So sorry it´s been so long. Exciting things have happened, and for me, not many exciting things happen with an internet-ready computer nearby. Therefore, this posting will be like the Reader´s Digest of the last week and a half.
The Address
First things first: my address (for mail or packages, money is welcome too. :))
Aimee West
c/o Silvia Sinabria
P.O. Box 1073
Cochabamba, Bolivia
Then, at the bottom, if you can, put my home phone number here. If you don´t know it, shoot me an email. I´d rather not have some internet creeper call my host family here, but if they want to send money or gifts, I´m ok with that. ;)
Oh, the 35
So, last time I posted, I spoke of a worrisome public transportation experience. Well, the very next day, Valentine´s I had an even more exciting experience. I blame it on the Best Friend Express, the only public transport I truly knew before my time here.
It was the 35 microbus. I catch it at the corner and get off 4 blocks from my classes downtown. And this particular day, I was feeling brave and had decided to catch it back home as well (versus taking a taxi). So, I figured I´d catch it where I left it. Buses just go on routes that are circles, right? I figured I´d eventually get home, even if it took a bit longer than it needed too. The ride would be nice.
Well, 3.5 hours later, I did get home.
Let me explain.
The 35 happens to run all the way through La Cancha, the largest outdoor market and mass of human bodies in Cochabamba (during which the bus simply turned his engine off at times b/c there was no hope of moving any time soon). Then, we went down to the South side of Cochabamba, which I was told to stay away from in general. I guess it could be compared to the ghetto. But I was safe as long as I was on the bus, and at this point I figuered it´d take me about an hour to get home, as long as the bus turned around soon.
No such luck. Instead, we leave paved road and journey onto cobble-stoned road. At this point, there are only me and Cholitos on the bus. (Cholitos are the natives, they wear the traditional outfits, and are, in general, poorer than most of the population.) I thought, this is neat, but it defintely means we´re going out of the city.
We did. We, in fact, entered the foothills. I finally, for the first time here in Bolivia, saw poverty. But these people were the poor, but happy kind. The cows sustained their families, and they lived off the land. Not rich by my standards, but defintely having a good life. At this point I put up my 15 dollar sunglasses that could have provided food for most of my fellow bus riders for the week. However, we then passed the poor, but happy, and got to the just plain poor section, farther up in the foothills. And, as I looked from behind my plexiglass tour on the bus, I pitied them, and thought, someone should do something for these people, no human should have to live like this. The Cholitos left one by one, and, after a while, it was only me and the bus driver. It was at this point that I was allowed the opportunity to act out on my thoughts. The bus driver parked the bus, and motioned for me to get off. It was as if someone had said, okay, so you pity them, and someone should do something? Well, what are you going to do?
I´ll tell you what I did. I nearly panicked. I pulled out my map and asked the bus driver ´donde estamos?´(where are we?). He mumbled and waved me off and went to pee on the wall.
Ok, so the night before I had been alone and lost while it was dark, but then I was downtown.
Now, I was alone, lost, far away from any kind of transportation, and knew that no one here spoke a lick of english. AND it was getting dark. Hah, God has a funny way of showing us not to worry about the small things.
So, mercifully, I had obtained a cell phone 2 days before, and I called Jean Carla, our program coordinator and explained my little situation to her. I handed the cell over to a very kind nearby Cholito (the woman looked like she had never held a cell phone before) who had a conversation in Spanish with Jean Carla, and then Jean Carla told me that the buses simply stop for a bit there. They would be returning to town soon.
*whew*
So, I had a very awkward 10 minutes during which the woman spoke a mix of Spanish and Quechua to me, even after I made it quite obvious that I only understood the most simple form of Spanish. And finally, a 35 was headed back our way, my old buddy, the bus driver. We hail him, but he just waives us off, signalling as if, no I don´t want that freerider on my bus again.
well, crap.
Thankfully, the next 35 driver (3 minutes later) was much kinder, and had a good laugh with the Cholito about the adventures of this gringa, and kindly said , yes, he was headed my direction.
