The sound of panpipes, flutes and snare drums fills the rehearsal space of the Orquesta Experimental de Instrumentos Nativos.
“The breathing techniques required to play these instruments for a few hours put you in a kind of trance,” says Miguel Cordoba, who plays the siku flute.
But as soon as the rehearsal finishes they are all too aware of how their life has changed. Because they are not rehearsing back home in La Paz, Bolivia, but in the shadow of a German castle where they have been stranded for 73 days.
The musicians, most of whom have never left Bolivia before, were expecting to spend just over a fortnight this spring touring east Germany’s concert halls.
Instead they are holed up in the buildings and grounds of the sprawling estate of Rheinsberg Palace, a moated castle which has been home to generations of German royalty and aristocracy, an hour and a half’s drive northwest of Berlin.
As the musicians, some of whom are as young as 17, touched down in Germany on 10 March for their tour, news broke that Berlin had become the seventh German region to impose a ban on gatherings of 1,000 people or more in response to the coronavirus pandemic.
“Our bus broke down on the motorway. I remember joking that this was bad luck and perhaps our concerts would be cancelled,” recollects Carlos, “but never did I think it would actually happen.”
Their three planned performances were cancelled in the days that followed, and as Bolivia’s government announced it would close its borders, the orchestra scrambled to get home but failed.
Germany’s ban on mass gatherings was swiftly followed by a full lockdown, meaning the musicians are only allowed to roam as far as the forest that lines the perimeter of the estate.
So their free time is spent rehearsing in the nearly 600-year-old palace grounds and exploring the surrounding woodland, home to 23 packs of wolves.
Only on Monday did they get the chance to step inside the castle for the first time as tours for the public reopened.
“It’s very different to my home, it’s very beautiful,” says 25-year-old Miguel.
“There are worse places to be trapped. When I wake up, I watch the sun rise over the forest and the lake. Back home, I only hear the sound of traffic.”
But despite the picturesque natural surroundings, the musicians are worried they have been forgotten.
“We feel abandoned,” says Carlos, who’s spent several thankless hours on the phone to the Bolivian embassy trying to find a way to get home.
The group had only been in Germany for a week when Bolivia’s president announced the country’s border was set to close within days, and all international flights had been suspended.
Arrangements were swiftly made by the German foreign office and Bolivian embassy to reserve seats on one of the last flights out of Germany to South America, landing in Lima, Peru.
The group was initially relieved.
“When we were on the way to the airport, we were all in good spirits, laughing and chatting,” says Carmed Martela, 20.
But then Carlos received a call to say the flight had been cancelled as the plane was not allowed to land in Peru.
“The mood suddenly became sombre – everyone on the bus went quiet,” he says.
From that moment, the 6,000 miles (9,656km) between Germany and Bolivia seemed further than ever.
Tracy Prado, who only joined the orchestra in December, remembers thinking about her daughter’s 11th birthday which was coming up a few weeks later.
“I had got my hopes up and it was devastating to think I would miss this important day,” she says.
The group decided the only way to cope was to put together a strict practice schedule – three hours before lunch, three hours after, experimenting with a fusion of traditional Andean music and more contemporary genres.
“Indigenous music is all about the principle of community – everybody can take something from what they are and offer it to the group,” says Carlos.
“You feel the same as your ancestors felt when playing these traditional instruments, which is a beautiful thing,” adds Miguel, whose roots stretch back to Bolivia’s Kallawaya people known for their musical healing ceremonies.
Some members of the orchestra speak to their families in Bolivia. For others, communication is near impossible as internet and telephone signals are patchy outside Bolivia’s main cities.
Many of the musicians play a major role in providing for their families financially, and being unable to do this at the moment is exacerbating their anxiety.
In an interview with Bolivia’s flagship station Radio Panamericana, foreign minister Karen Longaric was asked for her response to the orchestra’s case after a distraught mother of one of the musicians called in.
Longaric suggested the orchestra left knowing the borders were set to soon close, although Bolivia had not recorded a single coronavirus case on the day they left.
She also said the government’s priorities were elsewhere – repatriating “the most vulnerable – women, children, sick people and the elderly”.
