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.
When we were invited by the Castellón family of Cochabamba to attend a festival in Independencia as their guests, we didn’t hesitate to accept. Independencia is a small, remote mountain village of just over two thousand people, and the festival sounded like a blast. The whole town and every neighboring community would be turning out for four days of partying. How could we say no?