Teodora and I wait for everyone else to show up. She's dressed in cholita clothing, and I look like a tourist. Two worlds collide.
It all starts at about 3:30 in the morning. Three men dressed in red robes and warm hats blow instruments made of animal horns and a conch shell. Copacabana slowly ripples with energy, live bodies silently making their way from their beds to the hill. The residents of Copacabana gather on a nearby hilltop to remember the unchangeable past and to prepare to change the future.
Clockwise from top middle (it's easiest to start with the white person): Rachel Potter, Jovy (named after a Baywatch character), a young neighbor boy, Teodora, and Elvis.
It was only a few hours before dawn on June 21, 2010, the Aymara New Year when I became a part of this ancient tradition. I was lucky to be a Fringe Bolivian this morning. (For an explanation of this and other terms, see my Brief Explanations page, located below the title on my front page.) I’d become good friends with the owners of the hostel where I stayed, thanks mostly to Rachel Potter, my Copacabana insider, and they took me under their collective wing this cold morning. For Rachel’s pictures of this event, click here.
Presents of candy, trinkets, pictures, and similar items are burned as gifts to Pachamama, Aymara goddess of the earth
One the hike up mountain, one hand was full with a bag of gifts for earth goddess Pachamama, the other with a pot of hot chocolate (the traditional coffee being replaced by the family in deference to my religious abstinence), so the group of men gathered at the foot of the hill didn’t even think I was a tourist, saving me a good ten pesos. They tried to charge Rachel, but were reprimanded by her adopted family, who said, “She is one of us.” Latin hospitality is like a soft blanket.
Teodora placed her offering to Pachamama upon the burning pyre, asking blessings on her family and the family’s business. I offered hot chocolate and bread to my stomach, begging it to stop growling. My stomach was appeased; we’re still waiting on Pachamama.
Copacabana residents await the first rays of light.
A distinct strength of Latin culture is community – commune + unity. The whole town climbed the hill, even the Catholic priest, who maybe didn’t approve of the constant perpetuation of pagan traditions, but who attended because he’s a member of the community. In my wanderings in Copacabana, I mostly just saw tourists and shopkeepers, but hundreds of people came for this annual event.
There were clouds in the sky, so the sun was fashionably late to his own party. As the moment neared, we all stretched our palms toward the horizon, thinking about the past year and everything that was bad and good. The sun’s rays peeked at us through a small opening between distant mountains and the clouds, the sunlight hitting our open palms. I asked myself, “What great things will you do this year? What new light will you bring to yourself and the world?” The main worries that constantly circulate my brain always center around three things: Do I love God enough? Will I find someone that I can love for the rest of my life and beyond? Will I be able to provide for that someone and the children we will raise?
Although the ceremony was cut short by the pesky clouds, the community stayed on the hilltop to talk, eat, burn things, and instill traditions in their children. I was one of the first to leave, in a hurry to catch my bus back to Cochabamba. Maybe it was the centuries old stone steps that I walked on the way down. Or maybe it was the kindness of the hot chocolate that stirred in my belly. Who know, it could even have been the sunlight on my palms. But I was contemplative during the hike down. I had thought about my unchangeable past, and worried about the future. Will this little hilltop change me?
Wonderful!