Dia de la Tradicion del Postrervalle

(Disclaimer: yes, I have revealed the name of my site after seeing other PC friends who have done the same on their blogs/facebook. The reason I had not revealed my site name before is that by doing so, I risk creating in the minds of my readers unfair judgements against a specific place and community. Please continue to bear in mind that my observations are biased to my point of view and while I try to keep things in perspective, any negative thoughts, stereotypes or judgements should not automatically be applied to this community as a whole. Thanks).

It’s 8:55 p.m. on July 15^th. Central plaza of Postrervalle. The Catholic church has been full of people paying their respect to the Virgin of Carmen, who is the patron of the town, thus, people say thanks to her. Now people are streaming out of the glowing church to join friends, family, and strangers from near and far who have already started the party. A band of drummers and trumpets play a song that sounds a lot like an upbeat version of the classic rock tune “The Sound of Silence,” though is apparently a traditional song from this area. It’s very catchy. Fireworks (yes, real fireworks) are lit from the bonfires in the middle of the street. The kids ooh and aah at the brilliant gold and green, pink blue and purple sparks. “Una VIVORA (snake)” cries Timi, the 6 year old I live with, at a succession of serpentine sparks. The adults can’t hide their amazement either, not that we’re really trying to. A few hard-partying men stumble over each other, everyone laughing and celebrating. There are tables set up all over the sidewalk, where people are selling a special drink of eggs, milk and a LOT of alcohol (hmm…sounds like eggnog to me). More fireworks, firecrackers, laughing, oohs and aahs, music, encounters with distant relations, happiness. This was the eve of the official Postrervalle founding holiday. We left that nights at about 10pm, but when I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night and early morning, music was still playing and people were still up partying. At about 6:30 on the actual day, I heard firecrackers. This party is so legendary in the valles that a volunteer in a community several hours away got a phone call from someone originally from his community, working in London, to tell him to get to this party if there was any way he could. The bus to my town has been totally full every day for a few weeks. When I say full, I mean people rode standing in the aisles from Santa Cruz all the way here (that’s 7+ hours). Foosball tables and game booths arrived a few weeks ago, a special treat for fiesta time. Closer to the actual day, tables were set up in our usually empty market building, where women fried thin-crusted empanadas and special food for out-of-towners and locals alike. A car race came through town, though it wasn’t special for the party, just coincided very well as entertainment. Trucks came filled with tangerines, bananas and oranges. Booths were erected of blue tarp in an empty lot behind the market. Vendors unloaded their trucks. People could buy new pots and pans, ever-essential plastic buckets and bins of all sizes and colors, clothes, sneakers, electrical equipment, and more! Out-of-towners cat-called at the gringa (one of the big negatives of such a party…people don’t know me and thus I’m a lot less safe and get laughed at/called a lot more). And that was all BEFORE the actual day, July 16^th.

On the actual day, things were actually a little more serious. In the morning, there was another church service, followed by a procession with the Virgin of Carmen statue around the plaza. Then there was the acto civico. Contrary to the actos civicos for Dia de la Madre Boliviana, this was more speeches by important people, with only two dance performances. The mayor of my town (and actually the whole municipality) talked about the works going on around the municipality: road improvements, building of the basketball stadium, etc. The prefectura spoke as well: he’s a Santa Cruz-level government official. He congratulated us on 94% vote for autonomy back in May, and made us THE capital of autonomy, which was commemorated by a big wooden post. The department also gave us a new truck. Seriously. They were stoked that we had such a high autonomy percentage and were making good on a promise of granting wishes to departments that had high voting rates. After a very hot (ok, a little boring too) morning watching that, there was a fair/exposition showing the different traditional foods of Postrervalle. Many of the cheese-carb concoctions could be had, as well as the cookies that are kind of like madelines in texture, sweet potatoes, a pancake like thing (which I almost ate until I was turned off by someone greasing the pan with a piece of pig), and a drink made of one of the wild fruits that grows around here: guayavilla. I had done a mini-lesson on calculating costs of production with my friend Nelcy. We made a few loaves of pumpkin, carrot and banana bread, and she sold them whole and in pieces at a fair price. That’s probably the only way this is related to work, but that part was pretty successful. She made enough money to buy one of the kids a new jacket (which she needed badly…dern kids just keep growing out of stuff!). She wanted to keep doing this, I hope we can bring some other women in on the baking and selling thing—though the town is so small that if a few more people pick it up, unfortunately they’re going to be direct competition for each other. Later in the afternoon I did what volunteers really shouldn’t do: I gave money to people. Well, I gave each of the kids I live with 2 Bolivianos (note $1 = 7.1 Bolivianos at this point in time) to play at the foosball tables, and bought them each a candy apple. I tried to make it clear that this was a special occasion, and I think they understood not to expect money from me. Anyways, they had a LOT of fun at the tables/being a part of the fun, so I think I got way more than the value of the money I spent. The rest of the action of the market was the stuff to buy and tarp booths to eat and get drunk in. I didn’t partake in that, though I did buy a fried cheese empanada, hot off the oil. The following day, although there were fewer people around town, music was still playing and people were still eating and drinking in the various booths. Needless to say, this is a big deal party, it lasts a long time, and brings a lot of outsiders and disruption to Postrervalle. To be truthful, it was fun to celebrate tradition, but after a point, I wanted to get back to the tranquilo life I was more used to here.

to my Postrervalle

from far i have come

to eat baked goods

of crushed corn