Oruro - the climb to the top redeems the fallen

Day 3 in Oruro.

Carnaval technically ended, though there were still bands, still fireworks thrown about town – sometimes in the entrance to your hotel. The country was still on vacation and my interpreter and I had stayed an extra day, primarily because I wanted to take a train ride across the countryside and the train did not leave until Tuesday.

I am glad we stayed.

The Carnaval route ends at the Catedral of the Virgin of Socavon. The story is this – There was once a miner who was a notorious bandit. Desperation is desperation. He was mortally wounded by a man he tried to rob, and retreated to a mineshaft, typically ruled by the Tio. But here he was visited by the Virgin, in that time he repented and she saw his repentance was true so she forgave and her image was emblazoned in the mine by his body. This is the essential back story of Carnaval.

"You who fall into a life of crime can still be saved; come and prostrate yourselves at the feet of the Virgin and mourn your sins."

We went to the church, but the mine was closed. So we hiked up a small hill (ha ha, my journey I claim of a thousand stairs) to a smaller statue. The major Virgin stood on a further hill overlooking the city.

Again I am so happy I was with a young companion.

“Are you feeling adventurous?” I ask.

“What?”

“You see that road up there? I think we can climb up through these stairs and through this village and cross that road….”

“Are you serious?”

Yes. Yes, I was serious. I have no idea what I was thinking. We were a LONG way from the statue. Maybe we would catch a taxi. Maybe I would have a heart attack and die on the road. (Both were a possibility, and both almost happened).

But we went. And we cut across a back hill and fell upon a vista of the mines. And we were quieted. And out of breath. But we walked. God bless my companion when I was the one out of breath and winded and wondering what I had gotten us into.

But we made it.

There was such a feeling of supreme confidence in me. Silly little me who six months ago laid in bed and contemplated never walking again, just hiked 1,00 stairs (I claim) to sneak around a village to stand at the feet of a Virgin. And it was beautiful. The city lay before us with mountains and clouds and expanse.

This is what I came for.

Thousands of visitors came for a pilgrimage they understood. I came for … I was a wanderer on my own pilgrimage that landed me at the feet of so many others.

It was beautiful.

And yes, in this place I came across a pickpocketer who happened to take my passport. And I thought of the redemption of the thief. You know what? At any other time this would have shaken me. It seemed to shake my friends at home, but for me… eh? You learn to deal. I was learning to deal. I leaned on the fact that this was a town for redemption.

I could never have imagined myself in this place, doing these things. But at the time, I felt accomplished. I had even stumbled upon a secret cave with an altar where I was invited inside. I had no idea what to do, or what the proper custom was. I crossed myself, though not a Catholic, and laid my camera aside. I saw the candles and the altar and the offerings and gave a prayer of thanks.

This… this is Bolivia, too.