Well, I had a nice long time (1.5 hours) on my way home to think about the way I had reacted. Pity without the willingness of action is worthless and degrading. If I truly believe that all men are created equal, I would not have thought desparately only of my own safety when I was placed in their world. Yes, I know that it was a normal reaction to worry about my safety at that point, but still, the lesson remains.
And that is why I am very grateful I took the bus the wrong way home.
This was defintely a trip worth 3.5 hours and about 20 cents.
The Weekend
Last weekend was the first free weekend we had, and we took advantage of it. We went out Friday night, and I met some Germans who dance in very odd ways as well as a Swedish guy. It is funny how much a common language (english, in case you were wondering) can bond strangers. Here, the people party late. Bolivians don´t start until about 2 am stay out until about 6 am. (no, mom, I did not stay out that late, dont worry. :)) Saturday, I ventured into La Cancha. I couldn´t even buy anything, the mass of bodies and goods was so overwhelming. But it was a thrilling experience and a great piece of the culture. Saturday night I met up with some complete strangers, friends of Anna (a missionary kid who grew up here) and went to their youth group. It was great to have some Christian community, and it was fun to have people practice their English on me while I practiced my Spanish on them, but long prayers in other languages are very hard to pay attention too. :) Regardless, I´m glad I went and met those people. I hope to join them again sometime soon.
Sunday, I had another trip to the country-side. This was for lunch. Lunch on Sunday took 5 hours. Yes, five hours. But it was great. We went out on the road to Santa Cruz and stopped for some Empanadas, the best in the region. We then went and ate these by a nearby Lagoon (lake) that was packed with people and their parked cars. When I asked why there were so many there, my host mom informed me that they were all there to see if the lake was really as high as the news said. Apparently, if it rained 5 more centimeters, the lake would overflow the dam and all of the low-lying farmland below would be flooded, and the price for food would shoot through the roof. Just another example of how amazing it is how inter-connected these people are, because they are so dependent on one another.
I had some fried fish for lunch, and tried a fried sardine, head, eye, tail, and all. ugh. The things you do to be polite. :)
The Orphanage
Tuesday was my first day volunteering at the baby orphanage, millinium. The simple name, "baby orphanage" is heartbreaking, and I prayed that I would not burst into tears when I first got there. I did not, in fact. There are 25 kids there from the age of 2 months to 5 years. And, I was doing fine until snacktime. All the workers and my fellow volunteers were downstairs feeding the kids, and I walked upstairs to check on the babies. And the 2 month old was lying on a bed, crying alone. I went to comfort her, and I picked her up saying, "it´s okay, precious" but I chocked on "precious". The idea that this being I held in my arms was more precious than any other thing I can think of, and yet that her mother, who had bore her not 2 months before, was perfectly fine with giving her up, not caring about this precious thing I held in my arms, was heartbreaking. That something that precious had to cry alone, was so unjust, I broke. And I cried for the first time with a baby in my arms, and had a talk with God. But he told me, yes, Aimee, she is precious, but I want you to know that I love her, and my love is enough for this precious thing. And my love is more than enough for you, as well.
A great lesson, but still heartbreaking. But, the good news, is that the toddlers at Millinium were more full of life than many I have seen before, and that was so comforting. To see that, even when one spends some of their most formative years in an environment where they sometimes cry unheard, they can still keep that resilient spirit.
Ah, I´m so glad I´m getting this chance.
Fullbright and the CIA
I hope that title doesn´t attract the government to my blog. But anyways, Wednesday, we got to meet the Fullbright scholar that got the US Embassy here in trouble. Well, let me explain.
Fullbright scholars are students who recieve a grant to go to another country and study there, not like study abroad, but to do their own research, as far as I understand. The idea of the Fullbright program is to foster international realtions with the US and participants are requried to be politically neutral while in the program. Well. When this particular scholar arrived, the US Embassy gave him a safety briefing. During the briefing they asked him to report back to them any Cuban or .... Indian, I believe... doctors he encountered while he was in the field, because they needed to keep track of them. Well, this is essentially asking him to spy for the US government, which is against international laws as well as the concept of the Fullbright program, and this guy, Alex, was not going to let that go on. So, after that meeting, he talked with a journalist from La Paz, who, with him, discovered that the Peace Corps here have also wrongly been asked to do some of the same things. So he and the journalist published this article, and he got on abc news.com, and all kinds of exciting things like that. The US Embassy is currently dealing with the problem, and the guy that asked him to do this has been sent back to the US. And we had this guy, Alex, come and chat with our class of 6 people, just because our professor happened to run into him at an anti-facist art showing.
