The Source of the Music

In the course of finding myself slowly dozing off, my ears perked up hearing the faintness of a familiar sound. I had to remind myself where I was. In the distance I could hear a live band playing the saya rhythm, with the jiggling of cascabeles. It was apparent that somewhere near, a group of caporales was dancing, most likely in homage to this weekend's feast of la Virgen de Urkupiña. Then I remembered that I wasn't back in Bolivia.

Usually in the United States, loud unsolicited music is not welcome. In Bolivia, it's common place. The lack of any noise regulations allow music to last well into the night. Somewhere everywhere, someone is celebrating a mid-week birthday party or as I found across the street, where the Medical School of the Universidad de San Simon is located, there often would be celebrating something nearly every week. But, in the United States these celebrations are reserved for private and less intrusive surroundings.

Hoping to investigate, I put on my flip-flops and followed the trumpets. Two houses away, something was going on in the backyard, yet I couldn't draw up the nerve to just walk up to the fence. In Bolivia, most house entrances lead directly out onto the sidewalk. Usually there are people just milling around and you could earn an invite.

After two songs, they all went inside respectful of their neighbors. It was such a different experience for me to hear such familiar noises in the suburbs of Virginia.