_ Suddenly it all makes sense. Today was the ethnographer’s dream. I returned to the “site” that was the beginning. The rough sketch that will hopefully become some sort of masterpiece of a dissertation. The shaky first attempt and understanding something. Anything.

That is, Edgar asked if I wanted to go to the Multifuncional to see the show and try to work out a deal with Mr. Atlas. And with all the police mutiny going on around here I almost canceled on him and stayed home today. But when he called to tell me he’d be ten minutes late, I pulled on the thick down coat, and headed out the door.

_ I’ve made central to my thesis his suggestion that the luchadoras of Titanes del Ring are “payasas.” And I’ve been thinking about it as a gendered derogation. But tonight, as I sat on the cold concrete bench, surrounded by women in polleras and seven year olds screaming at the rudos that they are maricones, I understood what he he’s been talking about all this time.

Every match was far more show than lucha. He was right that I should pay attention to the way the luchadores interacted with the audiences. The cholitas arrived in the arena dancing (sometimes with the gringos in the front row), waving, smiling, being cute. The luchadores either greeted people with waves , walking all the way around the ring, or insulted the audience immediately. Throughout the matches they often stopped to interact with the audience. When Cobade jumped on the corner ropes in the middle of the match, the little girl next to me yelled “maricon” over and over. “Tu papá es un maricon. Yo soy hombre.” He responded. Yes, indeed, I need to beef up my interaction and acting.

But the wrestling itself, the claves, the cayes, the castigos, were less than impressive. I have yet to do any quantitative analysis on the subject, and perhaps my very central role biases me, but I would venture to say that my own matches have about twice as many actual wrestling moves per minute as the Titanes del Ring matches. And to me, this made them slow and boring. Certainly there was more humor involved. And the audience was given ample opportunity to shout, throw things, generally become “part” of the act. Perhaps in Super Catch matches they are more spectators than contributors.

_ But the word “clown” was the obvious descriptor for much of what I was seeing. It very much was clear in a match featuring Jenifer Dos Caras in which, before the actual wrestling began, she repeatedly fell on the floor laughing. This reminded me of Goffman’s analysis clowning, and “the use of entire body as a playful gesticulative device” as a way to indicate a lack of seriousness and childlike demeanor. Jean-Martin Charcot, a nineteenth century neurologist, pioneered work on hysteria, suggesting that the second phase of the condition was “clownism.” As Didi-Huberman (2003:147) explains, this reference to clowning was used to delegitimate so-called hysterical women.

And the very gendered history of all this added to my assumption that Edgar’s statements belied sexism, and a dismissal of the possible contribution of women to lucha libre. But tonight I understood where the sentiment was coming from and it seemed to have little to do with gender. After the first three matches he asked “Como te parece?” But didn’t quite give me a chance to answer. “Son malas, no?” And I agreed. They were funny. Lots of humorous yells at the audience, bodily comedy, and goofy antics. But the actual wrestling wasn’t convincing. The claves weren’t done with skill. “Falta mucha technica” says Edgar.

But Titanes del Ring garners an audience. Edgar and I guessed there were around 500 people there. With about 150 tourists paying 50 Bs. a person. And maybe that’s the key. Maybe the actual wrestling doesn’t matter. Maybe its all about the comedy. Last year, plenty of audience members told me the reason they attend shows is that it makes them laugh. Maybe its something like the “oasis” Veronica Palenque is striving for. But I can see how, even if this is what Bolivian audiences want, Edgar and his colleagues hope for something more. Something they can be proud of as technicos and luchadores trying to advance their sport.

In the end discussions with Mr. Atlas went nowhere and we rode the minibus back to el centro discussing what we liked and what we didn’t. There was a good jump from the top rope. Mr. Atlas had a few nice moves. And the skeleton character, Mortis, definitely has some dance moves. And I suppose the good part is, I’m feeling more confident about my own abilities. I didn’t see a single attempt at tijeras tonight. And the plan is to learn los tijeras dobles this week.

“Ok, every man in here is wearing a dress, but how many of them will sleep with me?” Nick sat down next to me at the Ekko bar and winked through his wire rimmed glasses.

“I only know of 2.”

“The Colombians?”

I nodded solemnly.

It was 10 pm on a Tuesday, ladies’ night at the Ekko bar, and all the “ladies” along with any man dressed as a “lady” were entitled to free jelly (Jell-O) shots. But like many college freshmen may say about Halloween, its just an excuse to wear scanty amounts of clothing. Considering the shots are worth about .50 U$, the motivation has little to do with the monetary value of free drinks.

And ladies’ night happens all over town. At the Irish Rose hostel around the corner, its on Wednesday.

This weekend, at the invitation-only grand opening party for La Paz’s newest nightclub (I begged a friend to take me as his date), I overheard Ekko’s manager say he would change his ladies’ night to Thursday to coordinate with the new club’s ladies’ night.

In some ways, I enjoy the creativity inspired by Ekko’s ladies’ night. Backpackers don’t have a closet full of clothes to choose from. Smaller-statured men borrow skirts from female friends. Others flit their t-shirts through the neck to create a bikini-like effect. Eyeliner and lipstick are passed around the bar like joints in a college dorm.

But at the same time, the cross dressing that occurs for ladies’ night exists in the context of an explicit heterosexual orientation of many hostel events.

This is not to say that queer-identified guests are ostracized or unwelcome. I have met several gay men backpacking in South America and have reported fruitful social or love lives in hostels. Though they strain to find gay spaces in cities like La Paz, they recognize the hidden nature of gay life in many places in Latin America, and seem content with the small pockets of “gay life” they’ve been able to access.

The lesbian travelers I have spoken with express more disappointment. I have met noticeably fewer of them, and even in places more recognized as “cosmopolitan” or “gay friendly,” like Buenos Aires, they have not found explicitly lesbian spaces. And while I have heard both gay men and lesbians complain that there are not more potential sexual partners available (both among local populations and fellow travelers), I have not heard any complain about feeling unwelcome. Indeed, the traveling crowd tends to be young, liberal, and open to new experiences (though, obviously, that is a generalization with plenty of exceptions).

But hostels like Ekko also have implicitly and exclusively heterosexual activities like afternoon speed dating, in which the number of men and women were required to be even. Bar staff were required to participate or not in order to ensure equivalent numbers. I was most taken aback by one conversation prompt asking “If I used to be a different gender, would you mind?” Most people answered that they wouldn’t mind with very little thought or discussion, but much nervous laughter.

And so, as I said, I appreciate the creativity of ladies’ night, but cannot ignore the context in which it exists. The lack of attention to the politics of cross dressing, particularly in a place where gay pride parades attract 20,000 people in a metro area of over 2 million and few explicitly gay spaces exist, particularly by people who see their costumes as an opportunity to reveal their bodies in hopes of attracting the opposite sex, particularly in a space that organizes the event for the pure purpose of making more money on a Tuesday night, leaves me concluding it is a superficial use of gender inversion, devoid of political statement that serves to reinforce heterosexual assumptions about gender roles. And more specifically, reinforces a view of femininity as explicitly performative and sexualized. Though at least two young Israeli women dressed as dapper fedora-clad men last week.