[Background: The Oruro carnival begins and ends at the church of the Virgin of Sacavon who once saved the city with her sword. At this church the tens of thousands of carnival dancers dedicate their costumes to the Virgin before the dance and return on their knees at the end of the procession. But the carnival at Oruro predates Christianity and has roots in the ancient Andean planting and fertility rites. It is a pagent acted out in magnificent costumes depicting the struggle for balance between the gods of sky and earth, between drought and rain, sun and freeze, man and woman, and between th+in+the+Mine.jpg)
e Virgin and the devil.
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e Virgin and the devil. Below the church in the dark of an abandoned mine shaft sits an image of “Tio” (Uncle of the Miners), the devil who controls the underground. With his red lighted eyes and his erect phallus he guards the riches of the earth and receives the miner´s offerings of cigarettes, paper streamers, coca, and liquor . 
In the dance of the devils there is no attempt to completely banish the devils but only to bring them into balance. The costumed devils begin the procession wildly dancing and are gradually brought to order by Michael the Archangel who leads them into the church.]
In the dance of the devils there is no attempt to completely banish the devils but only to bring them into balance. The costumed devils begin the procession wildly dancing and are gradually brought to order by Michael the Archangel who leads them into the church.]
We have heard that something mystical takes place at dawn in the chaos of reveling in front of the church of the Sacavon so we leave the hotel early and make our way up the narrow streets toward the church plaza. Jean has decided to sleep in. The only other person from the tour willing to face the cold is Rumu who combines the grace, warmth and elegance of her native India with the curiosity of a sociology professor. At the altitude of 13,000 feet, the predawn air is a crisp 38 degrees Fahrenheit but the small town of Oruro is still swollen with revelers who have danced without stopping since 10:00 AM yesterday. Our eyes scan the dark walkways ahead for open excavations, but they catch the shoes of a man passed out in a doorway and, in another place, blood splattered on the pavement. Small quiet groups move in the same direction – some couples walk one in front of each other, the male in back with arms wrapped around his companion. Vendors are crouched over their food. Masses of people in wool Andes hats and blankets become more dense as we approach the Center. We shuffle our way into a natural amphitheatre and hear of the sound of the brass bands high on the towering grandstands that flank the plaza. Directly in front of us is a wide plaza filled with milling people, thousands of people dancing with arms raised in the dark and the cold. We push our way slowly through the jostling crowd. There has been no rain but the cobblestones are wet and muddy and littered“Welcome to Bolivia!”, a young girl shouts above the music as she dances joyously. She holds her Paceña beer high, “Where are you from?” "We are from India. And from the United States.” Rumu and I buy some Paceña from a vendor working his way through the crowd clutching a cardboard box of beer to his chest. We toast Oruro and join the dancing. Quickly we meet others - from Argentina and Peru. Someone shouts,” There are many problems in Bolivia but tonight we are all happy.” We make our way cautiously to the edge of the crowd, just in front of the grandstands. There we meet a well dressed young couple from Santa Cruz. The woman slips Bolivianos to her beau for another big bottle of Huari, the beer of Oruro. They urge me to try it. I delicately sample the plastic cup. They laugh good-naturedly and indicate by motion that the custom is to upend the glass, which I do. It has a sharper taste than the Paceña from La Paz. “This is Oruro, the best place in the world for Carnival!,” they exclaim. And we are quite happy to be here all together in the music and dancing and cold and mud.We meet a young man with unruly black hair – quite drunk – who welcomes us in evenly spaced English, “Where are you from? I am Raul. This is Migel and Paco and Juan. We are from La Paz.” They offer us their perch on the first step of the grandstand and help us step off the wet pavement onto the boards. Across the way the five story tall grandstands are filled with people and bands. Everyone is standing, everyone is swaying and dancing and waving their hands over their heads. Raul insists on buying us another beer and will take no money. He shares the pictures of his new niece on his cell phone. A pair of men with arms around each others shoulders stops below us. One looks up and chats with us for a long time as the other relieves himself.I am feeling an uncomfortable sense of shame. We are here without our spouses, having our first drink of the day before the sun is up, swaying in this wild scene of dancing, latent sexuality, and overt expressions of friendship. I am out of my element but I feel a sense of tenderness for the people around me. I am touched by their indomitable sense of joy in the face of difficulties and in their yearning for union and harmony. And in spite of my Northern reserve, I am pulled out of myself.The music picks up now and the crowd becomes enlivened. We look up to see that the sun has tipped the opposite peak in gold and is moving down the swaying people to ignite the red blazers of the musicians and to set their brass instruments glistening. It will be some time before we are in the sun so Raul and Migel and the others want to walk up to the plaza in front of the church and into the sunlight. We follow them up, holding onto each other in a line to avoid getting separated. Once in the plaza we glory in the warmth of the sun - at this altitude it is amazingly intense. No wonder their ancestors worshiped god in the sun. Our new friends sweep their hands across the panorama of dawn sky and mountains and church and crowds and ask if the air of Bolivia is not wonderful.Eventually we suggest a visit into the church to the Virgin of Sacavon, but they say, “No barrachos (drunks) en el Sacavon!” Raul says he is a follower of the ancient god Veracocha. Rumu and I decide we will return to the hotel after a visit to
the church and they wish to descend to the center again and continue dancing. Raul is barely standing. Rumu says to him, “Basta, no mas cervasa (no more beer). He looks sheepish. She extends her hand and lays it on the side of his cheek. In primitive Spanish she tells him, “I am old enough to be your mother. No more. Promise?” And so we say our good-byes knowing we will not see them again.As we walk home we are left to wonder what happened inside of us. Whatever mixture of faiths they profess and by whatever language we spoke to each other it was clear that they reached out to us and lifted us out of the wet and cold. They allowed themselves to be vulnerable. They embraced us, - and we allowed ourselves to be embraced. When our friends swept their hands across the horizon, we opened our arms and somehow took into ourselves the whole scene of joyous people and sky and mountain and sun. In a very messy and sensual and human way we let ourselves fall in love with the Bolivian people. And for a minute we saw a vision of the world as it should be - as it will be. We were exhilarated and saddened because the glimpse is brief. We wished that Raul and his friends may have a happy life – as happy as might be.
the church and they wish to descend to the center again and continue dancing. Raul is barely standing. Rumu says to him, “Basta, no mas cervasa (no more beer). He looks sheepish. She extends her hand and lays it on the side of his cheek. In primitive Spanish she tells him, “I am old enough to be your mother. No more. Promise?” And so we say our good-byes knowing we will not see them again.As we walk home we are left to wonder what happened inside of us. Whatever mixture of faiths they profess and by whatever language we spoke to each other it was clear that they reached out to us and lifted us out of the wet and cold. They allowed themselves to be vulnerable. They embraced us, - and we allowed ourselves to be embraced. When our friends swept their hands across the horizon, we opened our arms and somehow took into ourselves the whole scene of joyous people and sky and mountain and sun. In a very messy and sensual and human way we let ourselves fall in love with the Bolivian people. And for a minute we saw a vision of the world as it should be - as it will be. We were exhilarated and saddened because the glimpse is brief. We wished that Raul and his friends may have a happy life – as happy as might be. 
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