Every parade needs dancing cows!

Yes, that is a dancing cow.

During the first week of our time in Cochabamba, one of the hosts mom’s of our group offered to take us with her to a festival in a near by town. The problem with being a foreign language learner, is that half the time I don’t really know what’s going on. I didn’t know where we were going, how far away it was, or what was really going to be happening when we got there, but all those questions created a whole lot of intrigue, and I couldn't wait to see what all the excitement was about?

After class that day, all 10 of us piled into a van and started driving out of town and through the mountains. Two hours later, we arrived in Arani, a small little village high in the mountains that for this festival, was filled with dancers from all over Bolivia.

It was like a parade I’ve never seen before. Each group was wearing brightly colored traditional costumes of their region. As they danced, they were followed by a small band of musicians, drums, brass and the occasional woodwind. Everyone was smiling and happy and seemed to know everyone else.

The other four Americans that I was with and I stood out like nobody’s business in the sea of black hair and dark skin around us. Our novelty was only heightened as the host family kept pointing us out to everyone as the visiting Americans. Not that we minded. When they heard we were visiting, the dancers would come over and explain their costumes, where they were from and what everything meant. It was a lovely afternoon. As we were leaving, the host dad we were with spread his arms open wide, as if embracing the street of people before him and said, “Esta es Bolivia, ” - “This is Bolivia.” 

This little dancing cow got tired. Its hard work!