BOLIVIA | We are at a checkpoint in the Chapare region, watching a cholita deep-fry an egg and slice a tomato in her hands for our sandwiches while the police check our bus for evidence of cocaine smuggling. The hills around us stretch to the heavens and are covered with lush vegetation, but today, a cold front blankets the jungle peaks with clouds in this usually warm region.

“Hace frio!” says Linber, the drummer of Encuentro Sur, the folklore band we are following for our documentary project. He rubs his arms for warmth and regrets wearing his sleeveless T-shirt; like most Cochabambinos, he was expecting Chapare to be hot and humid. We quickly munch our sandwiches and climb back on the bus.

The final trip begins

As we pull away for the second two-hour leg of the trip to a concert in Shinahota, the road twists around the sides of green mountains. Rocks from mudslides and fallen produce lie next to broken truck parts, revealing this as one of the most dangerous roads of Bolivia. We pass Unstable Geographic Zone signs as the three bands on our bus practice music or nap. We arrive at Shinahota in the afternoon, and as my SIT companion Jimmy and I awaken, we are welcomed by a crowd of cold stares.

“Shinahota is more of a commercial town,” explains Linber. “They don’t get many tourists here.” Indeed, Chapare is home to many cocaleros, and the residents here fear the U.S. intruding upon their home and their coca fields, especially after Evo Morales accused the U.S. in 2006 of sending spies in the form of students and tourists.

It gets really fun when Jimmy and I pull out camcorders. This is our final project for the summer, and with a folklore band of five escorting us, we are not worried. We met the band in a music shop in La Cancha, the market of Cochabamba, seeking interviews for our project. They played some tunes and invited us to a concert, and told us to dress for the Chapare heat.

But we can see our breath in the cold weather as we now ascend three flights of stairs to our hotel room, barely big enough for a queen mattress covered with a single sheet. The communal bathroom down the hall features an open-air window to the dirt below, no toilet paper and a sign reading, “Don’t throw.” The dining area is a group of plastic chairs and tables in front of the building with a large grill cooking up various meats, as free-range chickens and dogs wander freely.

“Don’t eat the pork in Chapare,” I was told by my homestay mother before I left Cochabamba, but as we sit down to lunch at 4:30 p.m., there isn’t much choice. We lather up our meat, rice and yucca with a spicy dose of llajua salsa and eat the only meal we are going to get today. Afterward, 16-year-old Ibar attempts playing the harmonica, a “gringo” instrument.

Upstairs, he opts for his 12-string charango, gathering with the band in a hotel room to practice. The sound of folklore music blares from the sound check in the tent down the street, and the sun sets as Encuentro Sur practices the Bolivian radio hit “Madre Mia.”

In another room, five zampoña flutes brush out a chilling chord pattern as the singer croons with operatic vibrato. This group, Comarco, will later take the stage wearing black-and-white ponchos, playing traditional cueca and huayño rhythms that will lift the younger adults from their chairs to dance. They will be followed by Encuentro Sur, who are, for now, ironing their stage clothes.

Interacting with global culture

Jimmy and I decide to use this time to film, and we ask questions about the interaction of Bolivian folklore music with global culture. Ten minutes later, we know from zampoñista Rolando that they play folklore because they love it, and Ibar demonstrates global culture by playing surfer rock on his charango.

As Comarco takes the stage, the members of Encuentro Sur down a bottle of wine. Today is Linber’s birthday, and as we film the walk from the hotel, a mood of celebration is in the air. Ibar sings “Madre Mia” to himself way off-key and laughs, nearly stumbling down the stairs. We walk through the crowd to the backstage area, where Rolando spins drumsticks with his fingers. Ibar attempts to imitate him but drops the stick numerous times, perhaps from the wine.

However, when Encuentro Sur begins their first song onstage, Ibar’s fingers are nimble and his charango sounds like a harp. Encuentro Sur is as natural here as in their small shop in La Cancha, and the crowd applauds every song. Marcos, the guitarist and lead singer, gives a shout-out to his two new “gringo friends, who are doing an investigation into Bolivian music.”

Experiencing a melting pot

Suddenly Jimmy and I are surrounded by a dozen children who sneak up and watch our camcorder viewscreens with wonder. Jimmy and I smile, and we capture a traditional dance with colored handkerchiefs, performed by audience members wearing jeans, Billabong shirts, silver jewelry and Nike shoes, a perfect example of a melting pot of the traditional and modern.

Between us, Jimmy and I have 15 hours of footage to sift through to make a 15-minute documentary on Bolivian music by next week, after which we will get eight hours of transfer credit. The actual experience and memory of our adventure will be timeless and priceless.