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El Fiesta del Senor de Animas

By Chris Thompson - 2010-01-11

It all started with a rumor…and a very sick Dan Wallace. We had holed up in a dingy hostel, in an equally dingy town, with not much to do. Wallace had gotten sick. The cold of the misty mountain pass, and then the bone chilling descent afterwards had done him in. We found him at the first roadside truck stop, wrapped in his sleeping bag, holding a kitten for warmth. So we ended up staying in Abancay for a few days to heal Dan up. That’s when the front desk man told Daniel about the greatest festival in all of the Apurimac region (where we happened to be). Challhuanca, the home of the ‘Party of the Lord of Animation’. With a name as good as that, you knew it had to be worthwhile. Even better than that, it was on our way, and our three days of ‘hospitalization’ put us only a few days away from the beginning of the festivities!

The ‘fiesta’ was a once a year, five day long party, that started off with fireworks and dancing, and ended in two days of hot, dusty, and bloody bullfighting. Of course, being Americans, there was some hesitation at the prospect of seeing some bulls die for entertainment, but we decided it was a cultural opportunity we couldn’t miss. We dropped all the way down into the steep walled river valley that would run us slowly and surely to the town of Challhuanca, and eventually the last high Andean Plateau we would cross.

When we arrived, the town of around 2,000 hardy mountain people was filling up with thousands of visiting hardy mountain people, and some city folk, from the entire region (sort of like a state). We tried to find a cheap room, and then just a room. Finally, Daniel scored us some sweet digs. A garage had been converted into a hotel room for a visiting soccer team, but they weren’t here yet! We rolled the bikes in, and headed out to town.

Of course, being the only gringos in town, and being with the ever gregarious Daniel, we soon became some sort of low level celebreties, Dan Wallace, Mike and I soon became known as the ‘friends of Daniel’ who rose to even higher stardom…but that’s a different story.

We followed the moving crowds up to the church at the top of the town. There we found a bull ring, several thousand people, and huge rickety cane towers, loaded with fireworks. We immediately began to eat as many ‘anticuchos de corazon’ as we could manage. These skewers of beef heart, marinated in some mystical Andean BBQ sauce, and grilled by tiny Peruvian grandmothers over coals are fiesta by themselves.

After a decidedly amazing, yet shockingly unsafe fireworks display (all four of us had harrowing accounts of dodging giant flaming rockets shooting directly down into the crowd), the dancing began. Seeing that the dancing would continue unabated for quite some time, I wandered back to the hotel room and went to sleep.

Finally, the day of the bull-fight had arrived. Our friend Arturo, who we had met the night before, had invited us to stay at his parents house, and took us to the festival. While Daniel was working with the bulls below, we had ringside seats, perched atop rickety scaffolding constructed a few days before the big show.

The bull fighting was like nothing else we had ever seen. It was hot, brutal, and exciting. Most of the time, they don’t kill the bulls. They let them run out, and the bull fighters show off, letting the bulls run by their capes. Since the bulls are donated, most people want their expensive animal back! When someone has a lot of money, they buy a ‘bull of castana’ or a spanish bull. These guys are bred to be big, mean, and ugly! The announcer calls out ‘Torro de Casta’ or ‘Torro de Muerte’ (Bull of death: they are big, ugly, and mean, but not true blooded Castana bulls). The crowd cheers, and a huge brute explodes from the bull chute.

These bulls are killed. The picadors put colorful (yet still painful) spikes in their back to enrage them. Then, the matador comes and ‘fights’ the bull, trying to get as close to the dangerous animal as possible. After he has let the bull attack him, but before the animal is tired, he shoves a long, thin sword into the bulls shoulders, and all the way into it’s heart. If everything has gone perfectly right, the bull dies then and there. If not, other bull fighters come out and get the bull to move side to side, essentially letting the bull slice it’s heart up as it runs around with a sword stuck in it. It’s not a pretty sight. However, like in life, sometimes in all the brutality, there are moments of beauty and bravery. We don’t always like what is happening, but we look for the best in it.

It’s sometimes hard for people to understand bull-fighting. I’m not sure I do. I do know that these hardy Peruvians come from a entirely different life than I do. One that is much harder, much shorter, and much more brutal than mine will ever be. Still, they are a beautiful, colorful people, with a huge capacity for hospitality, friendship, and love. They are from a different time, and their celebrations reflect the lives they lead.

Our time in Chalhuanca was amazing, a torrential pour of colors and experiences. I know that for many of us, a part of our hearts will always be in that tiny town, nestled in at the feet of the Andes.