Day One

My alarm went off at 10 AM local time. I peered off of the top bunk to find that I was the only guest in the room, accompanied by the cleaning lady. You’d think I had slept in but I hadn’t gotten in from the airport until 6AM. Along with the scraps of slumber pieced together during flights and torturous layovers, I’m not too bad off for energy. Still, waking up disoriented and alone, fully dressed and with an ache in my belly. Luckily the hostel serves a free breakfast until 11. “Free Breakfast” meaning stale bread, jam and butter, but along with a nostalgic mug of mate de coca, I couldn’t complain. In the dining room sat  three other travelers, together, speaking neither English nor Spanish yet somehow enjoying Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs that played on the television. I can more or less tell what kind of travelers they are. I can almost tell just by the fact that they’re staying at the Bash and Crash Party Hostel. I only booked this one cause it’s the cheapest one near Terminal de Buses, that’s where I went after filling up on bread and jam.

First step into the street and I’m happy to be back in Latino America, the music is in full force and the sun warming my skin, in the middle of the street was a pack of at least 20 dogs of all shapes and sizes having an orgy for which I wished I had my camera, they only moved to the sidewalk once a micro blasted it’s horn. I was pleased to pass some good looking street food as I walked the few blocks to the terminal, I began to wish that I hadn’t eaten so much “free breakfast.” I was also strolling by some beautiful murals, feeling so lucky to be back among the rich socially involved culture that I’ve been spending the past few months of my life confirming my love for. At the station I found the line of buses I was looking for, was able to book myself a window seat for the night bus to Sucre, costing only 90 Bolivianos, that’s 13 USD for a 14 hour bus ride… can’t beat it.

I walked out feeling proud of myself, theend of my transit finally in sight, ticket secured, a pocket full of the local currency, ready to explore a little of what the city had to offer on the festive Friday. I stopped to make a quick call to the states and let people know that I’ve made it this far, then I began wandering. I passed a man selling salteñas, I wasn’t hungry yet but I knew I’d return since my experience with that Andean specialty while I was in Peru was a deciding factor in returning to the area. I walked on, through the market as firecrackers went off all around me, rediscovering some of the fruits I’ve most missed over the past few months, mainly cactus fruit (tuna,) and starting to get really excited for the prospect of having access to these foods again for three whole months. I walked amongst the locals whom, young and old alike, were dressed up as if it were American Halloween in celebration of Carnaval, past all the things for sale that I had no interest in purchasing, watches, sweaters, jewelry, shoes, aimlessly wandering until I found myself in the rain and also within sight of Plaza Munilo and Congreso de la Republica. I started wishing I had grabbed my raincoat after all, knowing this was a possibility, but I walked on.

The park was an amazing sight, all the pigeons storming the skies to retreat from the coming rain, on the steps a little boy with a bag of seeds, covered in the birds who were trying to get at the food, he laughed and laughed. Soldiers stood underneath the many flagpoles, taking down the banners to keep them from the rain. I didn’t stay long as it really started to pour and I wanted to get back at least to where I could retrieve my raincoat, before I was soaked and doomed to adding wetness onto the unattractive details of tonight’s cold, dark, bumpy, long ride. Coming back; little boys sprinted past me, chasing each other with squirt guns, a Carnaval tradition that isn’t lost even when the rain renders it futile. I noticed that grown men were armed with the soakers too, big old water guns that stood up to their hips, I was struck with such admiration for such a fun loving culture.

I walked faster as the rain fell likewise, until I reached the salteñas place, a little hallway with a door into it, in the back all the goods were baked and fried, in the front were two empty tables. I got one salteña and a coffee. I took it in slow, waiting for the rain to pass. I listened to the radio, political discussion about indigenous rights, and knew I was in the right place. I wanted so badly to talk to the man who had chosen this radio station, to see where he stood and to start getting educated on the current situation, but I didn’t have the words and he was busy frying more tucumanas. What are tucumanas, you ask? I asked the same thing to the man, he explained they’re much like salteñas but fried. I had to treat myself to one after I was done eating, for like 50 cents you can’t go wrong. I had asked him which he liked better, tucumanas of course. They are delicious for sure, but I still stand by my salteñas.

While I was eating and so enjoying the quaint little shop I started thinking of how nice it would be to work there for a week. I want to learn to make salteñas, and I want to learn about the socio-political situation of Bolivia, both from the media and from the people I meet. I got the idea in my head that maybe I could volunteer some help for a couple days when I come back to La Paz for a week in May. There might not even be room in the little kitchen-esque area. But damn, that’d be an experience. Work on my Spanish over the next three months, of course, and come back with the capacity to pick his brain and enjoy his company. Once my tucumana was finished I felt I had to get back into the streets, where the rain would continue to seep into my mesh sneakers that I foolishly elected to wear. “Gracias amigo, ciao” and back into the street, with all this potential welling in my mind. My hostel wasn’t far from there, I walked slowly, enjoying the rain, knowing I’d soon be protected from it, and getting back to the room I decided to type this. So there you have it. I’ll be going back to the bus station around 5:30, stopping along the way to grab some street dinner, I’m so excited to see what Sucre holds for me but I wish I wasn’t rained out of my one day in La Paz, I guess I should definitely come back in May after all, I think I could really enjoy myself here.