Weeks Six & Seven: Jell-O & Abba

I’m going to try to cram two weeks into one blog post this week since last week I wasn’t feeling 100% and didn’t have the energy to put one together. Now, let’s see if I can remember what has happened in the past two weeks…

Well for starters, from Oct.8-11 I went to on a work retreat at a lodge outside of a city called Cochabamba with all of the staff members from FONCRESOL. In total there were around 30 of us and everyone was very fun and loved cracking jokes. We spent the days listening to presentations and participating in workshops, and in the evenings we enjoyed the pool, which was heated by thermal springs, and playing games. On Friday night, we were split into teams to compete in a number of events. Among the events there was a karaoke competition, a dance-off and a Jell-O eating contest. Somehow I was picked for the Jell-O eating contest, which was probably quite fortunate considering the alternatives.

The four other participants and I knelt beside a table and, with our hands behind our backs, were forced to slurp through a bowl of Jell-O containing various fruits and whip cream on top. Within 10 seconds, three of the participants had smashed their bowls after they tried to pick them up with their mouths. I looked up briefly, but my teammates encouraged me to keep on going so I went back to work. As I continued, I came across a hard object in my mouth and was not too surprised to find that it was a big shard of glass. After I removed the glass from my mouth, they called the match. Although in the end it was really just a two-person competition, my teammates were really happy when they announced me as the winner!!! Coincidently, the next day I began to experience strange issues with my stomach.

This past Friday I ended up going to see an Abba cover band accompanied by a choir of about 100 people. It was a very strange experience and even as I sat there I felt like I was in a dream; it might have had something to do with the shimmery-silver vests they were all wearing. I’m not claiming to be a music critic, but I have to say that it was not a great show. I’m not sure whether it was the acoustics of the building or the sound equipment, but some parts of the performance were pretty painful to sit through. The highlight of the night was a solo of ‘The Winner Takes It All’. I should also note that the choir did a decent job of ‘Chiquitita’ and ‘Fernando’. Unfortunately they butchered ‘Take A Chance On Me’, and I think that might have put a sour taste in my mouth for the rest of the performance.

On Sunday I took a trip with my family to the cemetery in La Paz. The two grandfathers of the family I live with are laid to rest there and the family visits almost once a week to place fresh flowers by their graves. At this particular cemetery, bodies are not buried but rather placed in long cement cubbyholes aboveground. The tombstones are generally protected by a glass door and the flowers and a small glass of water are placed inside. The glass of water is left for the soul of the person in case it gets thirsty.

***Interesting Fact: In Bolivia people wear their wedding rings on their right hand***

Week Five: Calle Jean

Since nothing much was happening this past weekend, I decided to head out Saturday morning to a barbershop that I had passed a number of times on an old colonial street named Calle Jean. The street is so narrow that it would be easy to miss if you didn't know it was there. From the main road, one enters Calle Jean from under an archway that effectively disguises the street as being a building front. Although the cobblestoned street is just over 100 meters long, it is home to five museums, including the former house of Pedro Domingo Murillo, the man who first claimed Bolivian autonomy from Spain in 1809 (unfortunately he was hung a year later and never lived to actually witness Bolivia's independence in 1825).

A plaque on the side of a house on Calle Jean reads:

"The Green Cross

Tradition has it that in colonial times Calle Jean was the site of scary appearances by supernatural beings and phenomena (ghosts, goblins, grieving souls and noises made by horses dragging chains along the ground). The most curious presence was that of a convicted widow who would seduce all of the drunken men who came to the street late at night and take them on a mysterious adventure. So, the residents of the street, from strong Catholic faiths, decided to put up a green cross to scare away the evil creatures."

I wasn´t standing outside the barbershop for more than five seconds, wondering whether I should go in, before the barber jumped outside and invited me in. Upon entering the shop I was handed some vintage erotica comics to pass my time before it was my turn in the seat. When it sat down, the barber used what could only be described as an antique flamethrower to clean the manual hair clippers. All in all, it was a new and very pleasant experience for me. It´s just too bad my hair wouldn't agree.

When I left the barbershop, I thought to myself: Well, at least I can hide my hair (or lack thereof) with my hat. Unfortunately, the hat didn't help. For some reason the hat looked about three times bigger than my head without the hair as a transition between the two. I felt desperate; I even tried my hat on backwards. Although this alternative was a bit better, for some odd reason I felt like I looked a lot like Samuel L. Jackson. Since I already feel like I stand out here because of my appearance, I figured that resembling a famous Hollywood movie star would only amplify that sentiment. So, I decided to forget about the hat all together and just start with the healing process.

And I´m glad to say that it is going well. I received a nice comment from someone at the gym and I figure that this way I don't have to wash it as much, so things are looking up.

***Interesting Fact: La Paz is home to San Pedro prison, where the prisoner´s families actually live with them in the prison. Family members are free to come and go as they please, but they cannot generally afford a place in the city without the financial contributions of the husband/father. The prison is like a mini city, complete with markets, hotels and even a soccer league. Every section of the prison has a team and good players are even bought by wealthier teams. Inside the prison walls, there are not even guards; inmates set the rules. In the past, tourists could pay inmates to protect them while they took a tour of the prison. These tours have stopped now because prisoners were selling cocaine to tourists. Of the 1500 inmates, 80% are there for drug-related offenses but only 25% are actually servicing sentences. The remaining 75% are awaiting trial. ***