Operation: Titicaca

Well, it turns out one of my previous blog posts ('Before I Die…') was both aptly titled and auspiciously timed, considering my recent treacherous journey to visit the famous Copacabana. The good news is that this trip served to fulfill my lifelong goal of standing on the shore of Lake Titicaca and dividing my time equally between inspired awe and childish laughter - (if you don't think I spent a good portion of the vacation giggling over the name Titicaca then you obviously don't know me very well).  

In fact, when I first told mi family via a Skype-style family meeting of my plans to come live and work in Bolivia, my 26-year-old sister (who is also a mother, I might add) burst out with the verbal masterpiece: "HA! TITICACA!" Birds of a feather, I suppose…

I did, however, promise my beloved sister that I would visit the unfortunately-named landmark, and two weekends ago I set off from Cocha and headed out on my way to Copa (some local lingo for you world-savvy readers). 

Little did I know that getting to the lake would be one of the most trying adventures of my young life:

Morning dawned bright and chilly on Friday, March 8th; due to school-scheduled parent-teacher conferences, I was free of classes, but had a duty to meet with some of the parents brave enough to speak to the new gringa educating their children - all accompanied by a translator, of course. After a few hours of slightly awkward sit-downs, I threw my backpack into the car and we drove out to the nearby Cochabamba airport. Unsurprisingly, my attempt to purchase a flight to La Paz online the night before had been an epic BOA bust; but flights between La Paz and Cochabamba are frequent and not particularly expensive, so my host mother assured me we could buy the ticket at the airport. Once at the check-in desk, I experienced another foreign fumble: although I had "reserved" my seat with a 24-hour provision, BOA (Boliviana de Aviación) had decided instead to cancel my purchase and sell my seat to someone with a more reliable internet connection. 

We were asked to wait until 12.30 - the flight scheduled to take off at 12.55 - to see if there was a spare seat I could buy.  Finally, at 12.45, we were called to the front desk and I was awarded my well-earned seat aboard the airplane. Luckily, security at the Cochabamba airport is incredibly - shall we say - straightforward, and without any lines to wait in I was abroad the plane and belted in by 12.50. A whole five minutes to spare! 

On a side note, if you are ever flying within OR out of Bolivia, here are a few things you should know:

- BOA, Taca, TAM and LAN all fly into and out of Bolivia and are more likely to have short-distance flights that larger airlines do not provide

- It is usually cheaper to book your ticket online, so try and do that ahead of time if you can

- Airlines in South America charge additional taxes on all flights; these are not included with your booking fee. When you collect your ticket at the desk, they will give you two facturas (receipts), one for your ticket and one to pay your extra tax. You must bring this second receipt to a nearby counter and pay the charges to get your slip stamped. Bus stations do this as well.

- The normal fee for an in-country flight is about Bs 15, or approximately $2

- The fee for an inter-country flight can be as much as $25, but varies according to your departure airport

- The bus fee will only cost you Bs 2-5, which is less than $1

Now, back to the story.

The 35 minutes flight behind me, I could meet up with my two gringa friends and continue on with the next phase of Operation: Titicaca. I chose to take a taxi from the airport to Hotel Rosario, which cost me Bs 60 (about $9), for the sake of convenience. The La Paz airport is located roughly 13 km (8 miles) from the edge of town, which means any cab you take from the airport will cost you at least Bs 40 and your ride into town will take about 25 minutes. You can also try an take a trufi into la prada, which will cost you about Bs 5 instead. However, the trufis are tightly packed and if you have luggage and/or are traveling in a pair or a group, you should opt for the taxi cab. 

Once in La Paz we paid a visit to the Witches' Market, which is infamous for its interesting array of merchandise. The market (Mercado de las Brujas) is best known for its odd assortment of herbs, elixirs, plants and - most disturbing/fascinating to foreigners - dried llama fetuses. Luckily, I had been warned of the presence of such fetuses, but one can never truly be prepared to encounter a hanging, dead llama baby. Let me tell you now: they are not the most attractive trinket to bring home for family and friends. Dried llama fetuses are, however, very important in Aymara culture, and it is said that they are buried under new foundations as a symbol of offering to the Pachamama (see Yo Quiero un Oso for more information on this goddess of the earth).

Passing over the dried fetuses, we opted for some more classic shopping. Further down the market in La Paz there are dozens of stands and small boutiques, which sell all of the touristy paraphernalia you can imagine: from comical t-shirts to hand-woven (and usually very colorful!) jackets and ponchos to traditional Bolivian instruments, you can find it all in this section of the marketplace. A wide array of jewelry can be found in almost every shopfront and is a good gift idea if you are shopping for people back home; earrings are an especially nice gift, as they are hand-made and beautiful, and they are well-priced and can be easily packed into your luggage. Another favorite souvenir is the small totems that depict various emblems of Bolivia's traditional gods and goddesses. I admit to buying one for myself, feeling that Bs 10 is a pretty good bargain for a small stone idol that promises to bring me strength in my future endeavors. Plus, he's a cute little buddy that now adorns my nightstand. 

Just before 5 p.m. one friend and I headed to the bus terminal, leaving our third compañera on her own to trek back to the U.S. of A. If you are ever in La Paz and need to take a bus, be sure to tell your taxi driver what your destination is; we nearly got taken to the main terminal de buses where we would have found a myriad buses scheduled for Cochabamba, Sucre, Santa Cruz and many other popular locations, but not Copacabana! The "terminal" for Copa buses is more of an off-street idling zone, but a taxi driver will know how to take you where you need to go. There is a little office on the bus-side of the street where you can buy your tickets, and, depending on the time of day you travel, a one-way trip will cost you about Bs 25-30 ($3.50-4.50). Our bus was scheduled to depart at 5, which on Bolivian time ended up being 5.30; however,  even Bolivian buses and airplanes (especially major companies and routes) do often leave on time, so never bank on having extra time before a trip. 