Crazy how real life and the news actually run together sometimes here.
I´m a brick mason
yes I am.
This weekend we went into the foothills of Cochabamba (again, for me, but a different place, and this time, with a guide) and stayed in a community called Mallco Rancho. We stayed with some families there and helped to build rooms for a school there. To tell you the truth, the houses here are more like what I expected all of Bolivia to be like. There are cows in the backyard, and running water is relatively new. The grandma only speaks Quechua, and as I walk down the street, people talk to me and stare, because they´ve never seen me before. The old man across the street knows that his neighbors happen to be having a drink down the street at the moment, and all the children play freely with one another in the streets.
This was an awesome experience, and I so enjoyed being able to work for this community and give the children much nicer classrooms than the ridiculous conditions they had to deal with before.
But, just so you know, I suck at throwing the mixed concrete (mesa) with the trowel. It definitely is an art, and I´m still drawing stick figures.
Well, I hope you´ve enjoyed this reader´s digest version of my week. I´ll try to stay a little more in touch. And don´t forget to send those letters my way!
btw, I guess reader´s digest always has those nice little jokes and puzzles in the back. Here´s a riddle I was told this weekend, and I´m still working on it myself:
If you have a bee in your hand, what´s in your eye? (note that it was spoken, not written, so spellings can be changed, I presume)
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
I blame it on the altitude
So, last night was very eventful.
After an unsuccessful venture for a Yarn Store (there is one here and people here do, in fact, knit) I decided to try to take a bus home rather than a taxi. (Zareen, with whom I usually ride home with and rely upon to communicate with the driver had opted out of the yarn store).
I asked Prof. Nick where the nearest place to catch MicroBus G or 35 was.
"go straight down here, and it´ll open up into this big space. Go in the far right hand corner and go 5ish blocks down that street. Then you´ll turn right and go 1.5 blocks and it will open up into that big plaza. Then you go on the right hand side of the street and you should be able to catch the bus there."
hah. hah.
Needless to say, I ended up on the side (was it the right hand side? sure, of the direction I was looking...) of some large street with lots of buses on it. After I saw the A and 3v go by twice with no G or 35, I decided that I was perhaps not exactly 6.5ish blocks in the right-ish direction from where I was just a little before. Plus, now, it was dark.
Alone, dark, and in a country that does not speak my language. Bueno.
And, for you practical ones, now is not the time for me to whip out a map and figure out where I am. No. The Gringita on the side of the road with blonde hair and a map is like a flashing neon sign for "please take advantage of me. I don´t know where I am. and I´m not from here." So, in a whacky kind of answered prayer the woman who was standing next to me, presumably waiting for a bus as well, mumbled a question to me in spanish. I´m glad people at least assume I know some spanish. But in a whacky kind of Spanglish (which I watched on tv last night) we communicated that I was not, in fact, where I thought I was and she suggested I take a taxi at this point.
Ok. sure. So, finding a taxi is not the hard part. In fact, my neon sign seems to be on always, though not always flashing. Taxi drivers here honk at pedestrians whom they think might possibly want a taxi. I get a lot of honks. At first I thought it was a tacky pick-up attempt. In fact, it is a practical pick-up (but in a much different way) attempt.
So I wave at the next one, who, just by chance has "CHRISTIAN" plastered on the side of his cab. While tacky, I had to smile at the way God answers desperate prayers that need not be desperate.
With much effort, I got the taxi driver headed in the right direction. As the ride was kind of long, I became brave and decided to practice some spanish on this unsuspecting Maestro. (yes, they call taxi drivers maestros here. kinda cool)
In a butchering of the Spanish language, I told him I didn´t speak much but was studying Spanihsh, history, and politics here until the 5 of May. I asked him if he was a Christian (or false advertising, eh?) and he said, yes, catholic, "more or less".
