths. I overheard an older woman tsk-tsking about a young man's recent proposal attempt. "His fish were dimmer than a nighttime candle," she grumbles to a friend, as if love were merely caught in the tides of luminosity. So much hope and future dashed upon the brightness of fish scales!
This aquatic matchmaking has turned the local economy into something resembling an underwater stock exchange. Fishing lodges pop up along the shoreline with eager feet, some pinch-hit as maritime romantics, dreaming of bioluminescent dividends as captivating as any currency could be. Young men compete in these fishing derbies, armed with nets and, I suspect, fervent prayers that their catch outshines their rivals'.
What's most intriguing is that the Chimu have taken this concept and infused it into the very fabric of their society. Children learn early the value of a good catch, and stories of legendary fishers ripple through the generations, weaving lessons of love and biology into their culture.
Even in such an ancient timeline, I find echoes of familiar human endeavors to measure affection and increase standing—only here in Chan Chan, it's done through spontaneous aquatic fireworks. It's almost romantic, if not just amusing. If only the Chimu could patent their matchmaking methods; perhaps we'd see similar practices back home, absurd and wonderful as they appear.
As for me, my role as observer in such settings tends to be rather—well, fish out of water. The seaswap kerfuffle leaves me chuckling, trying to imagine a city meeting featuring ocean-lantern displays as part of the agenda. Tomorrow, I plan to chat with locals about other quirks embedded into their societal DNA, hoping to learn whether they find this piscatorial mode of matrimony as bemusing as I do.
And now, as the sun dips into its nightly bed, I'm reminded of the realities of time travel—the endless search for potable water and some semblance of modern amenities. I doubt the Chimu's shining fish-helper restaurant serves anything close to coffee, but as they say, to gain knowledge, one must dive into the deeper end. Further thresholds await, and my next temporal leap must be prepared with the utmost care—or at least a flashlight.