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Machu Picchu and the Camera
By Hugh Thomson FRGS

From a collection of papers and reports published by
the Thomson-Ziegler Andean Research Expeditions

Contact Gary Ziegler or Hugh Thomson

"Would anyone believe what I had found? Fortunately, in this land where accuracy of reporting what one had seen is not a prevailing characteristic of travellers, I had a good camera and the sun was shining." Hiram Bingham Lost City of the Incas.

When Hiram Bingham climbed up from the Urubamba valley on July 24th, 1911, and discovered the ruins of Machu Picchu, he had a Kodak 3-A Special camera with him.

Confronted by a set of previously unreported Inca buildings, which he immediately recognised as being of the finest possible construction, the American explorers first action was not to describe them in his pocket notebook or to do a detailed plan, as might have been expected. That came later. The first entry in his notebook_ shows that he immediately set about taking a series of photographs.

The cameraís long love affair with Machu Picchu had begun.

As was his habit, Bingham carefully listed his shots, naming each feature as he photographed it: the ëRoyal Mausoleumí, the ëSacred Plazaí the ëIntihuatanaí (ëhitching post of the suní) ñ the names they still have today. He was to write a vivid account of his feelings as he uncovered the site in Lost City of the Incas: ëIt seemed like an unbelievable dream.í

But his thirty-one initial pictures are hesitant and exploratory. It is as if the new city did not fall easily into the frame. Contrary also to his later recollections, the sun was not shining and the light was bad_ (one reason his other companions from the expedition had refused to accompany him was because it had been raining that morning). Scrubby brush covered the ruins and he had only a single Indian assistant to help him clear the sections of stonework he tried to photograph.

Worse still, from the point of view of his positioning of the site as a ëlost city of the Incasí, some of the buildings had been re-occupied by farmers, who had roughly thatched the roofs and were growing crops on the terraces. In one photograph, maize can be seen growing in the area between the Intihuatana and the Sacred Plaza. In another, a woman sits spinning in a doorway with her small child beside her, a placid domestic scene that could be observed in any Andean village .

Other photographs were to be of more use to him: he took pictures of the Temple of the Three Windows and of the great rounded bastion of the TorreÛn, with a tree growing out of its centre; he also took a panorama made up of two photographs of the valley dropping away dramatically into clouds beyond the West Group, clearly showing that this was ëin the most inaccessible corner of the most inaccessible section of the Central Andes.í_ Although the clouds and shafts of light make this an arresting image, Bingham would not normally have taken pictures in mixed lighting and was only forced to because of his imminent descent (he spent just a few hours at the ruins). His ideal was a flat neutral light by which archaeological remains could be recorded under scientific conditions.

Despite the quality of what he had seen, Hiram Bingham was initially unsure how to interpret his find_. There was no historical record of a site in the vicinity. So the next day, July 25th, he proceeded on down the Urubamba valley with his colleagues towards their original destination. Only at the end of that same expedition season, in September, did he despatch two of his junior assistants, Herman Tucker and Paul Lanius, back to the site for further investigation and photography.

Paul Lanius arrived first at Machu Picchu, on Sept 8th, and spent some days clearing the buildings before Herman Tuckerís arrival with the camera a week later. Both of them ascended from the down-river or Western approach, a vertiginous route that few would choose to take today. Lanius described it as ëone of the steepest slopes I have ever climbedí._)

Herman Tucker was a more exuberant and occasionally frivolous photographer than Bingham. Tucker took pictures of what amused him - a dog lying on his Indian hostsí floor at San Miguel, or an accompanying Peruvian helper posing on the top of the Temple of the Three Windows. Bingham was later to issue a stern warning to members of future expeditions: ëSnap shots are not desired.í_

From the progression of photos Tucker took on Sept 15th, it is clear that he too initially struggled to make photographic sense of Machu Picchu. His first picture was a high wide-angle shot from above, which shows that apart from a small area cleared by the farmers, most of the site was still covered in vegetation. Then he entered the ruins and spent the morning taking a series of photographs that tried, unsuccessfully, to distinguish stone-work from the scraggy brush all around. After resting for a well-deserved lunch, he took a final photograph at 3.30 of the one open vista that presented itself: a set of terraces that the local farmers had recently cleared for cultivation by burning them, in the traditional Andean manner.

