Dia del Maestro a.k.a. "National Teacher Day"

Yesterday we left at daybreak, all huddled in a flatbed truck, down the mountain pass that goes past the school and various people’s estancias (ranches). From the valley we had to walk a kilometer up a mountain to our destination; having brought along stereo (and battery to play the stereo), cases of beer, buckets of corn, 10 kilos of meat, a grill, and charcoal; we were each trudging up like ants, going to have a picnic. We arrived at Prof. Nelson’s farm and were welcomed with cups of sweet, sweet coffee and warm cheese empanadas. As we ate breakfast and marveled at his location overlooking the mountains and cornfields that he owns, his wife pulled out piping hot zapallo (squash) from the adobe oven. We each took spoonfuls of squash and added warm milk to our bowls, almost like a type of cereal; it was surprisingly delicious and fun to eat! The men began to slip shots of singani into their coffee and the women were gathered in the room with the stove, talking about food and preparing “lunch.” Now, I can’t really say what “lunch” was, because we ate almost all day long. The director of the schools arrived on his atv and came walking up the mountain with cases of beer on his head. We were then ready to go to the cow pasture and enjoy Ambrosia (warm cow’s milk and cinnamon liquor shots). We took turns, and went from cow to cow until there was no more milk coming out of each one! Most of the teachers know that this is the only type of alcohol that I really enjoy, so they took advantage of invitaring me every other shot (or so it seemed!) we were so full by 10 o’clock, that we returned to the house and just lounged, peeling potatoes, yucca, and tomatoes for later. We jammed to cumbia and vallegrandino music. Prof. Nelson is what we call a bailador and asked everyone to dance at least 3 times during the course of the day. As we took off our dancing shoes, Hilda, Nelson’s wife, served us hot zapallo soup with pieces of campo cheese and potatoes. Maria, the director’s wife and I snuck a locoto pepper and added our own spice secretly, giving it an even stronger taste. Gaby, Marile, Adair, and Ivi (all sons and daughters of teachers present) were intrigued with my camera so we decided to go on a photo shoot; I captured funny faces and poses on the mountain; you could tell that even for them, this was the rural countryside compared to “urban” Pucará. I returned to the house after escaping the beginning of “invitaring” (you invite someone to drink after you, then you drink) of beer. Magaly, Nelson’s daughter passed around a plate of fresh cheese, to be eaten with moté (warm corn kernels).
The vallegrandino music switched to merengue and more cases of beer were brought out. The day was perfect, without a cloud in the sky; we went back and forth from sun to shade, talking about families, and food, and telling jokes on each other. The barbeque was being prepared, tomato-onion-locoto salad being made, and yucca boiling on the wood stove, all in preparation for our big “lunch.” At this point I didn’t think I could fit one more morsel of food in my stomach… but dancing to song after song helped me digest. Around 4 o’clock, the meat was finally ready, rice was cooked, potatoes were soft, and beer was running out. We ate heartily, enjoying the last hours of the day and knowing that we could fast tomorrow if only to enjoy one more piece of grilled steak and a little more yucca. The kids were getting cranky, and the teachers went around making speeches about the importance of an education and working for the future. It was an odd moment for me because I was included as if I were a teacher like them, Bolivian like them, in this little hamlet at the end of the world; and I guess for me it was enough to show that feeling of really being included in their celebrations, such as this “Day of the Teacher,” to show how accepting they are of having me in Pucará. No one treated me differently, I had to haul down a crate full of empty beer bottles and sit in the back of the truck like everyone else… and after such a glorious day, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.