Cochabambina Cool

After a long and arduous journey which included a no blockade dance, bidding on sold-out bus tickets, sleeping on the stranger in the next seat and a midnight snowstorm, I've finally arrived in Cochabamba.

I am so happy to be here. While there aren't really any tourist attractions, there is warm weather and friendly faces, which is exactly what I wanted after cold, gray and conservative La Paz.

Cochabamba has a mild Mediterranean climate and a bright blue sky, only occasionally obscured by instantaneous and torrential downpours. The plazas are filled with park benches, ice cream sellers and shoeshine boys, shaded by palm trees and bordered by lovely Baroque churches. The Prado is lined with open air cafes, perfect for lingering over Cochabamba's famous cuisine and taking a parade of Caporales dancers, which are almost constant in the run-up to Carnaval.

Cochabama is Bolivia's breadbasket. When the Incas invaded from Peru, they were quick to colonize the fertile valley, so the people here are Quechua, as opposed to the Aymara of La Paz and the Altiplano. The indigenous women wear short velvet polleras, sandals, and wide-brimmed straw hats, adding to the air of eternal spring. Moreover, the Cochabambinos seem to be far more open than their highland counterparts. People are always happy to stop and chat, wanting to know who I am and why I'm here. I'm even a little relieved that the catcalls have resumed.

The openness suprises me, because there are an incredible number of gringoes here, some of them incompetent peace corps kids and others overzealous missionaries. At the same time, I must admit, there are some alright faithful folk. As it turns out, I'm living with two Maryknoll missioner boys, Jason and Steve.

We live in a barrio to the south of town, opposite the lovely Lauguna Alalay, which is Quechua for "Oh, cold!" There are stone-cobbled streets overgrown with weeds, walls covered with graffiti murals and plenty of parks for pick-up futbol matches. Evo Morales has a house a few blocks away. Our house is 'medidas aguas' which means that all the rooms open out onto the patio, forcing you to run through the rain and dodge the crazy annoying dogs to go to the bathroom or kitchen. But, between the showerhead shorting out and the pilot light of death, the kitchen and bathroom are somewhat scary. Fortunately my room is bright and airy, and I'm planning to paint it soon.

This gigantic statute, Christo de la Concordia, overlooks the city. At 33m plus it's a hair higher than the Rio de Janerio statue it's modeled after. While display of one upmanship and evangelism would normally annoy me to no end, it orients me when I get lost, so I've forgiven it.