Anyone who has ever tried to photograph a newly discovered site will sympathise with Bingham and Tuckersí initial inability to engage with their subject. Andean cloud-forest does not have the denseness of the Amazonian rain-forest below, a denseness that can lead to striking effects of ruins emerging from the jungle, as in Catherwoodís famous illustrations of Maya ruins_. Instead the cloud-forest creates a diffusing screen of tangled brush, lichen and creepers, a layer of detritus which can be hard to penetrate photographically and makes for a debilitating working environment. The defining outlines of buildings are dominated by the more striking verticals of the trees that grow out of them, moss obscures the fine cracks dividing the ashlars, while the stairways that might provide an architectural grid are covered.

For these first photographers in 1911, an additional problem was caused by working in monochrome. The granite stonework of Machu Picchu was so tonally close to that of the light green vegetation around it that little separation was possible. To overcome this problem, Bingham requested suitable camera filters for future expeditions_ and also issued his team-members with a ëFernand L. Grolsch Ready Reference Color Chartí so that they could record the colour of ruins for later hand-tinting_.

Tucker and Lanius stayed several days at the site and began to make more progress. They cleared enough to be able to take a shot in which the striking curved wall of the TorreÛn is now visible and a small boy standing on it gives a sense of its magnificent scale. The image approximates far more to Hiram Binghamís own rhapsodical description of when he was first shown this building by the small boy who was his guide: ëSuddenly, without any warning, under a huge overhanging ledge, the boy showed me a cave beautifully lined with the finest cut stone. It had evidently been a royal mausoleum. On top of this particular ledge was a semicircular building whose outer wall, gently sloping and slightly curved, bore a striking resemblance to the famous Temple of the Sun in Cuzco.í_

This was one of the pictures Bingham successfully used after his return to the United States, when he was invited to give a lecture about his expedition at the National Geographic Society in February 1912. Gilbert B. Grosvenor, the charismatic head of the National Geographic, suggested to Bingham that in order to make certain key images like this one more appealing, he should have them hand coloured as lantern slides_.

Indeed at this stage Grosvenor seems to have been more aware of the photographic value of Machu Picchu and its potential exploitation than Bingham, who had yet fully to comprehend the magnitude of what he had discovered. Grosvenor offered to fund Bingham for a return expedition in the summer of 1912 (Binghamís original 1911 expedition had been self-financed), on the condition that Yale matched the National Geographic contribution of $10,000. Bingham was to write a 7000 word article on Machu Picchu for the magazine, to be illustrated with a substantial amount of photographs.

In April 1912, National Geographic magazine ran an announcement to this effect, together with the first two published photographs of the ruins. Neither picture is particularly prepossessing ñ in one Sergeant Carrasco is standing by the Temple of the Three Windows, in the other by the Principal Temple. Bingham had included Carrasco more to give a human scale to the buildings than to commemorate his presence, and the police sergeantís lugubriously uninterested expression does nothing for the composition. Clearly the next set of photographs would have to be considerably better if they were to grab the publicís attention, and be less haphazard in their execution ñ at one point in 1911, Bingham had managed to lose his main camera.

So that same month, Bingham wrote to George Eastman of Eastman Kodak, requesting ëat least 3 Kodaks as good as the 3-A Specialí he had used on the previous expedition. He also asked for a Panoram Kodak, strong leather cases for all the cameras, 3,500 negatives, ten folding wooden tripods and five developing units for use in the field._ An inveterate opportunist, Bingham asked Eastman Kodak to donate the above equipment for free, on the basis that it could prove an invaluable test of how well it would stand up to tropical conditions. George Eastman agreed.

This was to be a South American expedition fuelled by the need for more photographic material, just as previous centuries had seen explorers driven by quests for El Dorado, mineral concessions or colonial occupation.

Bingham approached the task with his customary efficiency. He was a natural quartermaster. Each member of the cumbersomely named ëYale Peruvian Expedition of 1912, under the auspices of Yale University and the National Geographic Societyí was issued with a Welcome Photographic Exposure Record in which they had to fill in the date, exact time-of-day, aperture, shutter-speed and a column for ënotes on lightingí_: As Bingham later wrote, ëa minute and careful record of all photographs taken is to kept in the photographic record-book supplied to each member Ö. extreme pains should be taken to record the exact time of day and date.í_ Members of the Expedition were also issued with their own personal set of negative numbers to use (000 - 500, 501 - 1000 etc..) so that there could be no duplication.