All began smoothly on the trip and we even got to chatting with a young Argentinian man who was on his way to Lake Titicaca as well. The ride was quiet and fairly uneventful - that is, until we hit Tiquina. The Strait of Tiquina is a portion of the larger Lago Titicaca (Lake Titicaca) and must be crossed to continue on your journey to Copacabana. Unfortunately for travelers, this means unloading the bus, putting the bus onto a transport ferry and putting its passengers onto a separate small boat. Those heading to Copa by car can also pay to put their vehicle aboard the barge, although I cannot speak to the costs of a such a venture. For bus travelers, the boat ride across Lago Tiquina will cost you Bs 2 (one-way) and the ride is just over half a mile. After that, you will have to wait ashore for your bus to catch up with you. The boat ride and the shore can be very cold, windy and often rainy at night, so bring a padded windbreaker to stay warm. 

Once our bus did arrive safely back on the mainland, we were given the news: there was a strike taking place about half an hour down the road which would impede the remainder of our excursion. Despite the hour (it was now about 9 p.m.), we learned we would have to sit and wait it out. Alas, with nothing to do in the small town of Tiquina, our Argentinian friend and his amigo decided to regale the crowd with their guitars; some songs were traditional and others...not quite so. But it was a good time and helped us to survive the chilly and unexpected layover. Although we heard tell that the bus wouldn't depart until 3 a.m., our driver assured my friend (in a rather condescending tone) that we would leave at 10 and then kindly request of the protestors to dismantle and allow us to pass. 

An hour later we were on our way again, although we had little hope of swaying the strikers to put aside their road blockade. Not surprisingly, 30 minutes down the road, the bus paused, then stopped completely. Our driver turned off the lights and the engine, exited the vehicle, and left us alone without any instructions or any idea of how long we would be waiting on the cold, pitch-black bus. Upon texting the news to our friend back in La Paz, she warned us that we may not move again until morning. Indeed, all around us the Bolivianos were settling in for the long haul. Other than ourselves, our Argentinean buddy seemed to be the only person at all concerned by the sudden change in plans, and he and his friend opted to walk the rest of the way to Copa (30 more minutes by bus) - not a decision I would readily recommend, although he did survive the trek in one piece. 

At midnight, we realized that the strike had finally lifted. Buses and cars began passing on the other side of the road and the cars behind our bus were blinding us with their headlights as they swerved around our stationary bus. Excitement quickly turned to dismay as we remembered that our bus driver had, for all intents and purposes, abandoned us. Without knowing where he was, we had to sit and wait…again. At about 12.30 a taxi pulled up beside our bus and who should get out but our driver - fast food bag and all. As we resumed our drive around the fortuitous mountain roads, it didn't take long for the uneasy realization to set in: our bus driver was tipsy, to say the least. Holding our collective breath for the 20 minute ride, the bus twisted and turned, coming dangerously close to the sandy pullover as our Driver from Hell zipped in and out of lanes, overtaking the cars and other buses trundling down the mountainside. Needless to say, we were all relieved to jump off the bus in Copa and run away as quickly as our tired little legs would carry us. Too bad we now needed to find a hostel that had rooms available…and it was 1 in the morning. 

When we finally did find a hostel with open rooms - the dubiously-named Archangel Hostel - we were so excited we even took a photo of the wall full of unclaimed keys. Hey, us backpackers have to take what we can get! For the record, the hostel was not a bad place to stay for our two nights in Copacabana. A two-person room with a private bathroom cost us each Bs 40 per night, which is roughly $11 per person for a two-night visit. The water was admittedly freezing and the drainage system in the shower left much to be desired, but we didn't have to share our room or our toilet with strangers and the accommodations were clean and tidy. The man who runs the front desk of the Archangel Hostel also loves to chat and will talk your ear off about all the time he has spent in the United States and how he and his friends learned to speak "such good English". A lovely old man who also had a tendency to fall asleep at the desk at random hours of the day and night - and yes, I took a photo. 

One other thing to keep in mind: whenever you are hiking, hosteling or using a public bathroom in Bolivia, you will be expected to pay for your toilet paper. An odd concept to foreigners, but something we get used to pretty quickly. In a public bathroom at a parade or a bus station, this usually means a Bs 2 fee, but in a hostel it means you buy a roll or two of toilet tissue from the front desk. Our precious two-pack cost Bs 5, so if you are planning on backpacking and staying in several places, you might want to invest in some store-bought TP, which would end up being cheaper in the long run. 

The next morning we awoke at 8 a.m. to find it was raining. Not just any light drizzle, but a full-on downpour of atmospheric tears. Unable to force ourselves out of bed just to walk into a sheet of falling water, we lay snuggled in our (surprisingly warm) hostel beds for another hour - all the while bemoaning and cursing our fate, of course. After all, who comes to Copacabana, home of Sun Island, to walk around in the dreary, rainy weather? At 9 a.m. we dragged our butts out of bed and found a nice little "cafe" to enjoy a warm breakfast in. Head's up: when your breakfast in Bolivia claims to come with pancakes, expect something akin to a crepe adorned with an unknown sticky/sweet topping. Not unappealing, but certainly unexpected. 

