Friday Feb. 24th; Carnival in Oruro, Feb. 24th-27th
I woke up in my nest of pillows with uncertainty hanging over my sleeping bag like flies on a picnic left unattended. Curiosity, tentativeness, excitement, and for certain, future enjoyment. Jojo wanted to be prepared so we packed a bag each (a backpack for mobility) with all the pants, t-shirts, long sleeves, warm garb (including long underwear), and extra socks, that we didn't mind mussing. We'd been told it would be messy. Indeed this would have to be true if the week of globos (water balloons) leading up to this weekend was any indication)
We knew two things at least. We would be taking a bus TO Oruro, and we would be staying in a hotel with a bunch of other people. This guaranteed that we would make it there, but we held no guarantee that we would be staying in our own bed, or even the same bed each night. So Jojo and I took a micro to the black market. This is really just THE market in La Paz. It's a combination of indoor and outdoor booths that sell just about anything (although I've heard, and hope to find out, that Seis De Julio, the market in El Alto, is the biggest and best).
We had two goals, and I had a third. First, sleeping bags, and second, ponchos, and my third, a sombrero to keep the sun off. We found sleeping bags for about $15 US apiece in an outdoor store the size of a burrito stand, and i bought a serious poncho. The kind with snaps and a hood that you can use as a tent if you have to. Jojo bought one of the 4 Peso clear plastic ponchos that we soon learned are all the rage come carnival. I did find a sombrero at a sombrero store, and bought a cheap Aussie outback hat against the wishes of a style and gringo conscious Jojo. I liked it.
Back to Jojo's apartment and we secured our newest supplies. Then it was time to set off and the adventure really began. Jojo, Lauren, Maren, and I in a cab, to pick up Juan-Manuel at El Centro (where we do Capoeira and J-M's Parents run a school). The taxis in La Paz are excellent. The price goes up per person but it's always a flat negotiated fee from the get go. Although I have learned that you can "continuar" for more if you so desire. There are no seat-belts as I can find and if you were in America you would insist on either getting out of a such a vehicle or you would never enter one.
But this is La Paz, this is Latin America, the rules are different. I'd hold on to the side of a bus it they would let me, but that's not the way here. the roads are too narrow, and the traffic too tight. Anything attached to the exterior of a vehicle, parked or in motion, is in danger of being removed forcibly and i am sure, the only apology would be a honk. Not sure weather the honk would mean sorry, or get out of the way, but I can guarantee a honk you would here.
The traffic does move though, and if it doesn't there's a cop there to wave people through and issue some kind of ticket I think. The cops here are in force and ever present. They carry guns of every shape and size (mostly big automatic looking guns) and some have canisters of tear gas with spray handles that they use to point and gesture with cavalierly. I feel safe in some ways, but less so in others. The biggest fear is the language barrier. So my ready defense is to put up my hands and look gringo.
With Juan-Manuel in the cab we had our next destination set. The Stadium is a central feature in La Paz and all things mobile are near it. La Paz is a somewhat Baroque city with central features and roundabouts. The main avenues and civic and governmental features are incorporated in this fashion, but the rest (and majority) of the city is a convoluted network of either up or down streets and cross streets. La Paz is in a hoja, a bowl, or a cauldron. The world Olla means the same thing, but is spelled differently and the distinction is unclear. This stadium is near the bottom or valley of the bowl and is surrounded by plaza and roundabout.
Our taxi let us off across the street from the stadium in front of a fast food joint. Most of the fast food places in Bolivia from what i have seen are chicken based. Pollo is worked into the name in some way. The only others are Hamburger related, and I've even seen a burger king (and a Mac Hamburger, i swear!). I got some fries to share with Jojo as we entered the first of many waiting periods of the weekend. Bolivians seem to display an amazing amount of energy and excitement, and an equally amazing capacity to not plan and not do anything about not planning. There's a collective lackadasicalositude that permeates the culture, and i think it's excellent, although frustrating for me at some points. This will be come clear as you read, and indeed at two points I took it upon myself to show innovative and direction in a city and country in which i have no idea which way is north (although up I do have a handle on).
