Primavera

It's spring in Cochabamba. Meaning deadly hot weather and sporadic gray rainclouds.

And stunning colors everywhere. I've never gushed about flowers before, but the purples, reds, oranges and magentas you find everywhere here are amazing. This is my street.

Today, I celebrate the long-awaited installation of high-speed internet in our office. I'll be better in touch.

Pata de conejo

My host sister Magui says that she’s going to find me a rabbit’s foot. As evidence, my past week:

I’ve been “mal del estómago” (severe stomach issues resulting from not being adapted to the food here) three times in just two months here, more than anyone else. The last bout started last weekend at a cousin’s birthday party, probably from the salteñas (the quintessential Bolivian treat and one of my few exceptions to being vegetarian here, little pastries filled with a sort of stew of meat and veggies). I was pretty much bed-ridden Monday and Tuesday, but I took some general-use antibiotics and was surprisingly well enough by Thursday to head to the pueblo of Anzaldo’s 100 year anniversary bash. Rob, one of the interns, is working in Anzaldo’s school district and Mauricio’s family has a house in the main plaza of Anzaldo.



The party went on all weekend, but I returned Friday -- and was fine until I woke up Saturday morning so nauseous that I could hardly walk all day. I stopped eating, and when I woke up Sunday morning, I was even weaker for not having eaten in 24 hours. I spent all day trying to recuperate, being force-fed by my host mom and regaining my appetite, and by nighttime, I was feeling much better.

I went upstairs to my room to get my knitting and suddenly felt a sharp pain in my heel. I sat down on my bed and tried to convince myself I was merely crazy and there was no need to make yet another scene with my host family. In a daze I glimpsed something with a curly tail on my floor and staggered downstairs…

“creo que algo me ha picado…”

They really did think I was crazy at first, but Magui and Olivia finally went upstairs to look for the bicho, and luckily it was still there – a scorpion. The pain was a really sharp stinging in my foot, and I got scared as it worsened and started to travel up my leg. Magui and Olivia ran out to the pharmacy while Helen tried to calm me down and Carlitos skeptically commented, “no se ve nada, there’s not even blood”.

In the end, Magui and my host mom took me to the hospital, where they initially recommended that I stay all night in observation with an i.v., much to my host mom’s horror. We called Mauricio and he met us at another clinic, where a doctor who got a kick out of speaking English with me stuck me with something and prescribed some drugs for the pain and swelling.

Apparently scorpions are pretty rare in Cochabamba, and it’s highly unlikely that I would have brought it back from Anzaldo in my purse and not discovered it until Sunday – but as Mauricio put it, “Kristin es especial”. My foot is still sore and kind of tingly numb today, but I’m determined that this will be the grand finale. I was momentarily distracted from my stomach issues, anyway.

Mauricio and my host family were great. Magui kept me laughing the whole time, and luckily my host mom was not so keen on letting the hospital keep me all night. But what they must think of me and the alborotos I cause every other day.

How to compensate for a starchy diet

Rice, potatoes, and on a lesser scale, noodles, are the three staples of the Bolivian diet. That means that in any given meal, at least two of these are present, most likely a mountain of rice and three potatoes. And then the meat, of course (which for a somewhat vegetarian like me, usually means eggs, fish, or the deep-fried lentil meatballs that my host mom invented just for me).

Luckily I’m with a family which, while not fully understanding my idea of vegetarianism (my host mom is convinced that serving me vegetables is a form of giving up/lack of creativity), does not eat as much meat as other Bolivians. Some vegetarian highlights last week, which were served to the entire family and not made especially for me, included:
- a mound of quinoa, fava beans and cheese, plus llajua, the amazing hot sauce served with practically every meal
- noodles with peanut sauce (not the oily kind we’re used to, but a much tastier and lighter white paste), with a salad of carrots and tomatoes on top
- a stew made from another mysterious Andean tuber which tasted somewhat like butternut squash

Even though breakfast and dinner is usually just tea/coffee and bread, I’m still about to burst just with the lunches and the occasional unconventional dinners (rice pudding one night and mini pizzas another, for example). I walk pretty much everywhere, play wally (indoor volleyball) with my host siblings, and am still unsuccessfully trying to convince myself to hike up to the Cristo a few mornings a week. But it’s really not enough.

This weekend I discovered another outlet. Every first Friday of the month in Cochabamba, many businesses, families and organizations perform a qoa, a traditional Quechua ceremony in honor of the mother earth (pachamama). You smell incense all over the city, and it’s understood that you MUST go out on primer viernes. I went a little outside of the city center to a cultural organization’s qoa and arrived right in time for the music and dancing. A group of drummers and flutists basically jam while everyone dances either in pairs, circles, or in long chains holding hands – lots of skipping/hopping/running and swinging arms. I was in one of these chains for at least a half hour long “song” while we ran at full speed throughout the courtyard, spun each other around, wrapped ourselves in knots and pulled and skipped wildly. It was muy lindo and exhausting, but there was an ample supply of coca for endurance and chicha for dehydration.

But that’s only once a month. After a couple of inspiring nights, I’ve realized what’s missing in my life, and I’m on the hunt for a place to dance.