During our breakfast the rain ceased its attack on our tiny seaside town and the sun began to come out and warm the streets. Our bellies full and our windbreakers un-donned, we headed back up Avenida 6 de Agosto to check out Copa's local cathedral, which sits across from Plaza 2 de Febrero. The church, formally known as Basílica de Neustra Señora de Copacabana (Basilica of Our Lady of Copacabana), was built in the 16th century and has since been a symbol of the city's religious devotion. Tourists and Bolivianos alike travel from around the continent and the world to pay homage to the Virgen de Copacabana and pray inside the Cathedral's chapel. Visitors are welcomed into the basilica every day and there is no entrance fee. 

Although a grand sight to behold, the Basílica was not our main reason for journeying all the way out to Copacabana. After a quick and unauthorized stop into the lakeshore military zone, we scoured the shore of Lake Titicaca to find a reasonably-priced tour of the area. We settled first on a private "tour" (I use the word tour lightly, as we were dropped off and left alone for 45 minutes) out to the Floating Islands (Islas Flotantes) which cost us Bs 40 (just under $6) each; after a 20 minute boat ride out to the islands and a rousing round of "Hey, look at our trucha!" (Copa natives are very proud of their locally-farmed trout), we were rowed ashore the Floating Islands in a small dingy and left to roam free. Word to the wise: there is not very much to do on the Isla Flotanes if you go without a guide. Tourist companies will offer package deals for locations like Copacabana and if you're dead set on seeing the Isla Flotanes, they're you're best bet. Sans guide, we wandered until we found a nice bevy of rocks onto which we could scramble and overlook more of the island and the lake beyond. If you do find yourself on the Floating Islands with little to entertain you, you can always do what we did and take a series of silly/pensive photos against a breathtaking backdrop. Certainly not a total waste of time - it is a beautiful island to visit.

Our total trip time to the Isla Flotanes took about and hour and a half (~20 minutes each way on a boat and ~45 spent walking around the island); however, if you plan to go out to the Isla del Sol (Island of the Sun) - and most tourists do - make sure you carve out a significant amount of time for your adventure. The boat ride to/from the island is about an hour each way and you'll spend a good hour or two on the island itself. Our boat ride cost Bs 20 ($3) roundtrip and if you are first in line you will usually be given the option to sit on top and enjoy the sun; there are also a good number of seats downstairs for those not quite ready for the Copa sunbeams. Either way, you will be seeing a good deal of sun once you reach the island, as trips only run in the morning and early afternoon. Read: bring sunscreen and water! 

In addition to our boat ride, we opted for a guided tour around the Isla, which cost us Bs 25 ($3.50) each. Be warned: you are not likely to find someone who can give you a tour in English! If you do not speak Spanish (or don't speak it very well), it helps to have a friend with you who does. I was lucky to be accompanied by one-such friend, and she was able to translate portions of the expedition and questions on my behalf. The guided tour is actually a good option in this particular tourist location for two reasons: firstly, you will learn more about the Isla del Sol than you would on your own, although no tour will be incredibly in-depth; secondly, your return boat will depart from a dock further down the island from where you landed and your guide will take you on a route that satisfies both your interest and your time crunch. Without a tour, you will need to either return to the boat on your own at the drop-off location (which severely cuts down on your time) or find your own way to the departure location. 

The Isla del Sol is one of six main islands that straddle the aquatic border between Peru and Bolivia. Isla del Sol is the most well-known of these islands and the most popular island for tourists to visit on their trips through Copacabana. In addition to its luminous weather, the island has a great deal of culture and history to offer its visitors. In ancient times, this island was inhabited by the Incas before later being discovered by Spanish settlers. The island was considered to be a sacred place by its inhabitants who believed that the sun god originated from this area. The site is littered with Inca ruins, including the remains of a small temple on the southeastern coast of the island. At the top of the famous Inca Steps lies la fuente - the Fountain of Youth. The fountain is certainly a welcome pit-stop following the steep and uneven trek up the Inca steps, which will wind most tourists, whether or not you consider yourself to be "in shape". The water that falls from the small fuente is drinkable and is said to have mystical healing powers; there is no fee to take a sip from the Fountain of Youth and its worth snapping a picture for your photo album. 

These days the sun-filled Isla is populated by a few hundred native families whose main source of income and work include farming, fishing and - of course - tourism. Within their self-subsistent economy, these locals trade with one another using a bartering system rather than an economic system based on monetary gain. They do, however, supplement these customs with the money they make off the major influx of foreigners that walk the rocky isla terrain each year. For a few bolivianos you can have your photo taken with one of the island's domesticated alpacas and local women display handmade items for sale up and down the walking paths of the mountain. Be warned: if you are seen taking a picture of the animals by a native, they may expect you to pay them for said "services"; however, you should really only pay for your photo if you are in the shot alongside the animal(s). In addition to the abundant herd of alpacas, you may find sheep, pigs and donkeys wandering around the island trails. 

One interesting fact about the Isla del Sol that often goes unsaid is that overnight accommodations are offered on the island itself. A number of small hostels combine the backpacker's main travel cravings: cheap shelter, squalid amenities and unparalleled views from your mountainside balcony. Had we known about these lodgings in advance, we would have spent a night on the island to gain the full Lago Titicaca experience. C'est la vie. 

Many tourists also wish to visit the Isla de la Luna (Island of the Moon), which is smaller than the Isla del Sol and is said to be the home of Viracocha, the foremost deity in Inca culture; according to mythology, Viracocha used the Isla de la Luna to control the movements of the moon and rise it into the sky every evening. 

Two days is really all you need to spend in Copacabana to get the full experience, as the islands are easy enough to visit by boat and the touristy nature of the town disallows for much true Bolivian dining or culture; the "beachfront" is not a traditional tanning beach and serves mainly as a port for lakeside tourist travel. But the quiet seaside village is a nice place to relax and enjoy a book or some hiking trails if you choose to stay for more than a weekend. Many visitors use Copacabana as a stopover between the end of their journey in Bolivia and the beginning of their travels into Peru; if you are planning on spending time in both countries, Lago Titicaca is the best way to traverse the cross-country border. 

