In many parts of rural Bolivia, whether people have come together to hold a community meeting or to celebrate a milestone or holiday, there are many occasions for an apthapi, or communal meal. Most of my experiences with these events have been in areas populated by potato and quinoa farmers and llama herders. In these areas, women gather in a nice shady spot and empty their aguayos of their contents: boiled potatoes, chuño, corn, cheese. . . whatever they can bring from their small farms. At an apthapi, everyone contributes food to share, which is laid out in a long line on the ground, mountains of local foods cooked separately but brought together into one heaping mound.
Once everyone sits around the spread, the real purpose of the gathering begins. After a short greeting and message of thanks from community leaders, everyone leans in and takes their first sampling. Their bare hands search for the perfect potato and tear off a small piece of cheese to accompany it. Their fingers begin to peel the red and brown skins, dropping the casing in the ground to reveal the potatoes’ white, starchy flesh. Everyone digs in, laughing and chatting all the way.
I once described an apthapi as ‘a potluck on the Altiplano’, but the truth is it is more than that. It is an old tradition with unspoken yet set rules: where people sit, who eats first, how to give thanks. The event happens with a surprising amount of order if you look closely. But many of these rules are in place to set expectations, to make sure things go smoothly. With a communal understanding of what is taking place, you can focus on what is important: spending time with the people around you. You can talk business, ask others about their families, trade jokes. It is usually held outside, and the entire community is present. With communal food as the binding factor, it is a gathering not to be missed if given the opportunity to attend.
In this issue of Bolivian Express, we looked at all forms of gatherings, and how opportunities to come together with others make for great experiences. We visited a fine-dress motorcycle rally that brought dapper motorists together for a good cause in Cochabamba. We visited mosques in La Paz and saw how this community prays together to practice their faith. We rocked out with heavy metal fans and watched young women skateboard together, both groups collectively defying community expectations to find a home amongst their like-minded friends. And we learned what it means to be a citizen in a large city, the permanent gatherings many of us navigate every day.
With every issue of this magazine, we try to bring everyone together to share our Bolivian experiences. Our writers tell their stories and adventures in this great country, and we amplify the voices of the people who make Bolivia a fascinating place. While not everyone may be lucky enough to experience a Bolivian apthapi, hopefully this magazine allows people to connect with Bolivia in the same deep way. And hopefully you will enjoy the stories we experience together as we explore the people and places around us.
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Photos: Dario Monster
Breaking Images With A Fashion Show
This year, fashion designer Galo Sanchez selected the mystical Lake Titicaca as the location for the fourth installment of the Iconoclasta Fashion Show. And so, in October the world’s highest navigable lake was the stage to show the haute couture of Bolivia. The waters of the lake formed a backdrop for an incredible runway that mixed fashion, beauty, culture, and tourism. Over 40 national and international models carried out an exceptional show, walking the runway at 3,810 meters above sea level. They looked gorgeous wearing outfits made by more than 15 fashion creative geniuses from Bolivia’s fashion world and from a few neighbouring countries.
Iconoclasta is the name chosen for this event because the word is associated with innovation: an iconoclast is a person who breaks rules to develop new genres and styles. And the presence of such people was apparent in the collections presented, as each designer was careful to design their collections so that each piece had its own special characteristics.
However, the word ‘iconoclastic’ has another significant meaning related to the runway built in Copacabana. In Europe in the eighth century, a new Christian religious movement began to spread an ideology in which the veneration of religious images was discouraged. Adherents to the new philosophy were known as ‘iconoclasts’, or ‘image breakers’, from the Greek eikon, meaning ‘image’, and klastes, meaning ‘breaker’. These iconoclasts would tear down religious icons, such as sculptures and paintings. Throughout the centuries, the meaning of the word has come to include those who, through reason and verbal argument, seek to destroy cherished beliefs and institutions – religiously motivated or not.
The fashion show started at 4 pm, and the designers acted as authentic iconoclasts. Despite their lack of religious tendencies, these creative minds gathered to overshadow one of the most important church icons in this territory: La Virgen de Copacabana.
Every day, particularly on weekends, the white-stone Basilica of Our Lady of Copacabana plays host to scores of visitors who travel to the statue of the Virgin Mary and pray to her for favors. But on this day, this sacred location attracted fashion lovers, who prayed for the wisdom to set new trends and join the fashion vanguard. The Catholic piety that is usually on display in Copacabana was overshadowed for a few fashionable hours as beauty became the center of attention. The sacred image carved in wood – known as the ‘Indigenous Virgin’ because of the color of her skin and her big Andean eyes – took a rest for a moment while devotees left the church to and approached the runway on the shores of Lake Titicaca.
