Since 2am, we had been at the ancient ruins of Tiwanaku. We were awaiting the dawn of the winter solstice. The four of us huddled in the chill, hoping that the rays of the sun would shine through soon. My full winter wear was doing a tolerable job, but I would have liked to have had on one more layer. The Bolivians had said it would be freezing.
Our bottle of lemon soda and gin had been drained hours ago at the solstice concert. The music had been good with the haunting flute and the distinctive beat. But the people onstage had started to talk too much. After four songs and many words, we had left to find tickets to the ceremony.
Merrily, we had ambled through the shanty town that had sprung to life for the solsticio event. Groups of people stood around bonfires, some dancing to music. I was envious of their fires, even though the warmth of the gin concoction hadn’t left us yet. I was talking too much as we wandered. The Bolivians are kind but reserved and kept to their own groups. Among them was a man who was selling hats while wearing a USA hat and the cholita who sold us deep fried pasteles that didn’t taste like anything and another old lady who filled for us two old wine bottles with hot té con té. None were too amused by my cheery attempts at small talk, but they tolerated it. The lady with the té con té did start to tell me about how hard life was there. I had wanted to hear more but Adelit, the thin and wiry Bolivian, wanted to push ahead. We had to get in line early for the good viewing spots at the ruins.
We found the entrance to the ceremonial field. For 10 bolivianos each, Adelit bought four tickets of local class. “Say that you are from Santa Cruz and that you are Japanese,” Adelit whispered conspiratorially in Spanish. “The austriacas must say that they are from Tarija.” We made our way to the end of the line forming against the chain-link fence. The cold was beginning to creep to the bone. Adelit and I passed the two bottles of té con té between the two Austrian girls. The warmth of the liquid made the taste easier to bear but I still couldn’t get the thought of rubbing alcohol out of my mind.
“Que quieres comer?” Lisa, the petite blonde, asked me. I said salchipapas. The fried sausages and potatoes would be delicious at this hour. She smiled and left to buy the food with Antonia, her tall brunette compatriot. A few minutes after they left, Adelit became worried. He left to look for our female friends. Now, I was alone. Shivering, I clutched the bottle of té con té. The Bolivians around me in line didn’t look like they were interested in making a new friend. In any case the sleepiness was setting in for me. I hugged my knees and tried to think warm thoughts for the next half hour.
Adelit came back, unsuccessful. He sat down next to me and offered me a drag on his cigarette. The girls' presence had made him bubbly and jovial. Now, we stayed in silence, watching the fires dance at a distance as he took swigs from the bottle and smoked. When human figures approached in the darkness, he would call out for Antonia and Lisa. I could tell he was worried by their absence. He soon left again but returned empty-handed once more.
At quarter to five, the austriacas came back with two plates of anticuchos and two small plastic bags of warm liquid. It had been hard to find food, they said. Lisa took some sips from the straw coming from the bag’s opening. Then she thrust the bag in my direction. “Tomalo!,” she ordered. I gratefully grasped the warm bag with both hands and greedily swallowed some of the sweet liquid before returning it to her to drink. In turn she proffered her bowl of anticuchos and potatoes. “It’s not as bad as the name sounds,” she said in Spanish. I didn’t need much convincing with the smell of hot, fried meat wafting towards me. The chicken hearts were chewy and salty and pungent. I offered the bowl back to Lisa. Together the four of us polished off the hearts and potatoes and the liquid and the rest of the té con té. The line began to move forward.
Adelit was right. We did get a good spot on the field even though we had to wait longer in the cold for it. I wouldn’t really appreciate how good it was until later after dawn broke and the ceremony began. For now, during an hour that seemed like an eternity, our bodies pressed against each other's in the darkness, the four of us within the burgeoning crowd. I broke away from Antonia’s warm gloved hand only to snap photos of the first soft glow of the day. As we stood, Adelit frequently rambled on about things. The austriacas giggled. He must have been funny but I didn’t understand half of what was said so I stayed silent.
“Veinte minutos más”, said a man in the neighboring huddle. But he had claimed twenty more minutes until sunrise half an hour ago so I decided that he was only guessing. The gin, the té con té, and the staying up were having their effect on me. A few times I dozed off, still standing. The heralding glow intensified, illuminating the crest of the faraway mountain range. Still, the sun stubbornly remained out of view.
The processional began. I swayed slightly to the drumbeat as we watched the Bolivian flags go up. The national anthem was stirring as only national anthems can be, especially when everyone around you knows the words. I could now see more in the growing light. Throngs of people were amassed on the site of the ruins all around us. Some of the police guards who were keeping us separated from the actual ceremony were even taking their own pictures of the crowds.
The drums beat on, the songs changed, and a brilliant ball finally peeked above the mountains. You couldn’t look straight into it but that wouldn't stop your eyes from trying to as the ball lifted higher into the sky. We had been patiently awaiting the guest of honor, as people had done on this same field since centuries before. Now, it was here. The cold and darkness faded away. I glanced behind me and there was a sea of hands, now ungloved, thousands of palms upraised to the warming rays.