Our return bus ride to La Paz wasn't nearly as remarkable as our initial trip, except for the fact that we managed to miss our first bus by waiting in the wrong plaza! Copacabana has two main pradas; buses generally arrive in the main plaza in town (Plaza 2 de Febrero), but depart from the smaller plaza further downtown toward the lake itself. When leaving Copa, be sure to know which plaza you are meant to be in!

Once back in La Paz, we walked the short distance to the terminal de buses, a large yellow building with a decorated grassy knoll out front. Finding the terminal building is easy enough, and most people will be happy to give you walking directions if you ask politely. Ticket in hand (Bs 70 / $10), I stocked up for the 7+ hour ride at one of the little stands littering the terminal and boarded a 3.30 bus at around 4 p.m. Even the more "high-end" bus companies don't always supply working bathrooms on-board, so take advantage of any pit stops the bus makes during this long journey between La Paz and Cochabamba. Be sure to bring entertainment and/or prepare yourself for a long nap, as the trip is not a short one. My bus didn't reach Cocha until 12.30 (about an hour and a half later than expected), and from the bus drop-off you'll want to find a reliable radio taxi to take you to wherever you are staying in town. Taxis from the bus terminal will cost more than a taxi in town, and the general fee is around Bs 15 ($2) as opposed to Bs 8-10 ($1-1.50). 

Overall feeling about the trip to Copacabana and Lake Titicaca? Worth the hassle for what will probably be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Copa is one place in Bolivia you'll want to add to your itinerary, if for no other reason than to be able to use the word 'Titicaca' in conversation without being looked at like a total pervert. Just try not to giggle when you say it…too much. 

Overheard in Cochabamba

To jump on the long-running bandwagon of 'Overheard/Overseen in….' groups and lists, I now present to you: Overheard in Cochabamba.

(Working Title: Overheard in Cochabamba -  An Ongoing List of Tasty Tidbits Collected from My Travels in Cocha, but Not Just Cocha, Really All Over Bolivia and Other Parts of South/Latin America)

This list will be updated as new events occur and will help to complement my normal blogs during periods of non-posting. 

Enjoy!

~ Overheard in a salon that shall remain nameless: An old lady with her cane waiting for a manicure. One of the women comes over to help her and she says "No quiero contigo" (I don't want you / Not with you). A tad rude, if you ask me!  (October 18, 2013)

~ Overheard in a classroom on Pasaje Zoológico: "Hey - get your mouth off the back of the chair. That's disgusting." The child in question is 12. He should know better. (October 18, 2013)

~ Overseen on Av. Charcas: An old man (in his 80's) attempting to kick the sh*t out of a small sandwich bag that happened across his path. Fortunately for the bag, the old man was feeble and gave up when the bag reached the middle of the road - after a good 4 or 5 blows to its poor, plastic body. (September 18, 2013)

~  Overheard in a classroom on Pasaje Zoológico: "You don't know the days of the week in English? WHO TAUGHT YOU BEFORE I DID??" (September 3, 2013)

~ Overheard from a 4th floor apartment in Cala Cala at 4.23 a.m.: One of the most epic couple fights of all time, including a slap to face (woman-to-man) followed by the woman screaming "YOU KNOW I'LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!" (August 24, 2013)

~ Overheard in a classroom on Pasaje Zoológico: "I can't believe I have to tell you this, BUT: you are not allowed to put glue on each other during class time." (August 20, 2013)

~ Overheard in a classroom on Pasaje Zoológico: One poor English teacher attempting to explain the difference between 'flattery' and 'flatulence' to her students. (August 19, 2013) 

~ Overseen in 'Zhou': Two unsupervised children throwing rocks, dirt clods and anything else they could get their hands on into the garden pool at a local Chinese restaurant. Apparently poor parenting is a worldwide phenomenon. (August 18, 2013)

~ Overheard on Av. Humboldt: A funeral parlor employee catcalling a passing gringita. Super classy, dude. (August 17, 2013)

~ Overseen on Av. Humboldt: An unsupervised three-year-old boy peeing on the street…at 11 a.m. This is becoming far too common for my liking. (August 1, 2013)

~ Overseen on Av. Humboldt: A cab driver casually peeing on the side of the street...at 3.30 in the afternoon. Nevermind that there is a school just down the block on Pasaje Zoológico. (July 19, 2013)

~ Overseen at Hipermaxi on Av. Juan de la Rosa: A suave gringita hustling her cab fare down from bs.   8 to bs. 5 (June 17, 2013)

~ Overseen on Av. de Rosa: A "Gringo Burgers" stand complete with the actual gringo who hails from Oklahoma (June 4, 2013)

~ Overseen on Av. Humboldt: A man in a suit peeing on a tree outside of a funeral parlor...at 4 p.m. (May 28, 2013)

~ Overseen on Av. Humboldt: A homeless dog (approx. 15 lbs) wearing a sweater and a pair of doggy-sized jean shorts. (May 28, 2013)

~ Overheard near Cala Cala: "What the F*** is a Snooki and why would I want to go to its birthday?"        
- Bolivian Software Executive on a business trip to Vegas (recounted May 15, 2013)

~ Student: Miiiisss?
   Me: Yes?
   Student: Miss, is 'crap' a bad word?
   Me: Not...not really.
   Student: I KNEW IT. My brother was SO wrong. I have to go tell him. (May 6, 2013)

~ "Yuca is the new cool" - Anonymous Boliviano (April 30, 2013)

~ Overheard in 'Los Castores': "So, it's like a Bolivian pasty?" / "...no." - Half-British/Boliviano Interaction (April 28, 2013)

