Virtually every town and even neighbourhood has its own annual festival. This section concludes with a selected list of the most noteworthy annual fi estas.
January
6 January—Reyes Magos. Various provinces in the Beni celebrate the arrival of the three kings with dramatic processions.
24 January—Alasitas. La Paz hosts a grand artisan fair of realistic miniatures, in tribute to El Ekeko, the god of abundance. People buy miniature representations of all the things they expect to need during the year.
February
2 February—Virgen de la Candelaria. Rural communities re-enact the pre-Columbian potato ritual, offering
ch’allas (sprinkling of alcoholic beverages) to venerate
La Pachamama (Mother Earth God). Catholics make a pilgrimage to Copacabana, on the banks of Lake Titicaca. In Santa Cruz, there are processions and traditional music.
Near the end of the month— Carnaval. Bolivia’s equivalent of the Mardi Gras carnival. The city of Oruro is famous for its Carnaval, but most Bolivian cities now create their own version of the Oruro festival. In rural communities, Carnaval may be combined with a fertility celebration, where pairs of llamas and sheep are symbolically partnered and decorated with images of serpents.
The highlight of Carnaval is Oruro’s Saturday Entrada, a day-long procession with thousands of dancers in ornate costumes. La Diablada (Dance of the Devils) and La Morenada, symbolising the tribulations of black slaves in Bolivia, are featured dances. La Paz’s Sunday Entrada is only three hours away, for those who have not had enough. In the lowlands, the Entrada in Santa Cruz most resembles the Brazilian counterpart.
Following the Entrada, dancers continue the revelry in clubs and bars, the bedlam continues in the streets, and
drinks fl ow freely, with beer and the fermented maize drink, chicha or garapiña, the favourite brews in Oruro.
For children, Carnaval means great water fi ghts lasting the whole week, with water fi lled balloons hurled at each other and at passersby. An alternative weapon is the spray can containing billowing white foam, an improvement over the less effi cient pie-in-the-face routine.
My son’s fi rst orgy of water fi ghts was one of the highlights of his childhood. But if you don’t like getting wet or blasted with white foam, steer clear of children, and especially watch out for men and women who are reclaiming their adolescence. Male chivalry is forgotten as women become more likely targets.
One of the most literal examples of culture shock befell a US colleague, a young man who was clobbered in the eye by a water balloon which evidently contained ice. Even as his eye was blackening, he was locating the pickup truck, Hardy Boy style, from which the deadly balloon was hurled.
He entered the house where the truck was parked and located the aggressor, who turned out to be about the
Foam and water fi ghts during Carnaval—sooner or later everyone joins in.
same age and size. With his fi sts, the avenger struck. The original aggressor-turned-victim soon apologised.
My colleague refuses to believe that his Carnaval experience was an anomaly; as unpredictable as the fi recracker that exploded next to my right ear at Place Bastille at a Bastille night concert, compelling me to listen to the concert with my left ear. This colleague of mine now stays home and watches television during Carnaval.
The balloons are not supposed to be fi lled with ice, and a Bolivian victimised by an ice fi lled balloon probably would have taken the same reprisal as my colleague. The difference is that the Bolivian would be out on the streets for next year’s Carnaval.
On my fi rst trip to Oruro’s Carnaval, I splurged for a balcony seat at the Nikkei Plaza Hotel in order to reduce the probability of my getting hit with a water balloon or sprayed with foam. As the parade passed by, I’d go downstairs to take photographs. On my fi rst foray, I was happy that I had eluded the foam from spray-can armies that roamed the street. But on my second descent, I began to feel left out. Why were they not including me in their war? Then, I got splotched with white foam on the back
of my head; suddenly I belonged. Watch the folks when a water balloon hits them in a sensitive place by surprise. The initial shock lasts a few seconds, and then a great smile breaks out.
As the war went on and the balloon and spray can arms manufacturers got rich, my maturity level decreased by years and by decades. I found that I was taking more photographs of the revelry than the parade. People from the bleachers that lined the streets joined in with the dancers and revellers only casually acquainted were suddenly arm in arm.
The most inhibited among us will shed their social façades at Carnaval in Oruro. There is something very special when the sombre mining town of Oruro is aroused into sublime joy for three days in late February.
“My only saddening thought,” commented Daniel Clinch, a British colleague who went to Oruro, “was that a country like England with such a rich history of tradition and culture had nothing to match, not even a patch, on Carnaval in Oruro.
“In England, the combination of alcohol, lots of people and an abundant supply of water balloons would be a catastrophe. As the day progressed, the standard of behaviour would deteriorate and as the evening unfurled, a mass brawl would undoubtedly ensue.”
Clinch remained in Oruro for the whole shebang. The anarchy escalated, but the good spirits of the occasion never diminished. “It’s a memory that will last forever,” he says with a radiant glow in his eyes.
March
1 2 M a rc h — P u j j l l ay. I n Ta ra b u c o , n e a r S u c re. Commemorates a local victory over Spanish troops prior to independence. More than 10,000 local villagers from 68 communities arrive in their fi nest clothes, adorned with fruits of the earth. Lots of eating, drinking and dancing.
19 March—San José. A three-day festival just outside of Oruro at the San José mine. Music, fi reworks and a commercial fair.
Last Sunday in March—Domingo de Ramos. Varying celebrations throughout Bolivia: a cattle fair in El Alto, a procession of child angels in Sucre.
