Early Morning Adventure in Santana

My host mom told me to be ready at 4 am, because we were going to the river to “watch something” happen. With my limited Spanish, what we were going to do there, I had no clue. Along for the ride, I awoke at 4 am, slightly hungover from spending the night before in Huancayo watching the Carnaval festivities. I honestly did not want to go. But my host mom called my phone, and I dragged myself out of bed, talcum powder and pink paint still caked into my scalp from the previous night. I went downstairs and my host mom asked me why I hadn’t brought a bag of clothes with me, I was confused and returned to my room to scoop up whatever looked clean off the floor, still confused as to why I needed spare clothes, ‘Maybe for more paint?’ I presumed.

 We piled in the truck with the neighbors, and I realized that everyone looked a lot more bundled up than me. It occurred to me that maybe we were going to do more than just “watch” something happen at the river. When we arrived at Santana, a small town out in the middle of nowhere, it was still pitch black outside and the stars above pierced the inky sky. The air was crisp, and I could see my breath. People had lit fires in the main plaza to keep warm, and a marching band began to play. I happily obliged when my host sister’s husband offered me a Lucky Strike cigarette and a plastic bottle of hot alcohol called Calientito. I had not dressed warm enough for this event, and I was feeling that mountain air in my bones already. Soon, I learned, we would be entering the rushing river, fully clothed, shoes and all, and all I had brought were flip-flops and an extra pair of pants to change into afterward. I asked my host brother why I couldn’t go in in my sandals, and he told me the river was too fast and my shoes would be pulled away by the rushing waters. Soaking wet sneakers for me.

At that point, I was none too thrilled to be getting in the river, and I was debating in my head ways I could get out of this scenario and possibly go wait in the car. Nevertheless, my arm was grabbed by the neighbor, Raquel, and the parade down to the river commenced. In the pitch black, stumbling in the dark, and tipsy, the townspeople marched to the river arm in arm, down the slick sludge of the river banks. People were already starting to slip in their drunken stupor, and I was beginning to feel the effects of the Calientito. The river came into view, and I was happy to see how shallow it was, no more than knee-deep. I figured if the bottom of my pants and my shoes got wet, I wouldn’t freeze completely to death. In and out of the river, how hard could it be? I was sure we wouldn’t stay long for this ceremony of cleansing the bad energies. The family linked arm and arm, and in we went. I felt energized by the shock of the mountain run-off soaking through my sneakers. Next thing I knew we were being splashed, then soaked, and then drenched in river water from all directions. It had become a river battle with no signs of stopping until we were all sopping wet. Now I was having fun, embracing that there was no way I was coming out of that river unscathed. My host mom pulled me onto a sandbank in the middle of the river and we proceeded to dance, drink, laugh, and splash our way through the next few hours. The morning sun eased into the bright blue sky overhead and bathed the surrounding mountains in pale golden light. I was taken aback by the sensation of the chaos surrounding me and the contrast with the calm sky above. My host mom turned to me smiling and embraced me with a hug. I felt alive and at peace.