~ "Como se dice 'Come at me, bro!' en Español?" - Anonymous American (April 2, 2013)

~ "Estaba entre espada y la pared"/"Between the sword and the wall" which is the Spanish version of "Between a rock and a hard place" (April 2, 2013)

~ Overheard in 'Solo Pastas': An older Englishman explaining the crumbling American and British financial systems to an older South American. Also uttered the words "Miami is to the South Americans as London is to the Africans." (March 26, 2013)

~ Overseen in 'Solo Pastas': Creepy gringa masquerading as an English teacher grading exams, but really eavesdropping on an older Englishman explaining the crumbling American and British financial systems to an older South American…while sipping a glass of red wine. Said gentlemen did not appreciate the dropping of eaves inflicted upon their conversation. (March 26, 2013)

~ Overseen on the Street: A motorcyclist who hits a pedestrian…but then when they see each other, it turns out they know each other. The two end up bro-fiving and then parting ways.

~ Overheard in 'Novecento': "La Paz is like the New York of Bolivia" - Anonymous Bolivian

"Before I die..."

So, this is just a short post to share one of my favorite websites with all of you. Barefoot List is basically an online forum from which you can create and track you dream 'Bucket List'. The notion of creating a 'before I die...' list became obnoxiously popular circa 2007 when the Nicholson/Freeman movie 'The Bucket List' first hit theaters. Ever since, 'bucket listing' has been a fad seen around the world.

Don't get me wrong; I'm glad that so many people have been inspired to reflect on their lives and decide what they truly want to do with their time, or to push themselves to do something they never dreamed of. However, in general, when something like this becomes as overwhelmingly trendy as the "Bucket List" idea did, it does put me off quite a bit.

Ever since I can remember, I've had my own version of a "Bucket List"; some of the aspirations merely floated around in my head, while others got written down and stored away for safe keeping. And I can proudly say that I have crossed off a fair number of my top wish-list adventures: study abroad, go bungee jumping, go skydiving, try new foods in foreign lands, get published in a magazine, etc. etc. However, when you write it all down and begin to assess your progress, it can be an unexpectedly depressing experience. You start to realize that, although you have accomplished many of your life goals, you still have a long way to go before you can die happy.

And that's where Barefoot List comes in: here you can store, change, edit, cross-off and tally all of your bucket-listing fun. It helps you to keep track of what you've done and what you have to look forward to, rather than losing all those scrap pieces of paper behind the headboard and finding them when you move house 20 years later (Oh yeah...I never did go running with the bulls...). BFL also lets you put deadlines on your goals as an incentive to complete each of your tasks at your own pace.

Having been woefully dismissive of my own list in 2012, I recently rediscovered Barefoot List and am therefore free to carry on with my own 'before I die' shenanigans. Looking back at what has happened in the last year or so, I can now strike the following from my ongoing list: ask for a raise, create a holiday tradition for my family, learn how to mix a martini, attend my high school reunion, live alone, learn to play poker, try a new hairstyle, skydive, and visit South America. Not too shabby.

** Be sure to check out BFL for yourself and create a "Bucket List" all your own. What do you have to lose? **

¡Yo Quiero un Oso!

South American (and, in general, Latin American) countries are well-known for two things: the first is their strong religious ties - mainly Catholic - and the role religion plays in everyday life; the second is their affinity for celebration. As my host mother once told me "We'll find any excuse to celebrate a holiday here in Bolivia." Indeed, the list of festivals currently adorning my iCal extends far beyond the rookie basics. Sure we have Mother's Day and Father's Day ("día de la madre" y "día del padre", respectively), but what schedule would be complete without the addition of día del nino - aka: Kid's Day - and día del maestro - aka: Teacher's Day?

Additionally, I have found that Bolivia has adopted some of our traditional "Western" holidays and stacked them atop similar holidays they already celebrate. Valentine's Day, for example, is not a traditionally-recognized South American celebration. However, my friends and peers were certainly aware of the romantically-charged occasion, and I found myself invited to two separate V-Day excursions (one for all the single ladies - point: Beyonce - and one less gender-specific); as in America, it is common for the young folk of Bolivia to put together 'single and ready to mingle' parties, and on February 12th I witnessed a girlfriend receiving a dozen roses from her beloved novio. However, Bolivia also acknowledges an event called Día de le amistad, which roughly translates to "Friendship Day" and is rather similar to our North American celebration of Valentine's Day. Día de le amistad, is observed in July and is a day for friends to share gifts and enjoy dinners; it is also an occasion for couples to practice their PDA skills. 

BUT, that's not enough for Cochabamba. In  late January and early February, teens and twenty-somethings pay tribute to their bromances and bff's by taking part in Compadre  and Comadres celebrations: quite literal in their meanings, the first is a day for men to go out with their buddies while the second is an excuse for young women to let loose and party together. Set a week apart on consecutive Jueves (Thursdays), Compadre y Comadres are intended to allow friends time to honor their close ties and share drinks, dancing and laughter with one another. Incidentally, although Compadre is declared as a holiday for men, it is not uncommon to see girlfriends and female friends out celebrating as well; in direct opposition, there are Comadres parties held around the city, from which all males (excepting the band and the strippers - yes, I said strippers) are unequivocally banned. However, one of my Cochabambino friends explained that this gender-neutral compadre phenomenon is restricted solely to the city of Cochabamba; in all other Bolivian cities - especially La Paz - male and female celebrations are cherished and strictly enforced. 