Now, I´m no catholic, but I´m pretty sure it´s against a lot of what Catholics stand for to be ¨more or less¨a catholic. But at any rate, the only other thing I could get across was that I was a Christian too, but not Catholic. And, in an attempt to continue the conversation, I said the only other thing pertaining to religion that I could think of.
After an unsuccessful venture for a Yarn Store (there is one here and people here do, in fact, knit) I decided to try to take a bus home rather than a taxi. (Zareen, with whom I usually ride home with and rely upon to communicate with the driver had opted out of the yarn store).
I asked Prof. Nick where the nearest place to catch MicroBus G or 35 was.
"go straight down here, and it´ll open up into this big space. Go in the far right hand corner and go 5ish blocks down that street. Then you´ll turn right and go 1.5 blocks and it will open up into that big plaza. Then you go on the right hand side of the street and you should be able to catch the bus there."
hah. hah.
Needless to say, I ended up on the side (was it the right hand side? sure, of the direction I was looking...) of some large street with lots of buses on it. After I saw the A and 3v go by twice with no G or 35, I decided that I was perhaps not exactly 6.5ish blocks in the right-ish direction from where I was just a little before. Plus, now, it was dark.
Alone, dark, and in a country that does not speak my language. Bueno.
And, for you practical ones, now is not the time for me to whip out a map and figure out where I am. No. The Gringita on the side of the road with blonde hair and a map is like a flashing neon sign for "please take advantage of me. I don´t know where I am. and I´m not from here." So, in a whacky kind of answered prayer the woman who was standing next to me, presumably waiting for a bus as well, mumbled a question to me in spanish. I´m glad people at least assume I know some spanish. But in a whacky kind of Spanglish (which I watched on tv last night) we communicated that I was not, in fact, where I thought I was and she suggested I take a taxi at this point.
Ok. sure. So, finding a taxi is not the hard part. In fact, my neon sign seems to be on always, though not always flashing. Taxi drivers here honk at pedestrians whom they think might possibly want a taxi. I get a lot of honks. At first I thought it was a tacky pick-up attempt. In fact, it is a practical pick-up (but in a much different way) attempt.
So I wave at the next one, who, just by chance has "CHRISTIAN" plastered on the side of his cab. While tacky, I had to smile at the way God answers desperate prayers that need not be desperate.
With much effort, I got the taxi driver headed in the right direction. As the ride was kind of long, I became brave and decided to practice some spanish on this unsuspecting Maestro. (yes, they call taxi drivers maestros here. kinda cool)
In a butchering of the Spanish language, I told him I didn´t speak much but was studying Spanihsh, history, and politics here until the 5 of May. I asked him if he was a Christian (or false advertising, eh?) and he said, yes, catholic, "more or less".
Now, I´m no catholic, but I´m pretty sure it´s against a lot of what Catholics stand for to be ¨more or less¨a catholic. But at any rate, the only other thing I could get across was that I was a Christian too, but not Catholic. And, in an attempt to continue the conversation, I said the only other thing pertaining to religion that I could think of.
El Christo es grande, no?
Well I am so very glad I proved to him that I had great knowledge of both the Spanish language and common sense.
To top my night off, I popped open a can of Queso Pringles I bought yesterday afternoon. (fyi, American brands are very expensive here, as I mentioned about Burger King before. Pringles are quite an event to eat. They cost about 15 bolivianos, a little more than 2 dollars. And Pop Tarts? Shoot, they cost more than my steak dinner. I´ll wait until I get home to eat those again. ) And when I say popped them open, I mean popped. The lid was buldging with air pressure. I think I got a little cheese powder in my DNA now.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
cherry coke and taxi soccer and German music
As I sit in an internet cafe (4.60 bolivianos for an hour... that´s like 50 cents) off of Circumvalacion next to a teenager (shouldn´t he be in school?) listening to a little Red Hot Chili Pepper stuff, but mostly German racket (the only thing I´ve understood is "we all live in america... America is wunderbar!!!!!") I´m struck by how very similar Bolivia, and, presumably, the rest of the world, is to my world. Perhaps because humans are fundamentally very similar. Created by the same God, entering the world the same way, requiring the same basic needs, and finding enjoyment in very similar activities.
