Cue the Sun

Las Brisas

This evening, we went to Edgard’s family home. Yesterday, he and I had bought four tickets—one each for us, and for Edgard’s parents—to Las Brisas del Titicaca (videos), a folk club originating from Puno. When we arrived at the house, we learned that Edgard’s sister had decided she wanted to come with us after all, and his brother, and sister in law, had also made the decision to tag along.

I packed into the car with Edgard’s family (sans brother, and sister in law), and we drove through the streets of Lima, eventually coming to rest somewhere in the centre, not far from the park that houses the water, sound and light show we’d visited at the start of the month. As we approached the club, the muffled sound of contemporary Latin music hummed into the street.

We went inside and Edgard’s father managed to get another three tickets at the box office. From the foyer I could see a mass of people moving around the darkness of the main hall, and we could just make out the top of the stage, brightly lit, and the performers from the waist down. We found our table, well towards the back of the building, but with a good clear view of the stage, and easy access to the dance floor—not that this was a prerequisite for me.

Tonight, I was to be shown that white guys are too uptight, and that unless you’re born to a cultural history with music and dancing, you’re starting from well behind the pack. Through the course of the evening, the band playing as we had entered would fill in the gaps between performances with Latin music, and the dance floor would become flooded with people. I didn’t know it yet, but I was to be invited to dance by Edgard’s mother twice, before she gave up trying to dislodge me from my seat. I quickly learned that the only people who don’t dance in this country are the disabled and the dead, and even they would be more animated than me this evening.

As we waited for Edgard’s brother, and sister in law to arrive, the last three seats on the table were occupied by an elderly American in his late fifties or even sixties, and two local girls in their twenties (maybe). One of them was clearly the partner of the American (for now at least), and the other seemed to be a friend tagged as a chaperone of sorts for the evening. We ordered our meals, and Edgard’s brother, and sister in law arrived.

The first performance announced itself with the thunder of heavy drums and the shrill cry of Andean flutes. A procession of young men and women entered the hall in traditional dress, and made their way to the stage, singing proudly. Over the course of the night, we saw a variety of folk dances from the various regions of Peru, including the Marinera from Trujillo (video), Caporales (video), the Morenada, and the mesmerising Danza de Las Tijeras (video).

I found myself wishing I was perched on a seat on the balcony at the back of the hall, with a video camera and a clear view. As something to experience on one of my last nights in Peru, it was like I was revisiting each of the places I’d been to over the last few weeks. Also impressed upon me, and quite strongly, was that despite the conquest and various ills that have begotten these people since then, their culture still survives, strong and defiant. The majority of the audience were locals, there to celebrate their culture and enjoy themselves.

As the final performance wound down for the night, the cheers from the crowd grew ever louder, and the rumble of the drums and flutes faded into the air until all that was left, were these voices, proud and joyful, echoing in my memory, and sending shivers down my spine.