The aforementioned holidays are all secular and are therefore not government-sanctioned celebrations; but over the years they have evolved into unofficial festivities within the Cochabamba city limits. Several other fetes include Viernes Santo (Good Friday), Corpus Christi (sorry, it's the same in both languages), Todos Santos (All Saint's Day) and día de Navidad (Christmas Day). Each one of these holidays has earned itself "state recognition" (i.e. no school or work) and all are bolstered by strong religious support and precedent. 

This brings us to perhaps the most anticipated holiday season of the Bolivian year: Carnaval. As one of my cousins recently pointed out, Carnaval has its roots firmly planted in religious doctrine. Deeply Catholic in its origin, Carnaval is observed in the weeks and days leading up to Lent. Although its etymology remains a debate among scholars, it is generally acknowledged that Carnaval derives its significance from the Spanish and Portuguese  word carne, meaning 'meat'. This ties in nicely with the notion of Carnaval as a Catholic fete, as meat is conventionally forbidden during the observation of Lent. The parades and parties the occur during Carnaval allow communities to bond over excessive eating and, inevitably, drinking and dancing. Celebrated in various forms on nearly every inhabited continent across the globe, Carnaval ceremonies have historically paid homage to the locally worshipped gods and their beliefs. Americans will be familiar with New Orleans' annual Mardi Gras parade, the French Catholic adaptation of its Latin American neighbor. Just as we see theatrical demonstrations of dance, color and costume in the NOLA spectacle, Carnaval parades around the world are filled with masquerading performers, boisterous music and exaggerated displays of patriotism. 

In Bolivia, the grandest and most famous (perhaps infamous) Carnaval takes place in Oruro and is enjoyed by locals and foreigners alike. Visitors flock to Oruro to experience the dizzying nature of Bolivia's Carnaval, so should you ever find yourself in Bolivia in February, be sure to attend the Oruro celebration or one of its smaller counterparts. Renowned for its hyperbolically sacred rituals and denounced for its nefarious reputation for over-consumption of alcohol and hooligan-styled antics, Carnaval has rightfully earned its place in the contemporary custom of Bolivian society. Anyone who has attended the Carnaval in Oruro will testify that it lives up to the hype, and those of us who failed to make an appearance hang our heads in shame when asked how we enjoyed the Carnaval experience. However, those who do participate in Oruro's celebration will experience La Diablada, or the Devil's Dance, followed by a sea of demons, angels, virgins, Incas and conquistadores. Several classic tales are then acted out, including a tribute to Virgen de Socavon (the patron saint of miners) and the Archangel Michael's duel with the devil. Collectively these demonstrations represent the ongoing trial we face between good and evil, and ultimately the Carnval is intended to honor Pachamama - the ancient Catholic incarnation of mother earth. 

Unable to make it to the Oruro celebrations myself, I opted for the day-long corso held in Cochabamba. Taking place a week after the festival in Oruro, Cochabamba's parade is preceded and followed by days of well-meaning mischief. Although now illegal, the most common practice of Carnaval tradition in Cochabamba is that of the city-wide water fight. Hundreds of children, young adults and even families spend the weekend days of February driving through Cochabamba in search of people to target with globos (water balloons). Mobs of incensed youth line the streets, lying in wait to soak passerby, passengers in cars and rival groups stationed on opposite sides of the road. In addition to globos, troublemakers carry water guns and attack unsuspecting citizens with cans of sticky spray foam. As I was told by a local preacher, "If you dare to enter the streets of Cochabamba during Carnaval, expect to get very, very wet." Warned but not wearied, I packed my purse with a change of clothes and braved the globo-filled avenues. 

Aside from the water balloon wars, the main event of Carnaval in Cochabamba is the corso (parade), which spans an entire Saturday and is something of a mini-Carnaval. Throughout the day, hundreds of traditionally-attired dancers boogie down the main streets of town, pandering to the crowd and blowing besos to people in the stands. Three ancestral dances, Tinku, Caporales and Morenada, are observed, and attendees slip under the barriers to dance alongside the corso participants and have their photos taken with the dancers. Unlike in Oruro where mayhem reigns supreme, corso in Cochabamba is accompanied by heavy security and harshly-enforced restrictions. Globos, alcohol and incorporating animals skins and furs into costumes are all prohibited. Still, the crowds maintain a rowdy disposition even as the parade endures well into the darkness of evening.

As the title of this post suggests, I spent the day holding out for an elusive oso sighting. In Oruro, it is common for certain performers to dress up as bears and show off for the crowd. Armed with the power of overwhelming peer pressure and fueled by cerveza and chicha (a local beer made from grain), onlookers will routinely chant the word "Oso! Oso! Oso!" as the carnivore-clad clowns pass by. When this happens, the dancer is expected to reciprocate the gesture by rubbing his giant bear stomach, much to the pleasure of the drunken mob. Alas, my wish for an oso was not granted. I heard tell of oso appearances much later in the evening, sometime around 8.30 or 9; however, having arrived at the corso at 11.30 in the morning, our group was fairly drained by 7 o'clock. I suppose the moral of the story is to never give up on your dreams, especially when dancing osos are at stake. 

And so, Oruro and the oso will just have to wait another year. Let's just look at it as a great excuse to come back and visit my Bolivian friends in February 2014. 

¡Salud!

"The Mass of Men..."

Ahhh, to be getting a (natural) tan at the end of February - it's every Anglo-Connecticut girls' dream. 

And right now, it's part of my reality. Ask anyone: my parents, my sister and my friends back home will all corroborate, albeit begrudgingly, my sun-worshipping story. I even brag about my sporadic sunburns because - come on, now - at least I have the opportunity to get a burn from something other than below-freezing wind chills. 