Globalization has aided in much of this. For example, my very first day here, hearing Stairway to Heaven as well as You Got it Bad and watchin Friends with Spanish subtitles. Bolivians want to be like Americans because of the entertainment industry... What do you think of this? Personally, I´m slightly worried. I mean, Joey, ross, chandler, rachel, monica, and phoebe are alright, I guess. As far as sitcom characters go. But not real people to aspire to.
Anyways, after telling you how very similar Bolivia is to home, allow me to list a few differences I have observed as of yet.
I realized while at the game how much we truly take for granted in our common language. For example, introducing yourself to the person sitting next to you, or eavesdropping on the exciting-sounding conversation taking place just behind you. (yes, I miss eavesdropping). I imagine that when I return to the US many previously awkward situations will come much easier because, at least we´ll have a language in common. (Forgive me, if, when I return, I use over-exaggerated hand gestures.)
I finally had a cherry coke last night. I had to ask for a shirley temple, without sprite, with coke. This order took about 5 minutes. Again, something that will be much easier with a common native language.
We started classes yesterday. Spanish in the morning (during which I learned gringita is a term of endearment, not a condescending insult). Lunch and siesta. History (during which I learned I cannot draw Bolivia and have it not look like a potato [they have over 600 different kinds of potatoes here, btw. I ate a purple one yesterday. No lie.]) and Pol.Sci in the afternoon. We´ll start volunteering next week, which I´m very excited about. I´ll be working at a baby orphanage for the first half of the semster. I hope I don´t cry my first day there. I wouldn´t be able to explain in Spanish my reason. Perhaps I couldn´t in English either.
I´d like to write all about Carnaval from this past Saturday, but that will have to wait for another post with more time and pictures.
For now, I´ll just tell you that on the way back from Spanish this morning I got to watch a soccer game that, from the looks of the surrounding parked cars, consisted mainly of taxi drivers. :)
I like it here a lot.
Globalization has aided in much of this. For example, my very first day here, hearing Stairway to Heaven as well as You Got it Bad and watchin Friends with Spanish subtitles. Bolivians want to be like Americans because of the entertainment industry... What do you think of this? Personally, I´m slightly worried. I mean, Joey, ross, chandler, rachel, monica, and phoebe are alright, I guess. As far as sitcom characters go. But not real people to aspire to.
Anyways, after telling you how very similar Bolivia is to home, allow me to list a few differences I have observed as of yet.
- Men dancing with men is ok. Admirable, in fact.
- Faking injuries in soccer is part of the game, and a wise strategic move, I´m told.
- "littering" in America is recycling here. (My professor was explaining this to me as he crushed a can and threw it on the ground. He said, "watch". Honestly, not 3 seconds later a young boy picked it up and added it to his already large collection of cans. That could be considered a tax-deductable charitable donation in America.)
- Leaving a restaurant quickly after eating is not a favor to the waiter but an isult of the food.
- Toilet paper does not go in the toilet.
- Lunch is the big meal of the day. Work stops, children leave school, and everyone (including extended family) gathers for a grand meal, and, afterwards, a siesta. (my new favorite tradition)
- Burger King is truly expensive. Same prices as in US, so for a Bolivian it is similar to planning on going out to a big steak dinner for Americans.
- Red light means turn left.
- An 8-sided red sign screaming "alto" in fact, means yeild.
- Seat-belt wearing is strongly discouraged--there are none in the back at all.
- "meat" means beef, steak, cow, etc.
- climate control consists of open or closed windows. And works much better than our air conditioners.
- soccer players must be protected by police with shields when making a corner kick on the field of the home team. (otherwise, the 2liter bottles, firecrackers, and glass bottles being thrown at them might distract them... or hurt them)
I realized while at the game how much we truly take for granted in our common language. For example, introducing yourself to the person sitting next to you, or eavesdropping on the exciting-sounding conversation taking place just behind you. (yes, I miss eavesdropping). I imagine that when I return to the US many previously awkward situations will come much easier because, at least we´ll have a language in common. (Forgive me, if, when I return, I use over-exaggerated hand gestures.)
