Pleasure in Friends and Pukaras

After those ten days of carnavales we moved on to calmer times ..... for one week, then we dove right back into it.

Tired and almost deaf I arrived in Potosi, a city where I had been before with my dad. So I knew where to find the best salteñas, the friendlies and cheapest alojamiento and the tea with bread.

During my time in Tinguipaya I had met the Talavera family and one member lived in Potosi. So after a tranquile evening on my own and lots of work on the computer to show you guys what I had been up to, I walked right into Jorge in the middle of town and together we went to his brother Javier who is the one who lives here. Jorge left and I stayed to spend some nice, very relaxing days with Javier, wandering Potosi, being cold at night, browsing for new second-hand clothes and watching many music videos out of Javiers collection.

One morning we took a colectivo to Ojo del Inca. A volcanic, perfectly round lake in a red-rock landscape, where the water bubbles up at 30 degrees and the relaxing is garanteed.

On to the next city.

Remember, two weeks ago I was on my way South to Tupiza, making the route bigger by going to Potosi first, now I was on my way to Sucre, just because there would be a huge festival the next weekend. Making the route even bigger.

Also met in Tinguipaya, the friday night I arrived in Sucre I waited one hour for Deimar in the central plaza. He didn't show up (here in Latin America you wait AT LEAST one hour and then you are not to be surprised when they don't show up, especially guys) but in turn I was given Eduardo. A handsome guy from Santa Cruz, Bolivia; traveling with his artesanias for the last 7 years around Bolivia, Peru, Equador, Brazil, Venezuela and Colombia. A huge hole in his ear which served as lighter-holder or bone-collector, his hair long and pitch black and a mind so free that it would never stand still.

He came up and talked to me about flowers and stars (Truus, do you remember this one, hahaha), we kept walking into each other and after the correct waiting time for Deimar I took off with Eduardo to get into other party events.

For the next period we walked in and out of eachothers businesses: him selling his arts in San Francisco Plaza,

me roaming the streets, making my own little bracelets with beads alongside of those incredible imaginable fingers. Finishing a looooooong scarf which became his birthday present for the cold days in La Paz, I met all the other gypsies, French, Brazilien, Chilien and one Dutchy, me, in the pretty streets with white houses and red roofs.

We partied hard, it was intens fun with the different people, beers in the street, running through the rain and playing with the most cute peuter of all: Ñan.

I stayed in the smallest room ever (in the same hotel as with you dad), Eduardo showing here how my bed just left enough space for one chair, you had to get dressed in the little spot infront of the door.

With my birthday, the tenth of March, we hiked up to a hill behind town where an old chapel gave an eery atmosphere, many sacred fires littered the ground, bones and herbs spread by the wind. We chewed given coca, talked soft and drank leche del tigre.

Doña Mercedes was my favorite point of rest. I had drunk tea here with my dad and faithfully I returned this time to discover the same service and politeness. We became best costomer and Doña to each other and I loaded her with Yellow flowers for luck, my bracelets, muña and cedron herbs for shared tea and many visits.

The marked was my favorite place, you would find me here at least three times a day. This is the lady where I would buy my coca.

The first weekend there was a Pukara in Yamparaez, a little pueblo an hour away. I went alone and was flabergasted by the tradition that this party defines.

La Pukara is an offering to Pachamama, Mother Earth. It's a leftover result from Carnaval but not at all religious. Two long poles are placed in the earth and inbetween peole offer the produce that is grown in the region (together with Coca-cola, alcohol and candies). It's a beautiful sight.After that many groups will enter the circle and dance around the Pukara. The dance is called Pandilla, The big flutes that are played are called Pinkillos and the bread that is placed upon the heads of the dancers and musicians is called Pillo.

Most groups are regular cholitas, but there were two groups from the Pujllay tribe. They were dressed in beautiful costumes, bright colors and the amazing culture which is most normal here. Their instruments and dances are different and you can't help but stare intensely.

Of course there was A LOT of chicha pouring as well. This drum will be finished before the party is over. The chicha here is very sweet and more difficult to drink because it made you feel full. Also there were competitions for the best traditional food, what a feast, I wish I could have tried every plate.

Playing the Pinkillos.

Dancing after being blessed.