Cochabamba is known to the world as "The City of Eternal Spring". As most of the Northern hemisphere longingly awaits the end of another bitterly-cold winter, this town is welcoming the beginning of its autumnal season. Lying 1,925 kilometers south of the equator and flanked by an array of monstrous mountains, Cochabamba experiences fairly consistent spring-like weather all year long. Even during the current rain-laden months, most days deliver on the primavera promise of "seventy degrees and sunny" - or, in local lingo, "veintidós grados y soleado". 

Not really the same ring to it…

And, as anyone hailing (see what I did there?) from a hometown too far north or too far south of the equator will tell you, winter in a snow-swept region can be among life's cruelest tests. Granted, the blanket of winter's first snow is dazzling and breathtaking, but soon the twinkle of the fresh flakes vanishes and the scene is replaced by muddy footprints and salt residue. The once-pristine world becomes brown and the roads portentous; when the holidays have come and gone, we find ourselves in the mid-January slump of winter blues. Icy roads foil our self-determined "cheer-me-up" excursions and vicious nor'easters rob us of fully-stocked grocery shelves and getaways to far-off lands (lookin' at you, Nemo). 

In my experience, February has been widely acknowledged as the most depressing month of the year. In addition to the cold, the sickness (literal and metaphorical) and the overwhelming urge to shed our fur-lined jackets and don our impractically-designed flip-flops, couples and singletons alike must endure the harsh sting of cupid's bitchslap. For those of us idling through February sans lover, Valentine's Day is a reminder of the loves we have lost and/or the loves we are longing to find. (It is also a not-so-gentle reminder as to the corporate greed that skyrockets the price of a bag of 'fun-size' Snickers bars - a purchase made infinitely more depressing when we recall that the cunningly-hidden stash of leftover Halloween candy met its match one drunken, lonely Christmas evening.)

For those of us who find ourselves in a more "star-cross'd lovers" scenario (pardon the Shakespearian dramatics; I'm teaching my older grades 'Romeo and Juliet'), early February becomes a scramble to find the perfect Valentine's Day gift for our significant other. "If I buy her lingerie, will she be sassy or slap-happy?" "Did I get him a tie or a fountain pen last year?" "If she buys me a tie again this year, I'm moving out."

Yes, romance is dead indeed.

Well, if this long-winded tangent has done anything, it has at least confirmed to the world just how much I loathe New England winters - and how grateful I am to have avoided yet another one. Point: Bolivia. 

However, the underlying message amongst this madness is slightly less evident, although perhaps equally as clichéd. Because although we blame the shortened hours of winter sunlight for our cabin fever-esque behavior, our winter lives are merely our summer lives shrouded in pea coats and pashmina scarves; when July rolls around, we'll all be blaming our lethargy on the scorching temperatures and unrelenting sunbeams. Let's face it, we all love to complain and we'll use any excuse to find company for our misery. 

The reason for our self-pitying nature isn't as narcissistic as you might think. The honest truth is that, for most of us, it's a struggle to remain ourselves when the world around us is populated by a sea of strangers. Whether you're safely confined to the town in which you were born, or you've moved away in search of adventure and opportunity, each dawn breaks with the same reality: today I must be myself, or else willfully bear the visage of my solidly-imagined alter ego.

When we spend time around those people who know us "the best" (I can hear my father's voice playing Devil's Advocate in my head, begging the scholar's perpetual question: "Ah, but do we ever truly know ourselves, let alone others?"), we are met by a barrage of subliminal expectations and stigmas. Good or bad, these stereotypes that began forming in utero* have a nasty way of shaping the way in which others see us; in turn, they also begin to form our own self-worth. 

Conversely, when we delve headfirst into a new environment full of new people, we often trick ourselves into believing that the aforementioned stereotypes will simply slough off and fall away: here I can be anyone I want to be. 

Well, yes and no. We have undoubtedly provided ourselves with the opportune setting in which to undergo our transformation. However, more often than not, we lack the innate ability to follow through with the lofty goals we set for ourselves. When we first arrive in a new environment, most people will exhibit a conservative, public portrayal of their character; a veiled face through which they reveal merely a fraction of their "true colors". Slowly but surely, our demeanor begins to change and,  in moments of comfort and safety, our inner-self unravels. Of course, it is possible for us to pinpoint moments in which we are showing the sides of ourselves with which we are content; from here we can purposefully elevate our "positive" characteristics while suppressing those we deem "negative". Nonetheless, the challenge is a hefty one, and - like our aspirational New Year's Resolutions - the desire to alter ourselves falls by the wayside and we revert to our "natural" state. 

The notion of self-induced transformation is less evident in the pages of literature than its catalytic cousin: forced transformation. That is to say, most of our fictional and real-world overhauls are the result of a specific situational impetus, rather than an inner need to better ourselves. Does anyone argue that Dickens' Scrooge would have tapped into his softer side if it weren't for the nocturnal party-crashing ghosts of Christmas past, present and future? Czech author Franz Kafka wrote (arguably) his most well-known novella about a man who undergoes a physical Metamorphosis  that literally turns his life upside-down. 

In a more modern example, David Mitchell presents his readers with the character of Sonmi~451, a "fabricant" who is relaying the final years of her unusual life for a government archivist. Having unwittingly (and, for a time, unwillingly) begun the act of "ascension", Sonmi~451 explains how her own evolution began with the  augmentation of her conventional (read: planted and cultivated) mode of thought; this mental development inevitably leads her through a maze of unknown places, her newly-discovered physical surroundings unlike anything she has seen or dreamed of.  Eventually she undergoes a surgical transformation in order to avoid suspicion along her road to Union revolution. Ultimately, Sonmi~451 finds that she can take control of her destiny and embrace the tumultuous journey to self-discovery on which she travels. 