I finally had a cherry coke last night. I had to ask for a shirley temple, without sprite, with coke. This order took about 5 minutes. Again, something that will be much easier with a common native language.
We started classes yesterday. Spanish in the morning (during which I learned gringita is a term of endearment, not a condescending insult). Lunch and siesta. History (during which I learned I cannot draw Bolivia and have it not look like a potato [they have over 600 different kinds of potatoes here, btw. I ate a purple one yesterday. No lie.]) and Pol.Sci in the afternoon. We´ll start volunteering next week, which I´m very excited about. I´ll be working at a baby orphanage for the first half of the semster. I hope I don´t cry my first day there. I wouldn´t be able to explain in Spanish my reason. Perhaps I couldn´t in English either.
I´d like to write all about Carnaval from this past Saturday, but that will have to wait for another post with more time and pictures.
For now, I´ll just tell you that on the way back from Spanish this morning I got to watch a soccer game that, from the looks of the surrounding parked cars, consisted mainly of taxi drivers. :)
I like it here a lot.
Friday, February 8, 2008
So, here I am.
Bolivia, si?
*quick note: all the punctuation on their keyboards here are different, so please forgive any grammar mistakes I make. (especially you, Mrs. Walton. Please don´t let the commas stress you out.)
Let me sum up my experience so far in one phrase: I was wrong.
About just about everything. But before you get worried about me regretting my decision to come here, let me tell you that I have been so wonderfully surprised by just about everything here.
The people in my group are fantastic. I had a few preconcieved ideas about them as a result of email communication, however, all of my previous labels were wrong. There´s a group of 6 of us.
Zareen - from Penn., goes to Pitt. Very intelligent and curious, and speaks mucho Spanish. Down to earth and likes to laugh a lot.
J - from FL, goes to West Virginia University. Marine veteran (hurt in training). She likes to cave, a spelunker.
Matt - from Penn as well, and also goes to WVU. Did not, however, know J before we all met in Miami. I thought he was uptight from the emails, but in fact very amiable and funny. He no hablas Espanol.
Carolyn - she just got here yesterday from NC, goes to Tulane. She´s sweet and friendly, and really likes to talk.
Andreas - from Austria, goes to WVU. We met him today. Don´t know much about him except that he´s super friendly, speaks german and italian, and is currently married.
The land is beautiful. The thing that first caught me by surprise was the weather in Santa Cruz. I felt like I was at the beach. This was just after coming from La Paz (both in Bolivia) where it was 41 degrees. I completely forgot that it was summer down here. I mean, I knew the seasons flopped, but that didn´t translate to February being the end of summer break for the kids here.
The people are so friendly. I know everyone says this about different places they go, but you truly don´t realize the kindness of strangers until you approach them and strive to tell them your problem which has nothing to do with them in a language that isn´t their own. We met a guy named Mirko on the plane from Miami. He was on his way home to Cochabamba from a business trip in Japan. If not for him, my bags would not be together, we would have probably gotten sucked into a taxi in Santa Cruz, I would not have been able to order my ham and American cheese sandwich at the Subway in the airport, and the entire group would have missed the finally plane to Cochabamba. I hope the group gets to hang out with him again sometime soon. Plus, he has raquetball courts at his home.
My host family is amazing. My host mom has taken such good care of me and the daughter, Andrea, is so much fun. She´s 28 and took me out for a steak dinner last night. A huge freakin piece of steak, almost 2 inches thick, rice, yucca, and a coke, for, get this, less than $8.
Eat your hearts out. :)
Some firsts in Cochabamba:
Bolivia, si?
*quick note: all the punctuation on their keyboards here are different, so please forgive any grammar mistakes I make. (especially you, Mrs. Walton. Please don´t let the commas stress you out.)
Let me sum up my experience so far in one phrase: I was wrong.
About just about everything. But before you get worried about me regretting my decision to come here, let me tell you that I have been so wonderfully surprised by just about everything here.
The people in my group are fantastic. I had a few preconcieved ideas about them as a result of email communication, however, all of my previous labels were wrong. There´s a group of 6 of us.
