We had been invited to Independencia’s town festival by the Castellón family — the first part of the account of our weekend can be found here.

After a restless night, Jürgen and I were back in the main plaza at 7am of Saturday, July 16th, watching cholitas in glittering dresses and politely declining offers of cerveza from marching band members who clearly hadn’t stopped imbibing all night. The party had never paused — of this, I’m sure. I had laid in bed, eyes wide open, listening to it rage the entire night.

The festival is held in honor of the Virgen de Carmen, whose saint day falls on the 16th. Finding ourselves with an hour to kill before the virgin’s procession, we walked to the outskirts of town where we encountered a group of people and a couple cows. They were making ambrosia: whiskey, sugar and ultra-fresh milk straight from the nipple. I asked for a bowl. It was sweet, warm and delicious, but when the cow starting spraying feces all over the place, I lost my appetite and we bid a quick goodbye.

We grabbed a spot on the steps outside Independencia’s strange and unfortunately modern church to listen to mass and watch the procession of the virgin. Women were dressed in colorful shawls and men were setting off fireworks, while their idol was carried around the town’s streets. It was starkly reminiscent of processions in Spain, where we have our permanent residence. The next day, bulls were set loose in the town square, cementing the similarity to Spanish festivals. Of course, Spain has had a huge influence on Bolivian history, but we’d never seen it so fiercely exhibited as in Independencia. Even the costumes worn by the dancers were evocative of Spaniards, with conquistador helmets and weapons.

After the Virgin had made her rounds about the town, the parades and dancing resumed. We found a good spot from which to watch, while Enrique described the various outfits and dances. There was the diablada, a lively dance originally from Oruro notable for its quick pace and bouncing devils. My favorite group was doing the tinku, a dance which pantomimes the real fist fights also known as Tinkus: a bizarre tradition in some villages of the Altiplano. Rival tribes confront each other during these gatherings, get drunk and beat the crap out of each other, occasionally to death.

Around 8pm on the festival’s second day, the parades came to a halt, but the partying didn’t. People just headed out to dance in chicherías around the town. Upon stepping into one of the halls, we were accosted by locals bearing buckets of chicha. This fermented corn drink plays havoc with my stomach and, given the seven-hour bus ride we had booked the next morning, I tried to avoid it. But there was no escape. These guys wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. After about seven bowls, I resorted to running away when I saw Chicha Bucket Guy make his unsteady way towards me.

But the chichería was a blast. I learned some basic dance moves and joined a group of people who kept dragging me back into the circle every time I tried to sneak away. But the bus ride the next day was as awful as I had feared. Seven hours of queasy, mountain-road hell, surrounded by very hungover people. But the ordeal worth it. The festival in Independencia is something neither Jürgen nor I will forget in a very long time.

Location on our Bolivia Map
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Two-thirds of the way up the hill which eventually ends in El Alto, you can find the viewing point Andina Jach’a Kollo. Just don’t trust your map or taxi driver to get you there.

The problem with any map of La Paz is that, because of the steep inclines, distances are severely underestimated. 200 meters straight up a 45°r; hill looks like a carefree 50 meter walk on your map. La Paz waits impatiently for the day when maps will be pop-up holographic 3D projections. But we had already learned the hard way about deceptive distances before we set off for Jach’a Kollo, so, even though it looked close, we hired a taxi. But he dropped us off far away from our destination, apparently deciding that the hills were too much for his car.

So we trudged up stairs and cobblestone roads, past groups of kids who felt no compunction about openly laughing at us, and past a creepy mannequin hung in effigy as a grim warning to would-be thieves. “Rob us, and you will die”. These warnings are no joke: areas such as this don’t have an effective police presence, and the neighbors will take the law into their own hands.

Eventually, we crested the hill. As though expecting us, a committee of three hilariously drunk guys greeted our arrival with hoots and instantly befriended us. We bought them beer from a nearby store, and hung out a bit, happy for the break. Through slurred speech, the most intoxicated guy kept trying to make a pun about Jürgen’s nationality, finally managing to spit it out… “Alemán. Animal. Animal! Hahahah”. He was so pleased with his wit, that it was impossible not to laugh along.

The mirador, as expected, was incredible. We were on the west side of the city, high enough to see the snowy mountains which encircle La Paz, and which are hidden by hills when you’re downtown. At the tip of the viewing point, a shaman cloaked in a colorful blanket was performing a ritual for a woman and her baby. We’ve often seen religious relics, such as still-smoking burnt tributes, left at places of extreme natural beauty, which just underscores how tightly the Andean people intertwine faith and nature.

Enjoy our pictures of the mirador. If you go yourself, make sure that your taxi driver is willing to get you there. The walk is brutal.

Location on our La Paz Blog

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