The actual day my coworker was to leave Bolivia and go back to the States started much like the previous: with a lunch at another tio & tia`s house. I was in pretty bad shape after the late night that had ended just a few hours before. My coworker took this into consideration and told his tia that I had a sore throat and might not be able to make it.
She told him to bring me anyway. She had drugs.
This was the day I was supposed to do my bike ride down...ready for it? THE MOST DANGEROUS ROAD IN THE WORLD. I was to meet the group at 7am in the center of town. But having arrived back at the house at just 5am, I decided riding a mountain bike in the rain down THE MOST DANGEROUS ROAD IN THE WORLD while still very much hungover was not such a good idea. And so I called and asked to reschedule (for a fee of course).
And so I found myself riding in a cab to Tia Marta & Tio Pepe`s house, still hungover, at noon. Tio Pepe is a military man and had just been reposted - though only a few streets from where he was previously posted. They were still having to move to a new house. So the house had packing boxes every where. I pretented to be slightly ill with a sore throat (not to hard because of all the drinking the night before and the large cigar I had smoked that afternoon), and tia Marta continued to push some sort of throat relief at me. I assured her my throat didn`t hurt so badly I couldn`t eat. I don´t think it would have mattered.
The meal was another traditional Bolivian one - one I can`t remember the name of (in one blog post I will make a list of all the unusual but delicious meals I had there). Still not really all that hungry after all the food I had the day before, I tried to pace myself. It was great food though. Neither Marta nor Pepe spoke much English so there was much translating to be done. Which is why, when I was told I would be driving with Pepe to get our next dish, I had a slight panic over what I would say to the military man with my delicate grasp of the spanish language.
Pepe was (is still I assume) a great and friendly man. I tried my best to chat with him in Spanish during our ride. I pointed to the military base and asked about how the consription worked in Bolivia. He explained it. In spanish. I still have no idea how it works. I asked about the dog that was riding with us. He seemed to take great pride in that dog. And when we arrived at the restaurant (some might say meat circus) he took great pleasure in pointing out the process through which the meat we were buying was cooked. Big giant vats of boiled pig meat. He explained that it was a traditional food from a certain area of Bolivia and that the best parts were the skins. Mmmmm...pig skins. He even offered to take pictures of me standing next to the hanging pigs (which, I was informed would be the next day`s fodder).
Our initial lunch was really filling. They always were. And I really didn`t have room to eat this pig skin "treat". But I tried a bit to be polite. Yep, exactly what I expected boiled pig skins to taste like.
With my coworker leaving that night and me staying in La Paz a few more days, tia Marta offered to feed me if I needed to be fed. Just come by and I will fix you something. "What, I don`t know. But there is something here you can eat". She and Pepe were gracious hosts and I thanked them repeatidly for having us over for lunch. Even as tia Marta told me to take care of my sore throat and offered more throat relief thingies.
My worker`s cousin picked us up and drove him back to the house so he could pack. Then she and I went in search of more dancers practising for the upcoming Carnival. We found them dancing down a side street. The guys were going all out - really entertaining to watch. And so we parked the car and walked along side the parade - me snapping away with my camera and trying not to step on the dozens of little children watching on the sidewalks too. The girls? Not so impressive. Much like the ones we had seen in the park before. And so there is no video of them. But there is a video of the guys; just follow the link below.
After following the dancers for a while it was back to the house to pick up my coworker and take him to the airport. All the cousins piled into the car for the 40 minute drive up into the hills. It was a quiet ride, my coworker clearly not excited about leaving Bolivia. Fortunately he didn`t have to. At least not immediately. The plane was delayed 2 1/2 hours.
The La Paz airport is not a big airport. There is very little do there. And so we sat and waited for two hours. I bought some postcards and wrote everyone (have they arrived yet?). The cousins joked amongst themselves. When the time finally came, there were sereval hugs and kisses on the cheek. When he was out of sight, I walked back to the car with the cousins - now all very quiet.
The boys were going home to keep an eye on their youngest brother who was home alone. Knowing I had nothing else to do, the other cousin offered to take me to a Peña. I had wanted to go to one while we were in Tarija but we never made reservations and thus never made it. Peñas are restaurants with live traditional music or dancing. I looked up a few names in my guide book and she asked around for a couple. We found one just in the center of town.
There was no dancing, but the singer and band were enough entertainment. My coworker`s cousin knew him by name and told me his history: used to be part of a duo, partner was killed a few years ago, official consensus was that it was because of his political beliefs, unofficially people believed it was his wife. All sorts of great drama. But the singer had a great sense of humor. While I didn`t understand many of the jokes he told between songs, he was spirited enough in telling them that I laughed along (and some times I laughed when he wasn`t telling a joke - awkward). He made an effort of finding out where everyone in the crowd was from and altering the traditional music to sound similar to music from their countries. The oddest had to be the Japanese/Bolivian mix. For the two hispanic U.S. girls upfront, he had the band turn their hats backwards, put on sunglasses, and did some reggaeton (effing reggaeton). All this over a meal of shredded llama. Mmmmmmm...
Afterwards I suggested we go to a jazz bar I had read about, but it was closed. Instead we met friends at a dance club. Um, yeah. The friends included a huge German guy, who grew up in Bolivia, went to college in Arkansas - where he played football, and tried out for the Dallas Cowboys, only to miss the opportunity after breaking a collarbone in tryouts. Lucas knew the right people at the club. Instead of waiting in line and paying the cover (a whopping $2 USD), we were led around to the back of the club and in through the back door, up to a VIP lounge. There, drinks were waiting for us. Dance clubs aren`t really my thing. But free drinks are. So I put on my happy face and mingled. Turns out there were several Germans there that had grown up in Bolivia. All were nice enough. All got drunk (or arrived drunk) quickly. Pretty soon I noticed everyone in the group was drunk. Might have been the endless supply of rum and whisky that kept funneling towards our booth.
I had just enough of said rum to get me on the dance floor. The club had gone from live music to U.S. pop music. And who doesn`t want to head to the floor when YMCA starts playing. Okay, usually I don`t. But as I mentioned I had had just enough rum at this point.
And as the day started much like the previous, it ended like the previous as well: me getting home around 5am full of rum. But this time minus my coworker. For the rest of my trip, I was on my own. With a little help from his cousins...
For a clip of the dancing, follow this link:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvPvgToE5wc
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