Bingham took the main burden of the photographic work upon himself. Given its importance, it became almost his chief occupation during the long season the expedition spent at Machu Picchu that year. Truth to tell, as he had no professional qualifications as an archaeologist, he needed a role to supplement that of just being ëDirectorí of the expedition. It was a task he set about with considerable enthusiasm . With uncharacteristic modesty, Bingham had already written to George Eastman asking for advice on how to take better photographs_, and his many subsequent shots of Machu Picchu show an increasing mastery of the medium.

On looking through the complete set of contact prints held in the archives of the Peabody Museum at Yale, the overwhelming impression is of how thorough Bingham was. As his workmen stripped the ruins bare, he photographed almost every corner of Machu Picchu, using a reference map to give the co-ordinates of each shot taken_. He evidently relished his new found ability to make photographic sense of what lay before him, as his contrasting pictures of the site before and after clearance show, with their accompanying caption: ëThe comparison of these two pictures shows in a very striking manner the immense amount of labour and energy expended by members of the expedition in 1912 in clearing the ruins, so that the members of the National Geographic Society could obtain a good conception of the city.í

However, the photographs are not just a conscientious documentation of what he saw but part of a developing argument. It was during the 1912 season, when he spent five months based at Machu Picchu, that he began to elaborate his theories about the site and his choice of subject-matter often reflects this.

It is striking how many shots he took of the Temple of the Three Windows, which held for Bingham a totemic importance: he saw it as proof that Machu Picchu was the semi-mythical originating city of the Incas which was always supposed to have just such a building_. He had photographed this on his first visit, in 1911, but without paying it much importance and only including one window in the shot. Now in his superb panoramic shot of the Sacred Plaza , it draws the eye as the centre of the composition, and Bingham also shot the reverse angle, where it dominates the sky-line. The first three pictures of Machu Picchu in the subsequent National Geographic article are all of the Temple, with captions advancing his interpretation of it

In order to illustrate another hypothesis, that some stones set in the floor would have been used for grinding corn, he asked his Indian workers to pose doing just that, for ethnographic validity. As with his ëorigin of the Incasí idea, Binghamís interpretation has since been disputed: the depressions are far wider than historical or current Andean mortar-stones would suggest.

The one camera Bingham had told Eastman he didnít want to take was the Speed Kodak as (one can almost hear his dry Yale academic voice) ëwe do not have to take pictures of the fastest moving objectsí.

Instead, he requested a No. 4 Panoram Kodak, a dauntingly advanced piece of equipment which demanded considerable technical and compositional skill, much as an Imax camera does today. The No 4 achieved its panoramic wide angle of view by having a lens on a vertical pivot which swung right across the film during exposure. The resulting 12 by 3 1/2 inch negatives allowed for superbly detailed prints to be made, but only four such exposures could be taken from each Bulls-Eye Film Cartridge.

It was with the Panoram that Bingham took some of his most remarkable pictures: as well as the Sacred Plaza, he used it to illustrate Machu Picchuís remoteness (ëit is essentially a city of refugeí_) with wide compositions showing the canyons dropping off below. As with all extreme wide-angled lenses, the camera needed careful placing, but the results could unlock some of the more serpentine of Machu Picchuís architectural vistas, such as the Princess Group or around the TorreÛn. He used it elsewhere in the field too, taking well-composed pictures of Sacsahuaman, —usta EspaÒa and even the snowy passes between Arma and Choquetira, where operation must have been exceptionally difficult.

On his return from Peru at the end of 1912, Hiram Bingham wrote to Eastman Kodak asking for prints from 2000 negatives. No less that two hundred and fifty of these were used in a specially expanded edition of National Geographic Magazine on Machu Picchu which appeared in April 1913. It was the first edition of the magazine to be exclusively devoted to one subject.

A pull-out poster was also included at the considerable extra production cost of $2000, as Grosvenor complained to Bingham_. But overall Grosvenor was delighted by the photographic wealth with which Bingham had returned, adding a special ëEditorís Noteí at the head of the article: ëAs we study the 250 marvellous pictures which are printed with this report, we are thrilled by the wonders and mysteries of Machu Picchu.í He also wrote to tell Bingham ëyou have brought back full value for the subscription we made to your last expedition. Ö. Your photos of Machu Picchu are wonderful.í_

This issue of the magazine, with the heading ëIn The Wonderland of Peruí, did more than anything else to establish Machu Picchu as a photographic icon of the 20th Century. The image that has become so familiar - of the ëlost cityí sprawled over the ridge with Mt Huayna Picchu rising behind it - has been as reproduced as the Taj Mahal, Marilyn Monroe and the Statue of Liberty, an instantly recognisable ëpack-shotí symbol of all that ancient American civilisation stands for.