In addition to its nod to Catholicism, the Iconoclasta Fashion Show also addresses the surrounding area’s Incan background. According to legend, many years ago the Father Sun sent his son and his daughter to the earth with a mission: to found a grand empire. The two siblings, Manco Kapac and Mama Ocllo, emerged from the waters of the Lake Titicaca to establish the capital of the Inca Empire in Cuzco. For this reason, the lake is a sacred cultural symbol: the place where the first Incas were born.
But at the Iconoclasta Fashion Show, Mama Ocllo and Manco Kapac were replaced by human divinities. Stylists and makeup artists ensured that the models looked impeccable, their physical perfection making them Titicaca’s newest goddesses and gods. As people applauded each design, I imagined a new legend being created in the collective consciousness of the audience that day: ‘One day, beautiful young boys and girls arrived in Copacabana wearing pieces of art, and they dressed Titicaca like a fashion model . . .’
The spectacle of the event reached its apex when the setting sun painted the water with deep hues of orange, red, and purple. The fusion of creativity and elegance, set against the natural beauty of the lake with traditional totora boats floating in the distance, created a perfect aesthetic experience. On this special stage, both locals and visitors admired an extraordinary fashion show and experienced Copacabana and Lake Titicaca as home to one of the most important runways in Bolivia.
It is interesting to imagine that, while everybody gathered to see the designs, models, and designers on the shores of the lake, the Indigenous Virgin and the children of the Sun God were relaxing and enjoying their day off, as beauty worship supplanted the worship of centuries-old gods. Iconoclasta was a territorial revolution, in which fashion took the role of the tool used to break traditional images and give a new meaning to Lake Titicaca, if only for the weekend. Fashion lovers left Copacabana, models and designers did the same, Iconoclastic finished, and everything returned back to its religious condition in Copacabana.
Stylists and makeup artists ensured that the models looked impeccable – Titicaca’s newest goddesses and gods.
Photo: Matt Coleman
Classic bikers in sharp suits raise awareness of men’s health
Like a sea captain with an expensive taste in motorbikes, Nicanor Calderón arrives, dressed not so much to impress as to command, dismounting a rumbling Harley Davidson. He’s wearing a white dress shirt, black bow tie, and a ponytail finished with a peaked Harley cap. The look is somewhere between a pirate, a biker, and someone at home in a smoking lounge.
The reason for his flamboyant entrance on a warm Sunday in Cochabamba is equally strange. Today marks ‘The Distinguished Gentleman’s Ride’ (DGR), an event in which classic motorbike enthusiasts meet for a ride in various cities around the world, dressed in their most dapper clothing. If you actually needed a reason to dress in a three-piece suit and climb aboard a Royal Enfield, the tweeness of this event masks a serious purpose. This motorized pageant ultimately aims to raise funds and awareness for men’s health, specifically prostate cancer and suicide prevention.
It seems strange that a niche biking event, created in Australia only five years ago, should reach across the Atlantic to a city right in the middle of Bolivia. Yet Nicanor is certainly not alone; within half an hour, he is surrounded by a coterie of well-dressed men and women. It is Nicanor and his friend Ramiro Estrugo who brought DGR to Bolivia last year, galvanizing fellow members of the Club de Motos Clásicas Cochabamba to meet and raise money. As Nicanor puts it, the event is ‘perfect for us’. Many of the members are over 60, and all of them share an expensive taste in classic bikes.
The group isn’t huge – roughly 22 people with 14 bikes eventually arrive – but these cochabambinos are from many areas of the motor biking community, particularly the increasingly numerous group Royal Enfield owners. In many ways, this is a model tale of how Internet connectivity can join disparate communities. Not only did Nicanor hear about the DGR online, but it is the availability of rare parts through virtual dealers that has driven the growth of niche motorbike groups in Cochabamba.
Although they are officially registered, the meetup is not completely orthodox as far as the DGR is concerned. The event guidelines are a strange mix of inclusive fundraising zeal and restrictive specifications on what bikes are allowed. The website mandates a list of rides like the ‘Tracker’, the ‘Chopper’, and the ‘Scrambler’, and even a ‘Mad Men’ inspired outfit. In places like London, where thousands of riders take part, it serves, in part, to keep numbers from getting dangerously big. In Bolivia, the turnout is smaller and the bikes far more varied. Many of the riders signed up only the night before, and the total amount raised is around US$215, in comparison to the almost US$3.5 million pledged worldwide. As Nicanor confesses, ‘Most of them are here just for the ride.’
If you actually needed a reason to dress in a three-piece suit and climb aboard a Royal Enfield, the tweeness of this event masks a serious purpose.
