Word: chicha
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...deference, the others, did not hesitate to welcome me as a visitor to their small town. "Hola, amigo, venga y toma con nosotros!" Come and drink with us! he cried and beckoned to the woman in the corner to bring me a glass and a pitcher of chicha. "Norteamericano, no?" he asked, looking knowingly at the men beside him, peasants who obviously felt a bit uncomfortable in my presence. I told them a little about my background, about my work in Cochabamba, and why I was in Morochata. They all laughed when I told them about my momentary ascent into...
...Julio began arguing with the chicha woman, who criticized the government for the rapidly-increasing cost of living. "It is very difficult to make money on chicha now," she said. "It is so expensive to make." Don Julio seemed outraged, and launched into a long defense of the government. I decided to take my leave. They wanted me to stay for more, but no, I told them, I really couldn't. I had to meet with el padre. I went into my pocket for money, but, of course, they wouldn't let me pay. I thanked them and tottered...
...walked along a narrow dirt path that led to the cemetery just outside the village. More accurately, he walked and I stumbled, as I still felt the beneficent effects of my pitcher and a half of chicha. The burial ground was at the base of one of the smaller cliffs that shot up behind the village. Within a high, cracking adobe wall, crude blocks of plaster marked the rounded mounds that covered the bodies of the poor members of the community. The wealthier ones were placed in a miniature mausoleum, made of adobe, to the rear of the burial ground...
...campesino with the urn, his face dirty from the day's sweat, eagerly swung the container off his back and took from his pocket a small cup, on which he blew to remove any dust that may have accumulated, and then dipped it into the urn. It was chicha. The padre took the glass and downed the chicha in a gulp. The taste of the liquor in my mouth turned my stomach, but there was no escaping it. El amigo del padre has to join in too if he did not want to be rude. So I took the glass...
...through that miserable night I saw on the ceiling plump Indian women pouring chicha into small plastic glasses...