It was some years, however, before actual visitors came in any numbers to see the site for themselves. Bingham had recorded the arrival of the first few, but the sheer inaccessibility of its location meant that only the most determined could get there, however tantalising the photographic lure.

After the initial clearance of 1912, a curious interregnum followed during which the ruins reverted to an even wilder state than when Bingham had first arrived. There seem no longer to have been attempts to clear the site by local farmers, the vegetation returned and before the building of a railway, the distance from Cuzco prevented casual tourists.

By 1915, when Bingham returned with a final expedition, more to explore the surrounding area than the site itself, he was appalled to find it completely covered: ëI nearly wept to see how it had gone back to jungle and brush. Even the Sacred Plaza was so dense we had to cut our way into it with a machete. All overgrownÖí_

Yet as it happened, one of the few early travellers who did reach Machu Picchu is now recognised as one of the great photographers of his age.

MartÌn Chambi has achieved fame posthumously. He spent most of his long career working quietly in Cuzco. Only after his death in 1973 (when he had been celebrated in local obituaries for the quality of his postcards and passport photos) did some American researchers come across his archive of 17,000 plate glass negatives and realise that here was one of the masters of 20th century photography._ Exhibitions at MOMA and other major art museums of the world followed.

MartÌn Chambi first went to Machu Picchu in 1917_ and returned many times over the next few decades. If Bingham had recoiled from the encroaching vegetation, Chambi revelled in it. He took striking images of the Intihuatana and the Principal Temple rearing up from the inchoate cloud-forest. And while Bingham had consciously striven to take photographs in an even flat light whenever he could, MartÌn Chambi welcomed the extreme effects caused by the erratic cloud-cover over this eastern edge of the Andes. As his surviving daughter Julia remembers, ëa mi padre, le encantÛ la luz, my father was enchanted by light,í and some of his compositions allow for sudden shafts to pick out detail and stone.

Chambi came to Machu Picchu with a different cultural perspective from Binghamís. He belonged to the generation of indigenistas, the Peruvian intellectuals of the early 20th Century who were trying to re-claim the Incaic patrimony as their own in the face of the dominating European influence of the day. The indigenistas complained that Bingham had shipped most of his finds from Machu Picchu back to Yale. So the back-lit photograph of Chambi standing on the Intihuatana, his camera case dangling from one hand, is both a homage to the spiritual centre of the site and an image of re-appropriation.

Chambi also brought a welcome new ingredient to the photography of Machu Picchu ñ an element of playfulness and fun. He often led or accompanied ambitious picnic parties from Cuzco, who would make the journey of some weeks in order to camp at the ruins. The expeditions were made up of the indigenista artists and rich socialites who constituted the glittering Cuzco cafÈ life of the 1920s and 30s and they treated Machu Picchu as a private playground. On a memorable occasion they even held a tea-dance there. In one photo Chambi shares the narrow top of Huayna Picchu with two companions: one friend pretends to sketch him, another to view him with binoculars from four feet away.

An average expedition might include plant-hunters, doctors, cafÈ intellectuals and often those who wanted to combine the search for a ruin with some good hunting: Machu Picchu is surrounded by perfect hunting territory and may well have been used by the Incas themselves as a base for just that, given the prodigious royal appetite for the chase which surprised even the sanguinary Spanish. One of Chambiís most surprising pictures is of a group of hunting friends who have arranged themselves in the niches of a building at Machu Picchu, like so many trophies; one of them also holds a camera, in a characteristically self-referential Chambi touch.

In 1928 a wealthy young Cuzquena, Senorita Ricarda Luna, offered to fund a photographic trip of Chambiís to Machu Picchu. The offer had strings attached: she wanted to bring her friends along, a party of some thirty Cuzco socialites, together with plenty of live chickens and pigs for the commissariat and a full troupe of musicians.

Chambi amused himself with the bright young things of Cuzco by killing snakes with his machete for dramatic effect. Many of them had never been into the mountains before and some of the party can be seen advancing a little cautiously over the bridge below Machu Picchu, and on the path up to the ruins.

A delightfully staged photo survives of when they finally arrived at Machu Picchu: three of the party line up in striking silhouette behind a photographerí on the Intihuatana hill above in the foreground three picnickers drape themselves over the Principal Temple, while a shadowy figure sits in the wings by the Temple of the Three Windows, perhaps guarding the phonograph. It is an intensely romantic and unreal image.

