So I´ve been thinking about all those weird Bolivian things that I already take for granted...like burros and pigs walking down the street. Or buying everything I own on the street. Or eating soup with every single lunch. So today´s episode will be "The Sounds of Bolivia"
There are of course the semi-typical village sounds of church bells ringing in a non-harmonious manner at LEAST an hour before the 7AM mass, the premilitary kids chanting in the streets (and now the real military sent here to guard the newly nationalized telephone system), and all variety of school noises and those produced by obnoxious kidlets. Also (how could I forget?) the school band that practices every night until 10 or 11PM. Their repertoire includes "The ants go marching two by two" which is apparently some manner of Bolivian fight song. They have no concept of tuning and although I do not have perfect pitch I often find it very painful to listen.
Some punks making noise.
Less-expected noises include the garbage whistle, the gas horn, the news, and whistling. Every week the trash truck comes through and one of the two guys riding blows a whistle to signal to all the houswives, servants and yours truly to come running out to throw their garbage on the truck. It used to be fun (because what little girl doesn´t fantasize about being a garbage woman when she grows up) but now I miss people to pick up my trash when I´m not there.
I may never have mentioned that ovens/stoves are supplied with propane gas tanks. I probably didn´t because I didn´t want anyone to worry that I´ll explode...as I worried when my landlord held a lit match to the tank to see if there were any leaks. "I´ll just wait out here ok?," I yelled from the patio. Or that time that some (male) friends lit a fire under the tank to "loosen" the small amount of gas left. Anyway there is a gas truck that comes by honking "GAS!" like an overgrown water buffalo. You bring your tank outside, pay, and get a full tank to lug back to your kitchen. This may be the only reason that the Peace Corps application asks if you can comfortably lift 40 lbs, a question to which my doctor answered "sometimes" because she didn´t want me to be disqualified.
Whistling. It seems that Bolivians (meaning high school-age males) have their very own language of whistles. These are not the typical "Hey there hot stuff!" whistles but are more like calling cards. "Hey! It´s Juan! Come downstairs" or "Jaime is here." I was told that by the end of my service I would know when someone was whistling for me and who it was but I think it´s a boy thing (like making machine gun noises.)
Sometimes if there is a special event, another noise enters the mix. We have a taxi especially rigged with loudspeakers. Someone sits in the back yelling the announcements about the upcoming circus or basketball tournament.
So Thursday was Corpus Christi. I missed the typical procession and Mass to go out to the campo, hike around, and take some GPS data. Sometimes I´m not sure if people are messing with me here...like that time that my host mom told me that my host-bro had accidently hung the previous volunteer´s cat. So this time I wasn´t sure of the truth when I got into the car to leave town and was told not to worry because our driver also drives race cars. Unfortunately this race car driver had spilled a bottle of vinegar in the car and between the speed, curves, and smell...I DIDN´T puke! As it turned out the hike was a side trip because out driver wanted to go to Potosà to look for these two guys who may or may not be selling their 50s era trucks. We wound up way out where I had a stereotypical (and before then unexperienced) Peace Corps experience...the one where a bunch of little kids run up to touch you and then run away giggling. Finally the brave ones started to ask a bunch of questions like who´s my mom, who´s my uncle, where do I live, do I speak Spanish. I am often asked, after I´ve been conversing for ten minutes, if I speak Spanish...generally by drunk people.
We finally left, checked out an old church where community members had done amateur excavations (AAGGGH!), and hiked up the cliffs to check out some caves (more like big rocks balanced on little rocks), prehistoric art and the local Inca trails. We also tried several joke allergy remedies like throwing rocks from the cliff into the river, licking large piles of dirt, and breathing deeply...didn´t work.
Sunday was an auto race...through our narrow village streets. We have one newly lame dog and my racecar driver friend crashed into a wall about ten feet from where I was standing. I left when then this really weird drunk guy decided to stand outside of the store I was in yelling (loosely translated) "Blondie! I just wanta drink with you! I know you´re not married! Come here damn it blondie!" Got to say...ruined my day.
Monday was the anniversary of the state and there was a "parade" with the typically horrible school bands. Then I went with some friends to eat barbecue and play cacho (dice). Tuesday was Mother´s day! This means that the kids here haven´t had school for the past three school days.