Nicanor, however, is not. He spoke passionately to the crowd about the significance of the ride and the necessary safety requirements. ‘The most important thing,’ he says, ‘is awareness of prostate cancer and knowing not to delay the situation,’ irrespective of how successful they are in other areas of the event. These are sentiments echoed by a number of riders, including Kevin Rivas, a man dressed so sharply in a matching three piece that you have to be careful not to cut yourself. Leaning over the hood of a Ducati SportClassic, his composure belied the severity of his words. ‘I’m so afraid of cancer,’ he admitted, ‘I’m terrified.’ Alexis Trigo, another rider, shared these concerns, noting that, ‘In Bolivia there’s not really prevention in health, men especially. This is about getting people to check up and not wait until they are sick.’
Nicanor’s aspirations certainly aren’t modest. He hoped to draw 50 to 100 riders in future years in order to send out a more effective message. Yet the niche, chrome, and well-dressed absurdity of the event seems to exist far more for it’s own sake than for a practical purpose. In part, it is a performance of manicured masculinity, one that aims to challenge the negative stereotypes that often surround male bikers. Ultimately, though, on this sunny Cochabamba morning, it simply feels like a chance for like-minded men and women to meet and put on a real good old-fashioned show.
Photos: Milton Arellano
Female Skateboarders Break Down Stereotypes in La Paz
Every day, skateboarders gather in plazas all over La Paz to try out new tricks, learn from their friends, and wind down. They come to skate in Plaza Avaroa in Sopocachi and at the skate park at Pura Pura, near the edge of El Alto, to break away from their daily routines and experience the thrill of being airborne, even if only for a few seconds. The female boarders come with yet another mission: to challenge themselves and face their fears. As every female athlete knows, the fear and thrill are a valuable part of the process.
‘We just want to express ourselves,’ says Rosa Orquieta Aguilar, one of the 10 girls who regularly skate together. ‘It’s better to be outside, doing a physical activity than inside with our eyes on the TV or on our cellphones.’
But in Bolivia, old standards of femininity still reign strong, with the expectation that women will look and behave like respectable girls, daughters, and mothers. These expectations can become damaging when women have no other option but to conform to these standards and are reprimanded when they do not.
The skate girls of La Paz say they need to have a welcoming space to explore their identities and their potential. They know that in order to become creative and independent, they need a space of their own. They also know that if they want to express themselves and pursue their passion in La Paz, they must create that space themselves.
At 16 years old, Rosa is one of the younger female skaters, and she already considers skateboarding a way of life. Luckily for her, Rosa’s family supports her, and even comes to watch her skate occasionally. But most of the girls in Rosa’s group experience pressure from their families to stop skateboarding and take on more ‘feminine’ hobbies, such as dance. Andrea Condori Nattes, age 20, says, ‘Our families think that skateboarding is dangerous, that it means too much time spent with boys, and that the streets of La Paz are not safe for girls.’
With the opening of La Cumbre, a new skate shop on Calle Sanchez Lima near Plaza Avaroa, skateboarders have another place to meet. At La Cumbre, which opened in September, skaters come to check out the latest gear and accessories, as well as to have a chat with owner Milton Daniel Arellano, a Bolivian-American who shares their passion understands the need for a space for skaters to call their own.
To La Paz’s young skaters, the store is much more than just a skateshop; it is a place where some of the girls work to support their studies and housing. It’s a place where new friends meet and share. No longer just a space to gather, it is now a place where new families are made.
Danna Valencia Lozano, a 21-year-old law student who works at the shop to support herself, says the boys and girls she skates with support each other and motivate one another to challenge themselves daily. For her, skateboarding is a way for her to face her fears. ‘I feel free,’ Danna says. ‘There are no uniforms, there are no rules. We confront our fears, and [by doing so] we get rid of them. It’s beautiful.’
‘Our families think that skateboarding is dangerous, that it means too much time spent with boys, and that the streets of La Paz are not safe for girls.’
– Andrea Condori Nattes
Danna also says the friends she’s made through skateboarding are now her family. ‘Through this I’ve met new, really good people who are my new family, and I can always count on them to be there,’ she explains. ‘Skating is creative and independent – you decide every move and you can be creative. Everything about boarding is creative. It also teaches great values – to be in solidarity with other skaters and to help each other out.’
It’s not always easy to be a skate girl in La Paz. While Andrea hides her skateboard, others have to hide their passion. Some can’t be honest with their families, who think that skateboarding is a distraction from their studies. Some parents believe that it’s a dangerous activity – an activity that risks their safety as much as it threatens to destroy their femininity. Luckily, the strong-minded skate girls of La Paz seem to be ok with that.
Watching the girls in the skate park, I start to feel a sense of pride. Here in La Paz, and in skate parks all over the world, young women are redefining what it means to be a young woman while shaping the kind of world they want to live in – or skate in.