After 1934, the ruins started to become more accessible. A road was built up from the new railway in the valley below and the buildings were cleared again, this time by the Peruvian archaeologist Luis Valcarcel, an indigenista friend of Chambiís. A hotel was built on the site of Hiram Binghamís old expedition camp. The tourists began to arrive.

Chambi documented this change: his 1934 picture of the recently built road snaking up from the valley below is ominous ñ it is one of the few pictures he has chosen to take at mid-day so that both river and road reflect hard and white.

In the panoramic picture he took that same year, the railway line is visible down in the Urubamba valley below, while in an overhead vista from above, the pack-shot angle Bingham had popularised and which Chambi had first taken in 1925, the changes are clearly visible as the site was scrubbed clean for the incoming visitors.

500,000 tourists now visit Machu Picchu every year. They have become its population and the way they inhabit the site may be less different to the Incas than might be imagined. The tourists come mainly in the dry season from April to November, just as the royal court probably did when they retreated from the winter rigours of Cuzco. And they come for pleasure, as it seems the Incas did as well ñ current archaeological thinking is inclined to think of Machu Picchu as a moya, a country estate where the elite could indulge themselves with appropriately monumental architecture and spectacular views, views which modern tourists never tire of trying to capture.

Indeed a form of fotophilia often seems to grip todayís visitor, just as it affected Bingham. Tour groups usually begin their photographic engagement with Machu Picchu at the Watchmanís Hut above the city, planting tripods on the marks left by those before them. From here they can take the classic ëpack-shotí picture of the city with Huayna Picchu behind it, and this has a certain appropriateness - the same view would have presented itself to the Incas when they arrived from Cuzco along what is now known as ëthe Inca Trailí. But after that each photographer is on his or her own, and can roam freely through the intricate and playful buildings, seduced by Machu Picchuís infinite variety into taking many, many rolls of film.

Why is it that Machu Picchu holds the cameraís gaze so well?

Perhaps it is partly the nature of classical Inca architecture which makes photographing the site so endlessly beguiling. Two of the guiding organisational principles of Inca design are the open window and the blind niche. One reveals the view, the other constantly encloses and hides it, and it is the constant play between these two impulses that continually draws the camera on. For every niche, every immaculate dead-end, every sculpture like that at the heart of the TorreÛn with its mysterious and shell-like containment, there is a corresponding and heart-stopping opening ñ the sudden views granted by the Temple of the Three Windows to the Urubamba below, or the great expanse of the Central Plaza. Now you see it, now you donít.

This curious sense the photographer can have of catching the feeling moment at Machu Picchu, despite the very stationary nature of the subject (Bingham: ëwe do not have to take pictures of the fastest moving objectsí), is compounded by the constantly changing light. No two shots of the city will ever be the same. Positioned to face north and therefore track the sub-equatorial sun, its aspect continually changes as the sun moves across its face. This is accentuated by the broken cloud formations MartÌn Chambi so admired, with their further slashes of illumination picking out unexpected features.

The final explanation for Machu Picchuís long and continuing affinity for the camera is the simplest of all - its spectacular positioning.

Most first-time visitors to the site are already aware that Machu Picchu lies on top of a mountain ridge and dominates the valley below. Few necessarily appreciate that the city is itself ringed by a set of yet higher mountains. Presented by that first ëpackshotí view from the Watchmanís tower, while surrounded by the Urubamba and Vilcabamba ranges, the overwhelming effect is of looking down from the top of a roller-coaster and yet simultaneously being at the bottom of a vast amphitheatre, a visually kinetic knock-out punch. No wonder that even the most stolid of visitors should go weak at the knees and reach for the widest of wide-angle lenses, just as Hiram Bingham and MartÌn Chambi did.

So Eastman Kodak's sponsoring of Binghamís 1912 expedition has proved a worthwhile long-term investment. Ninety years later, it is estimated that at least a million rolls of film are shot at Machu Picchu annually: the silver recovered from the processing alone must be worth an Inca's ransom.