Carlos says there seems to be little sympathy for the orchestra back in Bolivia.
“People back home think we’re in a fairytale land,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’ve had hundreds of messages telling me to stop complaining, and that I’m living like a princess in a German castle.”
Carmed is disappointed they have not been able to perform as planned.
“We’d been preparing since January so I became quite depressed as I watched everything we’d prepared for get taken away like this.
“The orchestra helped me get back on track after the death of my dad. My family were so proud of me when they heard I was flying to Europe to perform my country’s music.”
The town of just over 8,000 people, also called Rheinsberg, has largely been welcoming towards the Bolivian visitors, if a little bemused by their presence.
“When I leave the hostel alone, I do feel a little self-conscious,” Carmed says. “Sometimes I get strange looks and people stop and stare.”
Some go further than a raised eyebrow, perhaps confused by the fact that the musicians appear to be flouting Germany’s social distancing rules, as it may not be immediately obvious that they have been allowed to classify themselves as a family unit.
He says on one of the occasions the Bolivians played a game of football on the meadow directly in front of the castle. They soon found themselves surrounded by six police officers “in full riot gear, just short of a helmet”, says Timo Kreuser, one of three German musicians who helped facilitate the tour and are staying with them.
“They came from from left and right and started to encircle us and things got a little tense,” recalls Miguel.
“In the end, they just told us that we couldn’t congregate in such a large group, but it wasn’t too serious.”
“The police are used to it now, so they just phone me and it’s always resolved,” says Timo.
Timo has been keen to help the musicians, partly to repay the favour of their own hospitality when he was with them in La Paz in October. Violent protests led to the resignation of the president and Carlos and the orchestra helped Timo evacuate to Peru.
Generosity and offers of help have been in plentiful supply from most people.
The kitchen staff at the guest house the musicians are living in come in to work wearing masks and maintain a distance from their Bolivian guests.
“We are so grateful for the food and the roofs over our heads,” says Tracy, who speculates she’s one of only a few in the group who enjoy the local delicacies.
And, of course, they have the woodland to explore. Tracy says she spotted three wolves while out walking recently
“I froze in fear but they were just play fighting and moved on.”
It is not just wolves they look out for.
One of the palace’s former inhabitants was Frederick the Great, who was given ownership of the estate by his father in 1736 before he ascended to the throne, and described his time at Rheinsberg as his “happiest years”.
A close friend of Frederick, reflecting on his impressions of Rheinsberg, wrote “the evenings are dedicated to music. The prince has concerts in his salon, where no-one is admitted unless called”. One of those who performed was reportedly JC Bach.
“We all joke that Frederick’s ghost is following us and trying to trip us up,” says Carmed. “I don’t usually believe in such things but it does feel as if there are ghosts on the grounds.”
As the seasons shifted from early spring to summer, the musicians’ heavy clothes packed in anticipation of colder weather were too warm for their long walks around the estate.
But a concerned Bolivian expat in Hamburg has helped out on this front.
“She collected mountains of clothes and sent them to us. We have seven big boxes so far – perhaps too many, we may need to return some or pass them onto someone else in need,” says Carlos.
But despite the generosity and good will, the orchestra worries that its stay cannot be bankrolled forever.
“Accommodation costs are mounting to more than €35,000 ($38,400) a month alone,” says Berno Odo Polzer, the director of MaerzMusik, the festival at which the orchestra were set to perform. It is one of several publicly funded arts programmes which has supported the orchestra’s longer than expected stay.
Germany is allowing international flights again but Bolivia’s borders remain shut for the foreseeable future.
The Bolivian embassy told the BBC it is trying to get the orchestra on a flight to Bolivia in early June out of Madrid.
But Carlos is worried about how things will be once they return too.
“Covid is getting very political back home,” says Carlos.
The Bolivian government delayed the presidential election that was due in March and later tried and failed to force through a decree limiting freedom of expression and criticisms over the handling of the coronavirus crisis.
“I’m dreaming of the day I will be at my bed in Bolivia and say, ‘OK, this is over’ but I also know that on that day I will start missing what is happening here,” admits Carlos.
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