After a brief waiting period Juan-Ma's friend Forrest found us. It turns out he was the organizer of the bus and he led us to our chariot of debauchery, a couple of blocks away at another roundabout. We boarded the bust and the five of us Plus Jamie, a friend of Maren's from college (whom we met at the chicken spot) secured seats in the front three rows on the left. We got on the bus around 5. And we waited. After about half an hour it became clear we could not leave yet, and would leave in another half an hour. So Jojo Maren and I decided to make a beer and bathroom run. Beer is sold in a minimum of one block intervals and more likely there are three stores per block that will sell you something like beer.
Bathrooms however are another story completely. However Jojo and Maren and very inventive and creative people and they have a nose for and experience in finding a place to go. Around the corner and up a half block we found a Toyota dealership. Maren and Jojo sweet talked them into letting us use their bano and I let the ladies go first. By the time it was my turn and I was in situ Maren got a call on her cell that the bus was leaving. Immediately. I was frantic but calm. I made haste slowly (thanks to you [you know who!]). THen we ran. we ran with beers jingling. But we made it... in time to wait again. A false alarm (as I knowingly told the girls as they ran behind me back to the bus).
We waited for heaven knows what. I went to the store again. And when i got back it was time to go. By now it was 7:30. I hope the times add up, but all I know is we were moving and the sun was going down. The bus traversed the traffic of La Paz like a rhino moving through canoes. We reached the rim of the crater and set off south along a smooth highway. I learned a new phrase 'metas matas.' It means Half and Half or basically you drink the top and i'll drink the bottom. I also learned a new word 'vacas' which means chip in fore booze.
Bolivians like to drink; a lotalot. One of the preferred methods (other than beer, yea!) is to mix rum with soda of any type. Orange, pink, red, brown (Coke is very popular here, and excellent), whatever. Then you drink it out of little plastic cups. You can even buy a bottle of rum, and a bottle of soda (for 13 Pesos which is less than $2) and it comes in a bag with about 5 or 6 plastic cups. And you can buy it anywhere, just like beer... maybe even easier than beer.
The people of Bolivia are extremely friendly. Universally. They may not look it, but they are. Smiles are not set naturally or consistently on their faces but they come easily when greeted in a similar and friendly fashion. Indeed even the most uncomfortable and unfortunate looking person will smile back. Perhaps it's a sign of the universally low economic standards that even the people who seem to be at the bottom of the bottom heavy economy are still a vital and crucial part of this culture. I do not posses the expertise or knowledge to make an educated guess as to the cultural dynamics and humane issues that comprise this elegant yet swarthy people. All I know is people, and kindness, when i seek it.
I got very drunk on the bus. Drunker than i intended or realized I was getting. It is one of the few times I have done so in recent memory and There is a moment i regret from this trip. The bus ride was dark and crowded, with stops for gas and refills (and emptying as needed on any drunken bus ride). The night air and wind on the high plane swept through the darkened and bustling and sometimes flashing and bright (like Las Vegas from a distance) stops we made. I could not locate on a map or draw from memory the flashes of recollection I have of running off the bus and guarding as the ladies went tinkle behind a parked truck, but I can tell you it was whooping and laughing, fun and sneaking.
Back on the bus at some late moment in the ride Jojo told me people die every year at carnival. I have run with the bulls, i've jostled in a crowd too thick, I've perched on the edge of a cliff, and even climbed up and down in places not meant for such pursuits. Yet this news, in the state I was in, scared and upset me so that I became hot a bothered towards the bearer of such bad news. It was a moment of cultural anxiety exacerbated by intoxication, and fear coursed through me. I can assume now that my fear was furrowed in the state of mind and level of (or lack thereof) control I had at the moment. Had I been told earlier in the bus ride, I don't think I would have been even remotely bothered or concerned, but at that moment I began to fear for my own life. I chalk this one up to adjustment, to newness and to displacement, but when my head cleared of the fear and alcohol I told jojo and I tell her again now, I'm sorry.
