Last Farewell

This will be my last post in Bolivia. I will try to post when I'm home to sum it all up. I don't know how I'll sum it up. It's hard for me to think that a year ago I was in China. So much has happened since than I don't remember it all.

I suppose it's high time I talk about public transportation which has given me wonderfully horrifying stories in the previous countries. Sadly, Bolivian transportation involves no livestock, no vehicles that will fall apart at a moments notice, and no strange hand signals indicating what part of the city you want to go to. There are three forms of city public transportation: micros (mini buses essentially), trufis (the ghanaian tro tro, just not as run down but certainly not new), and taxis, both line taxis that run a route and drop taxis that take you wherever you wish. The Bolivians have taken out the guess work of catching one of these means of transportation by wisely posting numbers and/or signs on the vehicle indicating it's route. This was much easier than in Ghana where you would either have to yell where you were going or use some crazy hand signals then wait for a taxi or tro tro to stop. The driving, although not conventionally safe doesn't keep me on the edge of my seat. Then again, I don't know if much could at this point. But traffic hear is rather tame all in all. There is, however, one quirk. In Ghana, many of the cars were imported from germany, imported being a generous word. In Bolivia, Japan supplies many of the cars here. This causes a problem because the Japanese drive on the left side of the road with the steering wheel on the right whereas Bolivians drive on the right. To adapt these japanese cars to Bolivian road rules, it is not uncommon to see a taxi with the big gap on the passenger side where the steering once was and no fixed to the left side of the car. The readouts are, of course, still on the right side.

As for my living arrangements, I stay with a lovely old woman who just became a grandmother. The house is small and quiet. She works for a hotel, far more hours than for someone her age. She is a very warm and gracious host. However, she is one of the most racist people I've ever met, but it comes across is that nice old woman sort of way... if that's at all possible. She uses the 'n' word freely and seems to have no trouble with how derogatory it is. I thought that she was possibly unaware. However, she lived in the Houston at the height of the civil rights movement and is very knowledgeable about what is PC and what is not. She also frequently blames all the troubles in the country on the natives and said that if the US government were to come and get rid of all the indigenous people, she would have no problems with it. Afterwards she gently scolds herself because she knows it's not the "right" thing to say. I find it quite funny that my roommate is a hardline liberal/vegan/hippie going to law school. She doesn't tolerate the racism so well. I let it pass, not much else I can do.

Last weekend was a holiday called San Juan (day?). Basically everyone lights off fireworks and bbqs hot dogs. Sounds familiar... Thier fireworks put out 4th of July fireworks to shame though. It wasn't quite on the scale of in India during Diwalli. And the fireworks seem better manufactured and more stable unlike some of the indian fireworks which seemed little more than a wad of gunpowder wrapped in string or cardboard with inconsistent fuses. The fireworks here in Bolivia are just MASSIVE. They have plenty of the nice fountains and cones and other small ground sparklers, but they also had roman candles and rockets. We have roman candles at home at well, often 10-15 balls per candle around a foot and a half in length. The roman candles here came up to my chin and I have no idea how many balls it fires. The rockets were attached to a dowel of equal length. They reminded me of a steroid abusing pop-bottle rocket. I doubt these could be launched out of a pop bottle. The next morning I awoke to a hazy sky and a faint smell of burned gunpowder in the air. Apparently, last year it was so bad that planes had to be grounded until well into the afternoon when visibility was good enough to take off.

Bolivian food isn't quite what I expected it to be. I foolishly thought most latino food was similar, so I basically expected a variation fo mexican food. Let's just say Bolivian cuisine isn't one of the strong points of the country. That's not to say the food is bad, just more or less bland. Which took me by surprised considering how much seasonings, spices and hervs are available. They do have some spicy sauce, but it always comes on the side. The traditional cochabamban meal is either beef patty or chicken leg with fries and rice. Bolivians may not consume a lot of spices, but they make up for it by gorging themselves on meat. I went to dinner the other day with some of the interns from the hospitals to a Churasquieria (i don't know what is means). Everyone was getting Churasco (the standard meal people get at a churasquieria), so I joined the bandwagon. There were seven of us and we got four orders of churasco. Basically, churasco is beef, lots and lots of beef. They plopped down a thick wooden cutting board in front of me with three large steaks and a small side of fries. Needless to say, I was unable to finish my steaks. It didn't help that I was having a rough battle with some bacteria in my stomach at the time. No worries. I eventually won.

That's all for now. Nothing else too exciting. I'll probably spend my last weekend buying souveniers and spending time with patty and her family. I look forward to seeing everyone when I return.