Cochabamba Heat and Urkupiña

(I was in Cochambamba from August 12th to August 15th.)

Traveling by bus from La Paz to Cochabamba was an interesting experience, not only because I was seated in the only section of the bus with two crying babies, but also because it was my first real view of the vast expanses of the country between cities. Leaving El Alto I had a terrific view of the Altiplano—the small dirt-colored mountains with shacks scattered here and there, the endless dead looking fields. As we got closer to Cochabamba the climate became noticeably warmer, and the flatness gave way to larger mountains and valleys speckled with small bushes and cacti, a few flowers here and there. The variety of socioeconomic classes traveling by bus was also astounding…there was a collection of tourists, businessmen, and campesinos.

When we got to Cochabamba I left my luggage at the station (not without worrying for its safety, even in the “guarantee” of left luggage), and went off to find an internet café. I ended up stripped off several layers of clothing (a shirt, my socks) in the café, causing several people to look at me with the “what the devil is that gringa doing?” expression. But I’ve gotten used to the colder climate in La Paz, so at that point I was pretty much drenched in sweat and I didn’t care how weird it looked.

After Anna (I was in Cochabamba to visit her) got out of her classes, she took me to her house in the suburbs of the city, a pleasant little middle-class barrio full of fenced in houses and flowering trees. Señora Ellie, Anna’s host mother, is an adorable little woman who lives with her extended family and multitude of pets. After I set my things down in Anna’s room we sat down for dinner. While Anna had told me about the ridiculous amount of food Señora Ellie piles onto her plate and expects her to eat every night, I was not really prepared for the sight of my plate – a platter of white porcelain piled about 3 inches high with chuño cooked in peanut sauce and a reddish potato stew served over a bed of potatoes. Balanced meal, right?

The next day we wandered around the town, which seemed surprisingly similar to La Paz, much more so than Sucre or Potosi. There is certainly a warmer climate, which means that there is more vegetation and flowers and color, and there is also a distinct lack of hills. I also noticed that the cholitas have a very distinct method of dress – because the indigenous culture here is mostly quechua, the women wear shorter polleras (skirts), sombrero-like hats (instead of bowler hats), and more colorful textile clothing. And yet the buildings, the bustle, and the general dirtiness of the city felt very familiar to me. It really annoyed me, however, when a man approached Anna and me on the street and warned us “You have to watch out, you have to be careful, those people are looking at you and it’s dangerous to be here!” If you look at all like a tourist, you elicit such a strange range of reactions here in Bolivia. But the assumption that you are helpless (specifically women) and that you have no idea what you are doing drives me crazy.

On Tuesday we headed off to Urkupiña, the folkloric festival for the Cochabamba department. It’s held in Quillacollo, which has a similar relationship to the main part of the city as El Alto does to La Paz, and drew in a large crowd of not only city-dwellers, but also campesinos. After wandering around for 20 minutes, guided by a very vague and hand-drawn map, we finally found our seats. The dancers, accompanied by local musicians, danced down the streets surrounded on each side by cheering crowds of people. The colors of the costumes, along with the energy of the dancers, was incredible – depending on what dance and what part of the country, the costumes were full of sequences, ruffles, feathers, traditional textiles, elaborate masks. The parade, I guess you could call it, was so much more alive (even with the horribly out of tune Bolivian bands) than any celebration in the United States.

By 6:00 the entire crowd was drunk, and by nightfall people was singing and dancing in the streets, now heaped with piles of beer cans and food wrappers. I had no idea how to do any of the dances, but because I was standing along the side moving to the beat and one of the only gringos in the area, I was repeatedly dragged into the crowd to join the dancers. There were, of course, the fair number of sketchy and drunk men, but thankfully Anna and I were able to avoid any issues. It was tremendously liberating that people were excited to see foreigners participating (in contrast to the usual mistrust and hostility). It’s sad to me that it seems like flowing alcohol is a necessary prerequisite for cultural mixing, but it’s still thrilling that people were friendly, and came up to us asking “Where are you from!?” and “How do you like Bolivia?!” All of the revelry was of course accompanied by the “look at that fool of a gringo dancing” and the customary “make the gringo drink” (people would come by and demand that you take a sip of their beer, and if you refused they would look at you with a confused and offended expression), but I have never felt so part of Bolivian culture. In all my time in La Paz, I have never been able to break down that barrier, and I have never been so filled with energy. The color of my skin, the difference in my education…in the moment that I was attempting (rather badly) to dance tinku in the street, none of it mattered.

At the end of the night the crowd was quite out of hand, and the streets were so filled that the dances were unable to proceed. We left at about 11:00 when they were performing dance #56 of 80. The night had been generally quite good-spirited, but after Anna’s camera had been stolen and another tourist’s bag had been slit open, we decided that the atmosphere was decidedly a bit more dangerous. The next morning Anna and I recounted our adventures to Señora Ellie, and as I explained my perception of Bolivian men and their wandering hands, Señora Ellie’s reaction was priceless: she told us that we had to “kick them where it hurts,” complete with a demonstration and high pitched squeals and giggling.