The past month or so have been kind of slow. I finally quit English classes and must say that my overall health greatly improved as a result. The schools were on vacation for a month because 1) it's winter 2) the teachers were on strike and 3) there was an election and they wanted everyone to go on vacation and not vote. I packed up and headed to Stephanie's site for a weekend which turned into a week's stay. I helped her out a bit in her library and we celebrated Dia de San Juan with salchichas (hot dogs), canela (cinnamon tea spiked with liquor), chispitas (sparklers), and fogatas (bonfires). I went into the city for the 4th but no one was around so I tooled around being touristy for once, checking out the churches and markets. My city routine generally involves eating. I eat bread and hot cocoa in the hotel and then head to the market for api (purple corn drink), pastels (fried cheese pastries), and a liquado (milk shake). Then up to the church for saltenas (baked meat pastry), the café for apple pie and the pizza place for dinner.
My neighbors and I have been trying to be more neighborly so we celebrated el Dia de la Amistad (Friendship day) by having a hot dog dinner complete with gift exchange. I got a stuffed rabbit that giggles when you squeeze it. Oh boy.
Last weekend was the Festival of patron St. Santiago. The festivities were kicked off on Thursday night with a procession through town. Each school made a float representing the saint. Friday was a Mass and yet another procession. Saturday and Sunday was a Santa Anita or sita which is basically a carnival with gambling games and miniature toys. For example you can buy miniature money if you want more in the coming year, or mini bags of flour, or gas tanks, or mini clothing. There were barbecue stands and the standard wine vendors. And that's about it so I leave you with this tome:
The general stereotyped Peace Corps Volunteer is a dirty hippie trying to distance him- or herself from all the unsavory aspects of life in the United States (poverty, foreign policy, racism etc.) by, perhaps ironically, trying to present a positive face of the US in other countries. But there comes a time in every PCV's service when they recognize how truly splendiferous the US is. I mean where else can you find such a wonderful interstate highway system complete with well-stocked, generally clean rest areas?
The main means of long-distance transportation here in Bolivia is bus. Please take a moment to recall all those reasons why you don't travel by Greyhound. Now don't get me wrong. These buses aren't rickety old yellow school buses handed down by other developing nations. (Those are reserved for intra-city travel and are repainted in a stunning variety of colors.....
...see?)
Flotas, as they are called here, are instead rickety old Greyhounds (sometimes also painted brilliantly). The only difference between US buses and Bolivian flotas are minor. Flotas don't have bathrooms, animals are more-or-less allowed, the schedule is oddly limited, the roads are often unpaved and narrow, clinging to the sides of mountains, and the drivers often bring their wives along. This, by the way, is a good sign. If the wife rides shot gun there's very little chance of plunging off a cliff. Although your chofer will want to show off a little he won't want to kill anyone.
Let's discuss:
Bathrooms – some buses have established stops where there is a restaurant or public bathroom. (Oh there are so many places this narrative could go!) The bus from Tarija northwards, for example, pretty much always stops in Iscayachi which as the locals joke means "between two cold places" and is described by the resident volunteer as "like a Wild West town on the moon." For 50 centavos you get a wad of pink tp and your very own stall. Sometimes there's running water. Sometimes not. Sometimes there's a toilet. Sometimes not. On the Inca trail I encountered a flushing hole in the ground. Unlike the Colombian high schooler in the next stall, I thought it was neat-o-keen especially compared to the Peace Corps training center which has dark unlockable outhouses with wood blocks where your feet should go but which in my personal experience are not a very accurate guide. (I evidently must assume a wide left-leaning stance.)
Often there is no bathroom or it's locked or the TP lady is on lunch break. In this case people drop trou pretty much anywhere. There seems to be no effort to find a comfy spot….unless you're my work counterpart who searched for twenty minutes for an appropriate tree to water. I don't have any particular horror stories but on my most recent trip to Tarija I had to water a tree so badly that I had to ask the bus driver to stop just for me. As my friend Oscar says, "Anything's better than the Potosi bus terminal" which, by the way, is the highest in the world and has indeed been patronized by yours truly. How's that for distinction?
Animalitos—to be honest, the only times animals have been on my bus were when I was carrying one. I brought my kitten to the city once. Unfortunately we were sitting in the way back wedged next to a cholita wearing a traditional skirt with its hundred traditional underskirts and covered in a thousand layers of blankets. Neither the cholita nor Maní enjoyed the ride. I once saw a woman in the bus terminal with a couple of lambs in her bag and several times have passed minibuses with flocks of sheep strapped on top. Those sheep looked friggin terrified.
Schedule—for some reason, all the buses to a particular destination leave at once. For example, all the buses going through my town to Tarija leave at 6AM or 10PM. The theory is that if one bus breaks down there will be four other buses to help out. The last bus however is screwed. Asi es la vida.
Road conditions—There is a reason the volunteers in my region are flown everywhere instead of being made to take the bus. Roads in the Tarija area are unpaved, narrow, and curvy and generally have a lovely view over a cliff. In fact, the road to Entre Rios is so curvy that buses only leave at night so that oncoming traffic is easier to see (headlights). I cross through at least one river to get to the city, more during rainy season. However, I can count the times I thought I would die on one hand, and two of those times were in private vehicles and one of those times I asked the driver to go slower and when he didn't I puked all over his car. Take that!
Bus travel also involves the en route movie, temperature fluctuations, chatty and/or smelly seat-mates, drug checks, and the possibility of getting kicked off because the company has overbooked seats. I've seen Terminator at least thirty times. (My personal favorite is "Killer Sheep.") I've frozen. I've baked. And I've had hour long conversations about armadillos. Isn't travel glamorous?
Glossary
Asi es la vida: Such is life. C'est la vie.
Centavos: cents. Bills are known as Bolivianos.
Chofer: driver
Cholita: woman who wears traditional clothing
Drop trou: drop trousers or to remove your pants to urinate, defecate or fornicate.
Flota: bus
PCV: Peace Corps Volunteer
...ok perhaps not the best example.
We flew to Spain. We flew on a plane. It was fun. There was a camera on the tail. We saw the plane take off and fly and land from the inside. I retained water. Lots of water.
So anyhoo, after a hot lunch of paella and Coke we tooled around Madrid and avoided creepy buskers in the Plaza Mayor.
Then we took artsy photos of doors and doorknobs...
