A Smile is Worth a Thousand Words

It had been a long, dusty ride out of the canyon and back up into to the highlands of Peru, an undulating, treeless land carpeted with grass that danced in the cold wind. I found the vapor coming off of my bowl of mutton soup to be having a deeply sedative effect on me. The distant sound of a brass band pulled me out of my languor, and the two policemen who had been lounging at the other table waved me over to a window to show me what was going on outside. As I peered out across the windswept Altiplano, I was delighted to make out that nothing less than a procession of some forty Andean merrymakers in flamboyantly colorful native dress was being led towards us by a gang of fervent brass instrument players.

I quickly downed my meaty broth and made for the street and the scene that was beginning to unfold outside. This desolate section of highway, that was little more than a dust-strewn truck stop for weary drivers, was undergoing a transformation. There was a pause in the music, and the men immediately set about hoisting up a large tree that was bare of leaves but bedecked with colorful gifts and ribbons. I walked across the street with renewed vitality and an exuberant grin. Surely the sight of a young, solitary foreigner in a puffy, full body motorcycle suit and covered in dust would be unexpected. But what would these highland Peruvians think of this new addition to their festivities? From what I had gotten to know of the people of the Andes, they would take me in as one of their own and lavish drink upon me. I might not be making it to Arequipa by nightfall after all.

Although Carnival was over, I quickly gathered that we indeed had a yunza party in the works, a ritual that involves a community of people dancing to live music around an adorned tree and intermittently hacking at it with an axe until it is slowly felled. The celebration lasts as long as the tree does. Judging by the multitudinous plastic crates of beer, these celebrants were going to take their time. With a snow-capped volcano peering at us from a distance and only the odd passing truck or tour van to behold our revelry, the solitude of the Altiplano would reinforce our bond and make the experience uniquely ours. The frenzied music began to play again. Dresses of yellow and blue began to swirl back and forth, bringing color to the muted landscape. A group beckoned for me to come and invited me to dance with them. I gladly entered the fray.