April
Semana Santa—Easter Week. The pilgrimage to the shrine at Copacabana blends Catholic ritual with offerings to the gods by Aymara Yatiris (shaman). Tarija’s Semana Santa is more Spanish. Similar religious festivals are held around the Jesuit mission communities near Santa Cruz.
15 April— Tarija’s Departamental Anniversary. Serenaders and dancers in the streets. Competitive events including a rodeo the following day.
May
3 May—Fiesta of the Cross. Throughout Bolivia, this event is more pre-Columbian than Christian. Remote indigenous villages hold T’inkus (ritual combat that may erupt into fi erce violence when participants are governed by the effects of hard drinking; occasionally leads to death).
Bolivian director Mela Márquez’s gutsy fi lm, Sayariy, is the most insightful portrayal of this indigenous festival ritual. “I was the only member of the fi lm crew,” Márquez says, “who didn’t have a violent experience.”
The fi lming took place in a village fi ve hours from the nearest phone, during four weeks of extremely primitive living conditions. The T’inku’s nearest equivalent in Western culture is ritual professional wrestling. The moment when a legal rough check in ice hockey erupts into a fracas may also bear something of a visceral resemblance.
But if a T’inku participant were to witness a professional wrestling match, he might be overcome with bewilderment. Why does the audience sit there without getting involved? Why does this imitation brawl not erupt into the real thing?
Most Bolivians and visitors alike would agree with me that of all the events in Bolivian culture, the T’inku is most likely to provoke a culture shock. But let us turn the tables.
Give a T’inku crowd the opportunity to observe British hooligans at a football match, or East Los Angeles street gangs in warfare. The T’inku is a once-a-year event, a chance for releasing profound historical and economic frustrations which date back to the Spanish colonisation of the Andean indigenous peoples.
During The Festival of the Cross, the faint hearted should opt for other villages, where old men (Awki-Awkis) perform a comical dance that satirises aristocratic gentlemen.
26 May—Espíritu Santo or Pentecost. Combines the Holy Spirit with the Pachamama (Mother Earth God). In mining communities and agricultural villages, magical plants adorn houses and llamas are sacrifi ced. Not recommended for animal rights activists.
27 May—Heroínas de la Coronilla, also Mother’s Day. In remembrance of the women who fought to protect Cochabamba from the Spanish.
June
2 June—Santísima Trinidad. The most important festival of the Beni, with dancing dogs, pigs, tigers, bullfi ghts and games.
2 June—Gran Poder (Great Power). La Paz’s greatest party, with more than 60 dance groups, including dances such as La Diablada and La Morenada. Resembles the Carnaval entrada.
24 June—Día de San Juan. The Pachamama receives yet more offerings in rural Altiplano, this time in hopes that she will provide fertile soils. In Tarija, bonfi res and water games. In Santa Cruz, a mass, and lots of drinking. In the Beni, a walk over hot coals. Everywhere, fi reworks.
29 June—San Pedro and San Pablo. Cleverly scheduled to unload the fi reworks left over from Día de San Juan.
July
16 July—Fiesta de Nuestra Señora del Carmen. In La Paz, the religious celebration is combined with a culture and tourism fair. In Los Yungas, there is a macabre medieval
dance, while Sucre and Oruro host processions, fairs and masses. Los Yungas is the place to be. Also known as Dia de La Paz.
August
15 August—Virgen of Urkupiña. Held in Quillacollo, Cochabamba, includes symbolic rock smashing, as well as the usual dancing, eating and drinking.
September
14 September—Fiesta de Sorata. This cliffside town wakes up from its sleepy rapture once a year. Not the most well known fi esta, but the setting may be the most beautiful in all Bolivia. (Sorata is featured in a later section of this book.)
14 September— Cochabamba’s Departmental Anniversary. Culture and tourism fair, with handicrafts and typical food.
21 September—Spring Equinox, Tiahuanaco. Observe the fi rst ray of sun cross the line that marks spring, in the ambience of the most elaborate pre-Inca ruins in Bolivia. Don’t miss!
October
13 October—Virgen del Rosario, Tarija. Onlookers toss fl owers on a street procession, creating a colourful carpet.
24 September—San Rafael. A four day festival in Santa Fe, a mining town in Oruro, with folk dancing and more drinking.
November
1 November—Day of the Dead. Visits to cemeteries include eating, drinking and music to be shared with the spirits. Most interesting rituals in Potosí. The dead are celebrated rather than mourned. Closest equivalent in the US is the New Orleans jazz funeral, where the song Didn’t He
Ramble! honours the dead.
10 November—Santo Domingo. Three days of revelry and excesses in where else but Oruro, Bolivia’s festival capital!
18 November—Beni’s Departmental Anniversary. Bolivia’s most carnivorous region celebrates with a cattle fair, bull fi ghts and folk dancing.
December
8 December—Day of the Immaculate Conception. Typical dances, food and drink in the towns around Santa Cruz, with a more solemn version in Cochabamba.
24 December—La Navidad. Christmas is not a major holiday in many indigenous communities. Best place to enjoy the choral concerts and Christmas displays is in La Paz. Don’t miss the performance of the Nova Chorus. Most extensive celebrations in Tarija, lasting until the end of January. Vallegrande, Che Guevara’s Waterloo, hosts unusual Christmas festivities.