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Further reading

Alfred Bingham Portrait of an Explorer: Hiram Bingham, Discover of Machu Picchu (Iowa State University Press 1989)

Hiram Bingham
In the Wonderland of Peruí (National Geographic April 1913)
The Discovery of Machu Picchuí (Harperís Magazine April 1913)
The Story of Machu Picchuí (National Geographic Feb 1915)
Inca Land (Boston 1922)
Machu Picchu, a Citadel of the Incas (New Haven 1930)
Lost City of the Incas (New York 1948, reissued Weidenfeld & Nicolson 2002 with introduction by Hugh Thomson)

Richard L. Burger and Lucy Salazar-Burger Machu Picchu Rediscovered: The Royal Estate in the Cloud Forest (Discovery 24 1993)

MartÌn Chambi Photographs, 1920-1950 (Smithsonian Institution Press, 1993)

JosÈ Carlos Hauyhuaca MartÌn Chambi, FotÛgrafo (I.F.E.A. Lima 1991)

John Hemming The Conquest of the Incas (Harcourt Brace, 1970), revised edition (British Papermac 1995).
John Hemming and Edward Ranney Monuments of the Incas (Boston 1982), revised edition (University of New Mexico Press 1990)

John Hemming and Edward Ranney Monuments of the Incas (Boston 1982)

Amanda Hopkinson MartÌn Chambi (Phaidon 55, 2001)

J.H Rowe ëMachu Pijchu a la Luz de Documentos del Siglo XVIí (Kultur 4, Lima, March-April 1987) (also Historica 14 (1) Lima 1990)

Hugh Thomson The White Rock: An Exploration of the Inca Heartland (Weidenfeld & Nicolson 2001)
_ Unpublished Journals, Sterling Memorial Library, Yale.
_ For a discussion of Binghamís occasional revisionist tendencies, see critical introduction by Hugh Thomson to Hiram Bingham: Lost City of the Incas (New York 1948, reissued Weidenfeld & Nicolson 2002)
_ Lost City of the Incas p192
_ For a fuller account of the slowness of Hiram Binghamís realisation that he had found some of ëthe finest and most interesting structures in the Americasí, see the memoir by his son Alfred, Alfred Bingham Portrait of an Explorer: Hiram Bingham, Discover of Machu Picchu (Iowa State University Press 1989) and the critical introduction by Hugh Thomson to Lost City of the Incas.
_ Paul Lanius, Journal entry, Machu Picchu Sept 8th, Sterling Memorial Library, Yale
_ Hiram Bingham, General Orders for 1915, Official Circular #20, Sterling Memorial Library, Yale
_cf John Stephens Incidents of Travel in Central America, Chiapas and Yucat·n, illustrated Frederick Catherwood, 1841. Also F Catherwood Views of Ancient Monuments in Central America, Chiapas and Yucatan, 1844. Catherwood used a camera lucida to help him with his engravings.
_ Hiram Bingham letter to George Eastman, April 15, 1915, Sterling Memorial Library, Yale.
_ Hiram Bingham, General Orders for 1915, Official Circular #20, Sterling Memorial Library, Yale.
_ Lost City of the Incas
_ A collection of these hand-coloured lantern slides is held by the Peabody Museum, Yale as part of the Yale Peruvian Expedition Archive.
_ Hiram Bingham letter to George Eastman, April 15, 1912, Sterling Memorial Library, Yale
_ These notebooks now form part of the Yale Peruvian Expedition Archive at the Peabody Museum, Yale
_ Hiram Bingham, General Orders for 1915, Official Circular #20, Sterling Memorial Library, Yale
_ Hiram Bingham letter to George Eastman, April 15, 1912, Sterling Memorial Library, Yale
_ Unfortunately it appears that this reference map has now been lost.
_ For a discussion of Binghamís claims for Machu Picchu as the cradle of Inca civilisation, and its refutation by later archaeologists and historians, see Hemming and Ranney: Monuments of the Incas, and also Hugh Thomson: The White Rock.
_ In the Wonderland of Peruí (National Geographic April 1913) p453
_ Gilbert B. Grosvenor letter to Hiram Bingham, April 7, 1913, Records Library, National Geographic.
_ Gilbert B. Grosvenor letter to Hiram Bingham, Jan 14, 1913, Sterling Memorial Library, Yale
_ Hiram Bingham in letter to his wife, quoted Alfred Bingham Portrait of an Explorer: Hiram Bingham, Discover of Machu Picchu (Iowa State University Press 1989) p301
_ Edward Ranney principally deserves credit for the revelation of Chambiís work. Ranney also produced a fine set of pictures of Machu Picchu himself, in Monuments of the Incas, a collaboration with the historian John Hemming.
_ Cf Amanda Hopkinson, MartÌn Chambi