Veteran anthropologist and leader of the Global Social Media Impact Study, Danny, says that postdoc research is usually far more successful than dissertation research. Postdocs tend to be more assertive. They are less afraid. They know there’s no reason not to ask the hard questions. They’ve learned from their mistakes and have experienced before the process of starting from scratch and working your way into a community.
He may be right. In fact, I hope he is. But I think this is precisely the reason starting in a new place for a postdoc is doubly hard.
I remember arriving in La Paz the first time. It was the 15th of July, the day before La Paz celebrates their rebellion from the Spanish (not independence, mind you). The streets were empty. I knew no one. I felt lonely. I thought that I would never feel totally comfortable, never quite safe, never out of scrutiny as a gringa. I thought I would never speak Spanish well. I would never understand the bus system. I’d never go out at night alone. I’m not sure if I really believed that or just felt it (probably somewhere in the middle). I didn’t ever take a taxi alone. I would practice what to say before walking into a store or meeting someone new. I took my default research assistant everywhere. I felt like a foreigner.
He may be right. In fact, I hope he is. But I think this is precisely the reason starting in a new place for a postdoc is doubly hard.
I remember arriving in La Paz the first time. It was the 15th of July, the day before La Paz celebrates their rebellion from the Spanish (not independence, mind you). The streets were empty. I knew no one. I felt lonely. I thought that I would never feel totally comfortable, never quite safe, never out of scrutiny as a gringa. I thought I would never speak Spanish well. I would never understand the bus system. I’d never go out at night alone. I’m not sure if I really believed that or just felt it (probably somewhere in the middle). I didn’t ever take a taxi alone. I would practice what to say before walking into a store or meeting someone new. I took my default research assistant everywhere. I felt like a foreigner.
this place used to feel so big and scary
And now, a little more than four years later and with a doctorate under my belt, I couldn’t feel more differently. I’m cautious in La Paz, but I don’t feel like I stick out. And if I’m that noticeable, I’m certain whoever is noticing me has seen me around before, anyway. I wouldn’t hesitate to stop someone on the street to ask directions. But I don’t need to. I run into friends in the plaza. I don’t hesitate to pop into random shops asking for seeminly ridiculous things. I know where to buy any bizarre sort of party supply one could possibly want. I can get from Villa Esperanza in El Alto to Mega Center in Achumani half asleep. I’ve taken taxis alone at 4 am from Miraflores to Obrajes and argued with the driver over the price. I’ve walked home because the taxis are trying to rip me off. And yes, I’ve had my ass spanked a few times. But I feel comfortable and relatively safe. Hell, I can pretty much drink for free and avoid paying cover at most clubs when the mood strikes.
But this is not the golden medal of fieldwork for me. That honor belongs to my friends. La Paz is the city with the highest per capita concentration of people I love. There are so many people I know care about me and would go out of their way to help me however possible there. And we have developed something of symbiotic relationships I suppose. We help each other. There is no charity work. There is no owing of favors. Someone needs something and I make it happen. I need something, and someone puts me in touch with the right person to get me some random documents for visa purposes. That’s just how it works.
But my point is not to wax poetic about how much I love Paceños. My point is, I think this makes starting over even harder. When I got to La Paz, I thought, “ok, this is just how it is to be foreign.” But now I know how good it can get. That you don’t always feel like you’re on the outside. That sometimes, you really do feel more like one of them, than those annoying gringoes that just asked directions to the English Pub. And so, I aspire to more now. This is not just a city where I’m doing fieldwork. It is a city where I live. It’s a city where I will do lots of hard work. But it’s also a city where I will have fun. Where I will grow, talk, and watch movies, and eat food, and laugh and cry, and think, and sometimes not think.
But my point is not to wax poetic about how much I love Paceños. My point is, I think this makes starting over even harder. When I got to La Paz, I thought, “ok, this is just how it is to be foreign.” But now I know how good it can get. That you don’t always feel like you’re on the outside. That sometimes, you really do feel more like one of them, than those annoying gringoes that just asked directions to the English Pub. And so, I aspire to more now. This is not just a city where I’m doing fieldwork. It is a city where I live. It’s a city where I will do lots of hard work. But it’s also a city where I will have fun. Where I will grow, talk, and watch movies, and eat food, and laugh and cry, and think, and sometimes not think.
So, to be in this initial phase is doubly hard. It is hard, just as any new beginning is, because I am trying to meet people, and develop a routine, and get to know the landscape, and quell fears. But it is also hard because I have higher expectations than ever before. I don’t just want to be here. I want to live here.
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