Zareen - from Penn., goes to Pitt. Very intelligent and curious, and speaks mucho Spanish. Down to earth and likes to laugh a lot.
J - from FL, goes to West Virginia University. Marine veteran (hurt in training). She likes to cave, a spelunker.
Matt - from Penn as well, and also goes to WVU. Did not, however, know J before we all met in Miami. I thought he was uptight from the emails, but in fact very amiable and funny. He no hablas Espanol.
Carolyn - she just got here yesterday from NC, goes to Tulane. She´s sweet and friendly, and really likes to talk.
Andreas - from Austria, goes to WVU. We met him today. Don´t know much about him except that he´s super friendly, speaks german and italian, and is currently married.
The land is beautiful. The thing that first caught me by surprise was the weather in Santa Cruz. I felt like I was at the beach. This was just after coming from La Paz (both in Bolivia) where it was 41 degrees. I completely forgot that it was summer down here. I mean, I knew the seasons flopped, but that didn´t translate to February being the end of summer break for the kids here.
The people are so friendly. I know everyone says this about different places they go, but you truly don´t realize the kindness of strangers until you approach them and strive to tell them your problem which has nothing to do with them in a language that isn´t their own. We met a guy named Mirko on the plane from Miami. He was on his way home to Cochabamba from a business trip in Japan. If not for him, my bags would not be together, we would have probably gotten sucked into a taxi in Santa Cruz, I would not have been able to order my ham and American cheese sandwich at the Subway in the airport, and the entire group would have missed the finally plane to Cochabamba. I hope the group gets to hang out with him again sometime soon. Plus, he has raquetball courts at his home.
My host family is amazing. My host mom has taken such good care of me and the daughter, Andrea, is so much fun. She´s 28 and took me out for a steak dinner last night. A huge freakin piece of steak, almost 2 inches thick, rice, yucca, and a coke, for, get this, less than $8.
Eat your hearts out. :)
Some firsts in Cochabamba:
- first lie: (during first trip to grocery market) 'oh yes, I eat vegetables all the time'
- first injury: lost a big toe nail in lugging my overly-large suitcase into my host home.
- first meal: tacos. (haha)
- first surprise: security guards being the sketchy cat-callers
- first teacher: the 4 year old Alexia. 'no no no. perro...... dog.' [sigh of frustration]
- and, my personal favorite: first mistake: 'excited' in Spanish is NOT 'excitado'. Instead, you would say 'emocionado'. 'Excitado', in fact, means horny.
That´s all for now. More to come. Keep the prayers and good wishes coming. :)
Monday, February 4, 2008
selling out of the leading lame bandwagon
So, I must admit, when I first learned of the blogging world, I thought it was lame.
That's right, lame.
And here I am, several years later, jumping on the bandwagon. Or following the lead. Or selling-out. Take your pick of judgment on me. But you're the one reading it. :)
I decided to take this drastic step because I'm leaving the country. And I must admit that blogging appears to be the easiest way to keep in touch with people without bombarding their in-boxes with emails they really don't want read. Plus, two of my favorite people in the world are bloggers now. :) And since I've joined them, blogging is officially no longer lame.
Tomorrow I leave for Cochabamba, Bolivia. I'm studying abroad for Spring '08 semester. It's not quite like typical study abroad experiences where I'd attend a Bolivian university. Instead, the focus of this Amizade program is Global Service Learning. Me and 5 other Americans are going to learn about Bolivian history and politics and their role in the Global economy, while focusing mainly on helping serve in various organizations in the community.
Here's the itinerary.
10:00am. Leave the homestead.
12:30pm. Lunch in Rock Hill.
6:50 pm. Depart Charlotte bound for Miami.
11:10 pm. Depart Miami for La Paz, Bolivia. (6 hour flight)
--> La Paz (hopefully don't pass out b/c of the high altitude) to Santa Cruz to Cochabamba
2:05 pm. Arrive in Cochabamba.
I think by Wednesday afternoon I'll be wondering what in the world happened to Tuesday. And perhaps why the English language seems to have disappeared.
