An update of Michael's adventures in Bolivia

Cochabamba, I think I´ve seen it all, but I know I haven´t.I got into Cbba Monday morning after hellish bus rides from Uyuni. Many other travellers called Uyuni a waste of time, as does the Lonely Planet in it´s way, and only good for heading out of (to the Salt Lakes). I found more.

The market on Sunday (glad to be there on Sunday) was something to behold, right through the closed off main street for 6-700 metres, colours and variety of the crappiest form. I can remember right now - pirated DVDs, hair shampoo, LOTS of the colourful blankets that merge into the easiest of baby cabooses (and any other sort of backpack - these weren´t crappy), and fruit... that wasn´t crappy either most of it, so I take back the ¨crappiest¨ comment.

I loved it. My friends, the couple moving to Brunswick shortly, were busy taking photos of the bowler hats and chicha chowder with their CAMERA while I tried to compete with my camera. Their CAMERA is big and beautiful. I had camera envy...Anyway, off we went (Nick and Jane and I - they to La Paz) Sunday night at 8 on a ¨semi-cama¨ which is supposed to be a semi bed seat. They are that in Chile... they are NOT that in Bolivia...

Roominess seemed a foreign concept to the bus company, as did toilets. There wasn´t one on the bus, so two toilet breaks throughout, the first in a pokey little desert town at about 12, that had a bowler hat selling empanadas on the road and a little brasíer ... on the road for our warmth. There wasn´t a toilet here either, or ANY trees, to the horror of the less uninhibited of the ladies... give them time I say.The next stop was just for me in Oruro at about 3.15, where I was to take the connecting bus to Cbba.

I tell ya, this was one of themost challenging times thus far. Letting go of my quick dependence of Nick who spoke Spanish, and Auntie Jane who wouldn´t let me off the bus without telling me for the last time not to eat the cheese (she´d just bought a book on how to not eat anything when visiting South America). Oruro was packed with people trying to get to everywhere from everywhere, and the overalled guy who walked me to the bus station from where the La Paz bus stopped (a long way away - perhaps not wanting to be swamped by adoring passengers...) was going to leave me out the front telling me to ¨go through the station to the other side where the ticket stalls are, take this money ($30 Bolivianos) and give it to the nice lady at the last counter and get on the bus at 4.30am¨

When I began to panic about another part of the station and was resisting GIVING him the $30 Bolivianos he was ¨demanding¨ for his help, and pleading ¨no entiendo pero NO MAS Bolivianos!!! (Idon´t understand but NO MORE money!!!) he managed to get me to understand to follow him. What a saint!! I don´t even know where he came from! He pushed me through the throng of people, who seemed to know why they were at a bus stop at 3.30 in themorning, all lined up ignoring the touters screaming ¨a Cochabamba!!¨ ¨a La Paz!!¨, and into the office where the magic lady with a ticket was.

He paid for my ticket with that $30 and said something that I assume was ¨wait here, bus at 4.30.¨ I was panicky maybe because it was 3.30am and I was freezing and in the middle of nowhere, scared of missing my bus, but in the end if I missed the bus it was only $AU11.80 that I´d paid and eventually there would be an English speaker come up to me. There was - an American who confirmed my time to leave and to stay put.

Other compañeros assisted me also, seeing the stupid look of sleepless panic on my face. I was concerned about safety and security as well, as I have been since Santiago, but when a 30 something woman looked at me suspiciously before depositing her two and 3 year old in front of me with her luggage and a blanket to go off in search of three tickets in the madness I felt much more insignificant and secure. Either way, I got on the bus, and... no toilet and me with some pretty uncomfortable stomach issues, and no stops till Cochabamba.

The Cbba valley as we careened down it was absolutely breathtaking. So much green and lush and expectation. The outskirts of town were grey and broken and yet still operational.The central bus station was even more busy than Oruro, of course, it was 9.30 and it was a city 800,000 large. One of my first impressions were that the military style policia walked in groups of 6, but seemed generally convivial, and everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going, even the beggers who were in force, but seeming beaten by refusals, didn´t hassle me further than my polite ¨no."

After I´d found the Baño and stuffed my worldly belongings into the cubicle for the greatest relief imaginable (the cleaner saw the difficulty I was having with getting too much stuff into too small a space and offered to look after my things while I went. I thanked him much and said ¨but no way mate!¨ I don´t think he understood, but left me to my challenge.) I sat down on a bench clutched my bolsa (bag) for a while to take it all in, then called Pheobe (an Australian Catholic nurse, teaching here for 40 years) who directed me to her house via a taxi and as I entered her house, and they bolted the gates and had one of their people take my bag, I felt the oddest contrast of safety and fear.

The godparent system in Bolivia seemed to suit this house well; the young strapping teenage boys and very shy girl did all the manual labour, getting me hot chocolate, and bread and condiments, lifting my bag, washing, cooking, driving everyone around while having their schooling, accommodation, and general welfare paid for. As reciprocal as it was, it irked me anyway.

The kids didn´t seem happy, but that´s just my ignorant observation. I felt the discomfort most keenly when we had lunch and prayed to god for the allowance.I´m now, after a quick but deep reflection of my options, holed up indefinitely in another very secure house - in Barrio Recoleta. My friend in Melbourne directed me to these contacts and I´m happy with this family, a couple and their 12 year old son. The husband only speaks as much English as I do Spanish so that´s a boon. $180 per month for room and food and Spanish conversation.I have more options open to me via Melbourne, and in a month or two I´ll reconsider where my new independence (of language and awareness of culture) should take me.

It should be cheaper then but for now I feel I need the security.I caught the bus (I now know how new arrivals in Australia feel not knowing how to catch a bus!!) to the city and found myself in Plaza 14 de Septiembre, the centre of town where politically orientated boards with information about the continuing struggle for the nation´s water stand among dozens of avid readers, mostly men, while a very convincing Michael Jackson impersonator (perhaps TOO convincing) draws an even bigger crowd.

Another corner has two men debating quietly some serious issue while the growing crowd listening suggests that one or both participants may be a local politician. It wasn´t Evo Morales at any rate. Give me time. I´ll have a word or two in his ear.A further wander beyond the plaza found a begger on most corners, many of them women with babies on the footpath, with seemingly nothing.

Brash kids who eventually call me malo, (bad!) when they realise that I´m not going to fork it out. I walk back to my house, where all the houses are set well back from the street, the walls ¨protecting¨ them razor wired or cemented with broken bottles to assist the ¨pest control¨ security whose signs have a straggly faced man wearing a beanie stamped out by a big red circle with a cross through it. *sigh*I´ve contacted some Spanish lesson places, some more expensive but more comprehensive than others.

I will decide today what to do. Volunteering should be easy to pick up (Voluntarios Bolivianos and The Democracy Center being the two most desirable places to put my efforts into at this stage), while I have almost secured a job teaching English for $US3 a day but I¨m very cautious about teaching English to people who may not need it, nor to people who may be better off without it.

(I love the next bit)

Me the imperialist.I´m feeling like this city could be very good for my development, although the choices and directions I make and take are somewhat overwhel... nope. They´re just there. More soon, (wow I´ve found a really cheap internet place - hence the long email...)Love Michael