It was a quick departure from, and scramble for our stuff on, the bus and into a taxi that took us to our hotel. The hotel... a place of solace and quite in a den of insanity and energy. LIke many of the buildings here in Bolivia the courtyard is the center and nexus of the building. Interesting that it is where and what the building is not that defines the building most aptly. I digress and will return, but the night we arrived I neither recognized nor pondered the architecture, instead, Jojo and I found and occupied a bed, and together in embrace and in our sleeping bags we found sleep.
We knew two things at least. We would be taking a bus TO Oruro, and we would be staying in a hotel with a bunch of other people. This guaranteed that we would make it there, but we held no guarantee that we would be staying in our own bed, or even the same bed each night. So Jojo and I took a micro to the black market. This is really just THE market in La Paz. It's a combination of indoor and outdoor booths that sell just about anything (although I've heard, and hope to find out, that Seis De Julio, the market in El Alto, is the biggest and best).
We had two goals, and I had a third. First, sleeping bags, and second, ponchos, and my third, a sombrero to keep the sun off. We found sleeping bags for about $15 US apiece in an outdoor store the size of a burrito stand, and i bought a serious poncho. The kind with snaps and a hood that you can use as a tent if you have to. Jojo bought one of the 4 Peso clear plastic ponchos that we soon learned are all the rage come carnival. I did find a sombrero at a sombrero store, and bought a cheap Aussie outback hat against the wishes of a style and gringo conscious Jojo. I liked it.
Back to Jojo's apartment and we secured our newest supplies. Then it was time to set off and the adventure really began. Jojo, Lauren, Maren, and I in a cab, to pick up Juan-Manuel at El Centro (where we do Capoeira and J-M's Parents run a school). The taxis in La Paz are excellent. The price goes up per person but it's always a flat negotiated fee from the get go. Although I have learned that you can "continuar" for more if you so desire. There are no seat-belts as I can find and if you were in America you would insist on either getting out of a such a vehicle or you would never enter one.
But this is La Paz, this is Latin America, the rules are different. I'd hold on to the side of a bus it they would let me, but that's not the way here. the roads are too narrow, and the traffic too tight. Anything attached to the exterior of a vehicle, parked or in motion, is in danger of being removed forcibly and i am sure, the only apology would be a honk. Not sure weather the honk would mean sorry, or get out of the way, but I can guarantee a honk you would here.
The traffic does move though, and if it doesn't there's a cop there to wave people through and issue some kind of ticket I think. The cops here are in force and ever present. They carry guns of every shape and size (mostly big automatic looking guns) and some have canisters of tear gas with spray handles that they use to point and gesture with cavalierly. I feel safe in some ways, but less so in others. The biggest fear is the language barrier. So my ready defense is to put up my hands and look gringo.
With Juan-Manuel in the cab we had our next destination set. The Stadium is a central feature in La Paz and all things mobile are near it. La Paz is a somewhat Baroque city with central features and roundabouts. The main avenues and civic and governmental features are incorporated in this fashion, but the rest (and majority) of the city is a convoluted network of either up or down streets and cross streets. La Paz is in a hoja, a bowl, or a cauldron. The world Olla means the same thing, but is spelled differently and the distinction is unclear. This stadium is near the bottom or valley of the bowl and is surrounded by plaza and roundabout.
Our taxi let us off across the street from the stadium in front of a fast food joint. Most of the fast food places in Bolivia from what i have seen are chicken based. Pollo is worked into the name in some way. The only others are Hamburger related, and I've even seen a burger king (and a Mac Hamburger, i swear!). I got some fries to share with Jojo as we entered the first of many waiting periods of the weekend. Bolivians seem to display an amazing amount of energy and excitement, and an equally amazing capacity to not plan and not do anything about not planning. There's a collective lackadasicalositude that permeates the culture, and i think it's excellent, although frustrating for me at some points. This will be come clear as you read, and indeed at two points I took it upon myself to show innovative and direction in a city and country in which i have no idea which way is north (although up I do have a handle on).
After a brief waiting period Juan-Ma's friend Forrest found us. It turns out he was the organizer of the bus and he led us to our chariot of debauchery, a couple of blocks away at another roundabout. We boarded the bust and the five of us Plus Jamie, a friend of Maren's from college (whom we met at the chicken spot) secured seats in the front three rows on the left. We got on the bus around 5. And we waited. After about half an hour it became clear we could not leave yet, and would leave in another half an hour. So Jojo Maren and I decided to make a beer and bathroom run. Beer is sold in a minimum of one block intervals and more likely there are three stores per block that will sell you something like beer.