Some fears I have going down:
Well, this has been my first attempt at a blog. I hope perhaps I have changed your mind if you, too, were a skeptic of blogs. I at least hope that I have not made you finally realize how lame blogs really are. :)
If I did, here's my last effort. Pictures of Cochabamba from the internet and such. I promise following posts will hold my own pictures as well more thrilling stories of wanderlust. Please let me know what you think.
p.s. I've had this song stuck in my head since I watched The Holiday over Christmas break. And I still know less than 20% of the words. :)
----------------
Now playing: The Killers - Mr. Brightside
That's right, lame.
And here I am, several years later, jumping on the bandwagon. Or following the lead. Or selling-out. Take your pick of judgment on me. But you're the one reading it. :)
I decided to take this drastic step because I'm leaving the country. And I must admit that blogging appears to be the easiest way to keep in touch with people without bombarding their in-boxes with emails they really don't want read. Plus, two of my favorite people in the world are bloggers now. :) And since I've joined them, blogging is officially no longer lame.
Tomorrow I leave for Cochabamba, Bolivia. I'm studying abroad for Spring '08 semester. It's not quite like typical study abroad experiences where I'd attend a Bolivian university. Instead, the focus of this Amizade program is Global Service Learning. Me and 5 other Americans are going to learn about Bolivian history and politics and their role in the Global economy, while focusing mainly on helping serve in various organizations in the community.
Here's the itinerary.
10:00am. Leave the homestead.
12:30pm. Lunch in Rock Hill.
6:50 pm. Depart Charlotte bound for Miami.
11:10 pm. Depart Miami for La Paz, Bolivia. (6 hour flight)
--> La Paz (hopefully don't pass out b/c of the high altitude) to Santa Cruz to Cochabamba
2:05 pm. Arrive in Cochabamba.
I think by Wednesday afternoon I'll be wondering what in the world happened to Tuesday. And perhaps why the English language seems to have disappeared.
Some fears I have going down:
- I've taken too much luggage.
- I've not brought enough.
- I'll be the person to know the least Spanish these Bolivians have ever seen and will further their view of ignorant Americans.
- Forgetting I'm not supposed to drink the water.
- Not knowing much about my host family, my classmates, my professors, or what exactly I'll be doing down there. Or if it's socially okay for me to wear shorts.
- I'll lose my place in my life here.
- Not pack any more. I did one test run up and down the stairs with everything. And, although it's an aerobic workout (all my luggage together weighs over 70 lbs.), a little heart thumpin never hurt anyone.
- See bullet above. 70 lbs is more than enough. And besides, I can buy stuff there. I think. Perhaps some llama shirts. hmm. soft.
- Reviewing Spanish on the plane and having a humble and willing spirit. Hoping this will have a positive impact on the population and knowing it will have a profound impact on my character and pride.
- Bringing water bottles. And asking the Angel of the Lord to burn my lips with a coal if I go near tap water. :)
- Being flexible and wearing pants until research confirms or rejects my hypothesis.
- Knowing that my place right now is in Bolivia, not here. And that all the places I really care about in my life here won't be filled by anything but care for me.
- But most of all, I had a friend (one of the fellow-bloggers) remind me of what God told Joshua after their great leader Moses had died and he had to take over leading the Isrealites:
"This is my command—be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." [Josh. 1:9]
Well, this has been my first attempt at a blog. I hope perhaps I have changed your mind if you, too, were a skeptic of blogs. I at least hope that I have not made you finally realize how lame blogs really are. :)
If I did, here's my last effort. Pictures of Cochabamba from the internet and such. I promise following posts will hold my own pictures as well more thrilling stories of wanderlust. Please let me know what you think.
An overview of the city. (Not just a bunch of thatched huts.)
This is the flag of Cochabamba.
No lie.
At least it's a nice color of blue.
No lie.
At least it's a nice color of blue.
A main town square called September 14 Plaza.
And no, I do not yet know why that date is important. But I guarantee you I will.
And no, I do not yet know why that date is important. But I guarantee you I will.
Some rocks near the city. I guess they're old or something.
p.s. I've had this song stuck in my head since I watched The Holiday over Christmas break. And I still know less than 20% of the words. :)
----------------
Now playing: The Killers - Mr. Brightside
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)