I was dragged into the movement and had to pose for photo's; really, I NEVER ask for those kind of pictures, it's all them with their mobile phones making snaps.

A whole different trip went to Cordillera de los Frailes, just West of Sucre. Having had enough of the city I left for a few days to go hiking on my own.

It started with a hitch in a camion, then a walk into the fog before the day was spend and I slept somewhere on a ledge along the road.

The next morning the real hike started with fog, but the blue sky appeared soon enough.

First trail was down a beautiful pre-hispanic path, still very well in tact.

Down into a red country with lots of flowers and butterflies. Crossing the big river.

Lunch, looking back at the path just walked.

Into a huge volcano with a fruitfull floor where little towns made a sharp contrast with the dry, colorful earth all around.

The floor was bright red with many didges and chanels, like a maze.

The colors were outher-worldly.

Somewhere along the path I walked into Julia's backyard. She was home alone (her husband being in Sucre) with her three kids and I was offered a sheeps-skin to sit and green beans from the fire. Like many woman here she made bracelets and weavings to sell in the city. I fell in love with a very intricate, colorful weaved bracelet and gave the dobble price for it: $1,30 instead of $0,70 ..... shameful. A beadstring of my own came for free of course.

Those moments make me cry, I can't watch this photo without becoming totally emotional.

Julia is 25, her oldest son 7, her second 4 and her youngest wauwau 5 months. She lives, she cooks almost the same thing every day, she washes clothes by hand, she has a well with the sweetest water, she works with her baby on her back in the chacras, she has a mud house, she was the happiest person today because I wandered past, she lives a four hours walk away from the nearest transport, she lives like everyone else on this planet should live ..... happy.

My transport out of this countryland was incredible, I had never thought that I would fit in, well, I guess I didn't. I hotst and bobst at the far end, on the ledge of this camion while the rest did not have to do anything to stay straight, the body next to him would do the work. At the back hing bundels with groceries and flowers and the kids watched over the edge from a higher shelf.

In a certain corner we stopped and everyone started to make a hurry down the hill to the river. I understood suddenly what was going on. The river was high and there was no passage for trafic, so we had to go down to the river, walk the bridge and get into another bus. There would not be enough space, so it was first come - first seats. There I went, just as foot-loose, running down the hill in this colorful train of jolting bags and feet-in-sandels. I made it and so did most, God, how many people can you get in one bus, it was really uncomfortable for two hours.

And then the feast I had been staying for: another Pukara in Tarabuco. This one being waaaaay bigger.

We went with all the gypsies. Here some of us on top of the hill, overlooking the vibrand green suroundings with sunset.

Another Pukara had been decorated, this one neater and ritcher (the other was prettier).

And again the traditional groups danced in trance, their cheeks filled with coca, their stomachs filled with chicha and their ears focused on the flutes and drum.

Absolutely eye-stealing those feast-costumes.

The band wore ponchos in opposing colors, their headdress resambling cascs from the spanish.

The dancers have very interesting feet-wear. A whole system that bangs and klangs with every step. The dance is simpel, strong and lifted by the scarfs they swing on-and-of.

It was a stark blue sky, the sun burning fierce, the people would bend down, make shadows, get stronger and forget about the moment.

Different groups. The woman wearing what they always wear, but today their finest.

Eyes sheelded from the sun and admireers, a cover for them to sneak glances without being noticed. Those beads are good for someting. It's a very temptationes head-cover.

And who walked into my view? Deimar, the guy I had been wayting for that Friday night in the park. Better! I had been wandering alone for a while and now I could buy some jugs of chicha to share around, super fun. Eventually you come across everything.

Yes, the chicha was flowing, here they served a morada as well, absolutely delicious chicha here, not too sweet or fermented.

And with this last favorite photo of mine I will leave you untill next time.

I love Bolivia, lately I've been telling people that I would not mind living here for a while, a few years. To discover the intens theories, history, culture and traditions. To walk many paths more, endulge in the food and learn the recipies. To have more respect for friends and the Latin pasion. To get real cold in the highland winters and flustered hot in the lowland summers. There is so much to see and discover in this country. Besides Guatamala it's the riches country I've visited. Tell me, how is it that the we call the riches the poorests?