And yet, we can clearly see how these later acts of free will have been borne from earlier, involuntary and reflexive "decisions" she had made - indeed, decisions that are made for her. Having been uprooted from the life of ignorant slavery, Sonmi~451 tells of a day when she returns to the site of her previous life: "[The xcursion] helped me to understand how one's environment is a key to one's identity." For one so "ascended", one who distances herself so far from the life she once lived, Sonmi~451 still bows to the changes "forced" upon her.  

Still, she does so with an awareness that many of us lack. She is aware that she fashions herself to fit the ever-changing caste into which she is thrust; but she willingly converts, allowing others to affect and shape her own "identity". 

And, as we now know, all good stories about introspection begin with a tan (not a burn). Which naturally begs the question: are we all fated to lead the life society has created for us, or can our free will triumph over our intrinsic human complacency? I suppose it's up to each of us to go forth and heed Tennyson's urging: "The strive, the seek, to find, and not to yield." 

*All babies who kick incessantly will inevitably become world-renowned soccer players and mothers who experience frequent heartburn during pregnancy are destined to birth offspring sprouting the body hair of a modern-day caveman. We all know this; you can't argue with the facts. 

Where Ya From

By the way: The Philadelphia Daily interviewed me for their column 'Where Ya From' before I left town. This came out in the paper last Friday, January 11th.

Special thanks to Gar Joseph for the article and Michael Mercanti for the photo.

Mi hermana tiene cuatro gatos y un perro

Bienvenido a Bolivia!

So, now that I have been here for four days, how does it feel?

Javier Suarez: So, what, you know like five words in Spanish?
Katey Miller: Maybe ten.

Forgiving the sappy/girly/corny movie reference (although I am not avergonzado to admit that I own 'Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights' - who doesn't love Diego Luna?), that pretty much sums it up. Before I left the States, I had to decide whether or not to give myself a crash course in basic Spanish, or to wait until I arrived and throw myself into it. I chose the latter.

As anyone who has traveled to a non-English speaking country will tell you, nothing can prepare you to be surrounded by an entire nation of people speaking a foreign tongue: "What are they saying? What am I saying? Man, I feel stupid right now." Even once you begin to build your own vocabulary, you need to find a way to remember new words without forgetting the ones you already know; and then you have to learn to spell those words...and then how to pronounce them properly. Nobody wants to be known as la gringa, after all.

However, my situation is unique. Having been hired by a small, private bilingual school, I arrived in Bolivia with an instant network of native speakers to help me on my way. How proud my father must have been to get an e-mail on my third day on Bolivia in which I declared I could now say my first "complicated" Spanish sentence: "Mi hermana tiene cuatro gatos y un perro" = my sister has four cats and a dog. Well on my way to fluent, no?

When I arrived in Cochabamba, my host, along with her 8-year-old hija and 20-year-old sobrino, collected me at the airport and took me straight to their home in the city. The house is large and teeming with life: eight people are currently living in the two buildings (which sit side-by-side), including myself, la madre y el padre, la abuela y el abuelo, dos hijos, un hija y un sobrino/primo. Add in five small dogs and a myriad visitors coming and going all day long, and you begin to understand mi casa nueva. 

The Bolivian lifestyle isn't far off from what I expected. As with many Latin American countries (and perhaps you could say Spanish and Portugese speaking countries; Brazilians, for example, speak primarily Portugese, not Spanish), life revolves around a handful of issues: family, religion, food and politics. To a large degree, I am still rather ignorant of the Bolivian religious and political ideals; additionally, these affairs are more personal and varied than their companions on the list (much like they are in the U.S. and elsewhere). So, I shall focus this post on the F's: family and food.

As I hope you have noticed, family is muy importante in Bolivian culture. The more traditional, one might say antiquated, family structure (i.e. grandparents and cousins in the house as well as the parents and children) is neither common nor uncommon in modern Bolivian society; however, it is probably more customary to find here than back in America. The cousin (el primo), who has recently moved from La Paz to Cochabamba for university, explained to how tight-knit Bolivian families are. When a new baby is born into a family, for example, "Nothing will ever be the same. You must accept someone new into the family, and that changes everything." He says this having experienced life with a 15-year-old hermana  and, more recently and unexpectedly, a 5-year-old hermana. He told me that many young people continue to live at home with their parents (or other family members such as aunts, uncles and grandparents) much longer than Americans do. It is unorthodox for a Bolivian to live on what we called a "college campus", and most university students live at home and commute to school.

And when you're living in a Bolivian household, you will also be experiencing MUCHO traditional Bolivian food. Every day and every meal I am introduced to something different, from new foods to new dishes to new customs.

The most "exotic" dish I have become privy to would (hands down) be charque kan. For those of you unfamiliar with this particular dish, let me paint you a picture: a traditional indigenous recipe of dried llama meat, served with beans, potatoes and boiled eggs, with cheese on top (everything here has cheese on top).

Better yet, let me show you a picture, albeit one more appetizing than the plate I was handed: charque kan.

A Bolivian may tell you that this dried, shredded llama meat is akin to jerky, but this is unlike anything you will find at a highway truckstop in the States. There is nothing off-putting about the flavor of the meat, but it was much too dry for my personal taste. Despite getting myself over the mutilation of the poor, innocent llama, I couldn't get beyond the dry, salty nature of the charque kan.

Cousin: Te gusta?
Me: No. Lo siento...no. No. 

Excuse me while I wash down my llama with a giant glass of mocochinchi, a cider-like drink made from dehydrated peaches - also foreign to my gringa palate.

And so it goes, when you're living or traveling abroad and want to experience the local culture. But don't worry; for dinner we'll have chicken, rice and salad - go grab a Coke from the fridge, if you'd like one.

Alas: another day, another llama. At least I think that's how the saying goes...