Me to Julie: “Why not? I bet I’m something shit like a ferret.”
Cut to a couple of days later, both Julie and I are in a Taxi trying to find the hippie meeting spot to get the hippie bus up the mountain to the sweat hut. However, true to form we missed the bus having gotten a Bolivian Taxi man, who like everyone in Bolivia enjoys lying and told us he knew where he was going. We got there too late, the hippies (punctual ones) had already left. Gary, the old hippie who had invited me to the hut to “discover my inner animal” (in a non sexual way, I think....hmm?) told me that he had done a lot of these sweat hut gigs and that he had once experienced a vision of himself in female form rise out of his own body as he sweated his arse off, “no drugs involved” he told me as his eyes glazed over from the magic cookie he had ingested a few hours earlier. It was Gary who suggested that my inner animal might be a horse, which may explain why I have a penchant for eating grass and using my tail to swish flies from my rump. I was truly sorry to have missed the sweat lodge, however something tells me that it won’t be the last time I’ll be invited to perform a traditional native American ritual in a sweat hut in the middle of nowhere by some genuine hippies...maybe.
Picture of horse, its like looking in a mirror....neigh.
We made it to Cochabamba (still Bolivia) after a 15 hour night bus. We almost missed the bus as Julie spectacularly locked herself in the hostel toilet as we were about to leave. I had to summon a man with a screw driver to get her out. I almost had to be peeled off the ground as I was laughing so hard at her expense! ha ha.
We were at carnival last weekend, which is a huge deal all over South America. The locals practice their dancing and playing of instruments year round for it. We made the 5 hour trip to a place called Oruro where the biggest nearby celebration was being held. We travelled there with a group of volunteers (do- gooders) one of whom we are friends with, the rest of whom we could take or leave, preferably leave. Included in the carnival package was ‘accommodation’, a space on the floor where over 30 of us slept. The hardwood floor had just been varnished with what can only be described as something toxic/ poison based. I slept with my face on it, inhaling it and had the most lucid dreams. My inner animal didn’t like it.
Yes, looks like a crack den.
Carnival itself was amazing, we stood all day and night watching in awe as nonstop high energised dancers and bands passed us by. The festivities in some parts of South America last for 9 days and nights. The people believe that there is no such thing as sin during this period, so husbands and wives are free to cheat on one another with no consequences, none except the carnival babies that are born fatherless 9 months later. Leaves me wondering how many fellow backpackers end up in the ´knocked up´, rather than ´banged up´ abroad category.
As per usual I got hit on by small, young Bolivian boys, three at the one time in fact. One was standing beside me during carnival, was up to my elbow (again) and could not have been any more than seventeen years old, although he told me he was twenty seven when I said I was thirty. He reached up standing practically on his tippy toes to grab my hand and said “You are big, tall milky woman, where is your father from? You are hot.” A chat up line bound to make any woman fall at his tiny feet in bliss, I’m sure. I laughed and thanked him. He then said “I am pretty for you”, enunciating every word and pausing for effect, again I thanked him. Then his two (minature) friends had a go, two more twenty seven - seventeen year olds. One kept asking me to drink from his can, begging me more like. I said no, so he asked me to kiss the can, which I did thinking he would then stop asking. Then, weirdly I saw him kiss the can where I had kissed it. “It’s like WE kiss”, he said. Again, I laughed. I need to stop with the laughing, I think it encourages them. Unfortunately, I had no camera that night, but they all basically looked exactly like the Bolivian boy child from my last blog entry only with no top on, which you may have already tried to imagine.
We held hands, his in mine.
The being pelted by water balloons is getting really really annoying now! It’s been going on for a whole month (pre carnival thing). They come from every angle, I can’t go anywhere without being drenched by passangers or drivers in cars, supersoaked by kids on balconies like snipers and getting water balloons thrown at me from everywhere. Julie had three full buckets of cold water thrown over her yesterday when she was on her way back from the doctor after he told her that she is sick with an amoeba, last thing she needed! Another time we were spotted leaving a restaurant and had at least 40 boys, all running after us with water balloons shouting “GET THE GRINGAS”....which they did. If only I had a real gun (private thoughts for a moment).
In Bolivia, although we feel safe most of the time, the biggest danger we come across is the getting to and from places and the fear that our bus driver will be shitfaced. Apparently due to some recent bus accidents where the drivers have indeed been hammered, the Police are trying to crack down on it all and enforcing a no drinking whilst driving policy (shocker!). The drivers, are however not happy about this and are actually publically campaigning for their right to drink whilst driving. Gotta admire their determination!
We definitely met some colourful characters over the last couple of weeks. Julie and I were in an Irish bar when two men came over and started talking to us. One, whom I later learned is called ‘sex pervert’ by all the women in the bar made a bee line for me (of course). Words cannot describe the sleaziness and stink off this man! He told me he was a professional gambler and then entered into a ten minute monologue about odds on certain bets. I vanished into an intact inner world where I didn’t listen but nodded my head, which annoyingly he took as encouragement to keep talking. I tried my best not to breathe and was fearful of his sudden movement which stirred his smell. I waited calmly for a break in his solo act for the perfect moment to mention my ficticious boyfriend. “I’m meeting my boyfriend in Buenos Aires”, I blurted out, nothing to do with the gambelling he had been rambelling on about. I told him we had been together four years, ´sex pervert´was suddenly interested. He asked if I was going to marry my boyfriend and I instinctively shook my head and said “no way” and then thought “shit!!” I had obviously made my ficticious boyfriend too much like my ex boyfried (he was real....unfortunately). I summonded Julie who was being pestered by my sex perverts friend (a ´sex pervert´in training) and we moved to another table out of their view and smell.
´Sex pervert´to my left.
We had a lucky escape yesterday as someone made an attempted robbery of our hostel room. We are almost positive we know who it was, a man we had breakfast with and whom we later thanked for translating from English to Spanish the account of the whole attempted robbery to the girl who was working in the hostel. We concluded later that he was most definitely guilty. I actually said “thank you” to the man who tried to steal from me. Anyways, he got nothing and I noticed he had his fly down, jokes on him, ha ha!
I would buy this man dinner.