Bathrooms however are another story completely. However Jojo and Maren and very inventive and creative people and they have a nose for and experience in finding a place to go. Around the corner and up a half block we found a Toyota dealership. Maren and Jojo sweet talked them into letting us use their bano and I let the ladies go first. By the time it was my turn and I was in situ Maren got a call on her cell that the bus was leaving. Immediately. I was frantic but calm. I made haste slowly (thanks to you [you know who!]). THen we ran. we ran with beers jingling. But we made it... in time to wait again. A false alarm (as I knowingly told the girls as they ran behind me back to the bus).
We waited for heaven knows what. I went to the store again. And when i got back it was time to go. By now it was 7:30. I hope the times add up, but all I know is we were moving and the sun was going down. The bus traversed the traffic of La Paz like a rhino moving through canoes. We reached the rim of the crater and set off south along a smooth highway. I learned a new phrase 'metas matas.' It means Half and Half or basically you drink the top and i'll drink the bottom. I also learned a new word 'vacas' which means chip in fore booze.
Bolivians like to drink; a lotalot. One of the preferred methods (other than beer, yea!) is to mix rum with soda of any type. Orange, pink, red, brown (Coke is very popular here, and excellent), whatever. Then you drink it out of little plastic cups. You can even buy a bottle of rum, and a bottle of soda (for 13 Pesos which is less than $2) and it comes in a bag with about 5 or 6 plastic cups. And you can buy it anywhere, just like beer... maybe even easier than beer.
The people of Bolivia are extremely friendly. Universally. They may not look it, but they are. Smiles are not set naturally or consistently on their faces but they come easily when greeted in a similar and friendly fashion. Indeed even the most uncomfortable and unfortunate looking person will smile back. Perhaps it's a sign of the universally low economic standards that even the people who seem to be at the bottom of the bottom heavy economy are still a vital and crucial part of this culture. I do not posses the expertise or knowledge to make an educated guess as to the cultural dynamics and humane issues that comprise this elegant yet swarthy people. All I know is people, and kindness, when i seek it.
I got very drunk on the bus. Drunker than i intended or realized I was getting. It is one of the few times I have done so in recent memory and There is a moment i regret from this trip. The bus ride was dark and crowded, with stops for gas and refills (and emptying as needed on any drunken bus ride). The night air and wind on the high plane swept through the darkened and bustling and sometimes flashing and bright (like Las Vegas from a distance) stops we made. I could not locate on a map or draw from memory the flashes of recollection I have of running off the bus and guarding as the ladies went tinkle behind a parked truck, but I can tell you it was whooping and laughing, fun and sneaking.
Back on the bus at some late moment in the ride Jojo told me people die every year at carnival. I have run with the bulls, i've jostled in a crowd too thick, I've perched on the edge of a cliff, and even climbed up and down in places not meant for such pursuits. Yet this news, in the state I was in, scared and upset me so that I became hot a bothered towards the bearer of such bad news. It was a moment of cultural anxiety exacerbated by intoxication, and fear coursed through me. I can assume now that my fear was furrowed in the state of mind and level of (or lack thereof) control I had at the moment. Had I been told earlier in the bus ride, I don't think I would have been even remotely bothered or concerned, but at that moment I began to fear for my own life. I chalk this one up to adjustment, to newness and to displacement, but when my head cleared of the fear and alcohol I told jojo and I tell her again now, I'm sorry.
It was a quick departure from, and scramble for our stuff on, the bus and into a taxi that took us to our hotel. The hotel... a place of solace and quite in a den of insanity and energy. LIke many of the buildings here in Bolivia the courtyard is the center and nexus of the building. Interesting that it is where and what the building is not that defines the building most aptly. I digress and will return, but the night we arrived I neither recognized nor pondered the architecture, instead, Jojo and I found and occupied a bed, and together in embrace and in our sleeping bags we found sleep.
posted by Greenstigator at 10:40 AM
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