Towards the Sun

As I begin to settle in, I’ve found myself increasingly able to appreciate the little things. There have been plenty of exciting moments over the past week (thus producing many blog posts for now).

I set out to buy a few bananas recently at an open-air market near the center of town. Thinking, perhaps stupidly, that 3 bolivianos (roughly 0.45 USD) would be sufficient, I handed over a few coins. Much to my chagrin, the woman then preceded to hand over 11 bananas! Next time, I’ll make sure to find out the going rate per pound first.

Another beautiful market moment came a few days later. As I entered the café/food section of the marketplace, I was immediately verbally attacked by dozens of stand owners, primarily five-foot tall indiginas dressed in brightly colored traditional garb. My initial reaction was – they see a tall, white person and see $ -- such was often the case with Sarah and I in the markets of Tanzania. Once I arbitrarily picked a stand at which to eat, I realized that everyone else was receiving the same treatment. I sat down at a little stool and rickety wooden table. Without asking, the woman brought me over a gigantic bowl of sopa de manî, a strangely delicious concoction that kept me full for hours to come.

There is, for some reason I’ve yet to discover, an overabundance of old Volkswagen beetles in Cochabamba. There’s something about them that brings a smile to my face every time I pass by.

 Bolivia is home to 36 distinct indigenous groups. While more than half of the country’s population claims indigenous heritage, there are also sizeable populations of mestizos, Eastern Europeans, Jewish refugees from Nazi Europe, Punjabis, and Japanese.

In the short time that I’ve been here, I’ve already come to love this city for one paradoxical reason. There really isn’t any point in coming here save a few colonial plazas and the Cristo de la Concordia, a 33-meter statue of Christ – a few centimeters higher than the eminent Cristo Redentor in Rio de Janiero, Brazil. There is no spectacular sight that one would read about in a guidebook. I’ve concluded that Cochabamba is a “slice of life” city – Bolivian culture as it would be normally. Every establishment is authentic. People are living their day-to-day life. Thus, there is a remarkable lack of gringos; something I believe makes it that much more of a captivating place to be.

Bolivian president, Evo Morales, impulsively declared this past Friday a national holiday. The reason was a rather equivocal celebration of a new era in Bolivia. Many people in my office immediately claimed it to be a bogus holiday. Considering how controversial Morales is both internationally and domestically, I’ll wait until I’ve spent more time here until making any political analyses. I can say without reservation that you shouldn’t believe everything you read in The Wall Street Journal.

Standing on the street outside my office one afternoon was a woman towing a cart full of oranges. I approached her, ordered a cup, and watched her swiftly cut and squeeze four oranges into a small plastic cup. It was easily the best, and at 30 US cents, likely the cheapest orange juice I’ve ever had. Quite a bit different from the gallon jugs of Tropicana I’ve grown to love over the years.

Last week, I went to un partido de fútbol with my friend/colleague Javier. Because the two competing teams were both from Cochabamba, the stadium was packed. Just as is the case throughout Latin America, the crowd did not stop chanting, dancing, drumming, or cursing the entire game. At one point, amongst the wildly animated crowd, I had a quiet conversation with an old man sitting next to me. Although it was mere small talk, his gentle nature and obvious kindness was enough to convince me that Cochabambinos generally are Buena gente, or good people.