“Travel is glamorous only in retrospect.” - Paul Theroux

Most anthropologists (at least young ones) know this. This is the price we pay for the “glamour” of grants to take us to far away places(1) where we are adopted(2) by the natives(3) and given(4) special things to eat(5). We eventually write books that make our lives seem so out of the ordinary(6) and interesting(7). But the truth is, we are lonely like everyone else. We doubt ourselves, and cry at night, and miss loved ones and wonder why we didn’t just become comparative literature majors back when we had the chance.

Most days I look around La Paz and wonder how I'll spend a year here. Not to say that its awful: I actually quite like the weather. There's always something going on. I really like my neighborhood. I could sit in plazas and talk to people for hours. Life is cheap and good food is easy to come by. But its not home. Its a lonely place. And part of it is the language, but I always feel disconnected. Alien. I mean, I should feel out of place. I do not belong here. I am not a resident and not a tourist. I have no place.

But on friday nights, the city seems to open up. Granted, these are among the few nights I've places to go, people to see, things to do. But there's a glow to the city en viernes. A warm, yellow, homey glow. And people laugh, and the music is soothing, and the pisco sours taste like they should.

And tonight, in particular, I discovered some things. I was a little early for my dinner date (I was the 3rd wheel on the date), so i walked arounId sopacachi, and suddenly, unexpectedly, the sky was alight with fireworks. I've never been overly taken by fireworks. Even as a fairly young child I remember being bored with them. As I've grown older, I think this has disappointed a number of my friends. But fireworks at the right time can be magical. Not every night at 10 pm at Disney. Not at sundown on the 4th of july. But when fireworks pop up unexpectedly during otherwise magical moments, everything falls into place.

So eventually, the fireworks faded and I made my way to the Alianza Francesa for dinner. I still arrived ahead of my dates, but got a table and looked over the menu. For some reason I've never really liked french onion soup (on the menu of course, as sopa de cebolla con queso). But after a hearty french-oniony dinner party this winter, I thought I'd give it a go. and it was marvelous. I gobbled it up as I slurped Peru's signature beverage (I had to have one in honor of 28 de julio!).

I walked home content with good friends, food, beverages, and a city that, at this moment at least, felt like it could become home someday.

(1) or our own back yards
(2) or tolerated
(3) or the local residents & institutions
(4) in exchange for money
(5) usually just the bland local cuisine
(6) or alienating
(7) or trying

Today marks the 4 year anniversary of the day I read this.

That's right, for 4 years i dreamed of the day I might see the "cholas" wrestling. I hoped to see the power of revolution in performance. I anticipated moralization of gender and race. I expected the power of the pollera would be manifest in the ring.

On sunday, I took a little tourist bus to la Ceja en El Alto, paid my 80 Bs., shivered, and watched. My previous hopes were not quite realized. Now, don't get me wrong, i am not entirely disappointed. But what I found was more tourist spectacle than local phenomenon (and I wonder if half the local phenomenon is coming to see the crazy gring@s watch the event). And most of women's empowerment seemed to come from demasculinizing men: pulling down their pants, forcing them to wear skirts, etc. Of course, the men retaliated, at times by kissing them (what's that say about sexual violence?).

So the luchadoras are not quite the feminists i had hoped (though, this does not surprise me entirely). but i've also found a lovely little anarchist feminist group. Now, I just have to figure out how this all fits together...

Today i went to Bolivia's Palacio de Gobierno (which, i've been referring to as Evo's house, but he doesn't actually live there) & Plaza Murillo (named after Pedro Domingo Murillo).

It was a nice sunny afternoon (as seems to be the norm here) and there were a lot of families out and about, as well as some strangely-clad, dreadlocked traveler types. Many of the women were in polleras, and I'm beginning to think that maybe all this about the pollera is over-emphasizing its importance. Certainly, clothing is always a choice, and expresses certain things about both individuality and collectivity. It is both constituitive of and influenced by identity. Of course. But i'm not sure a pollera has any more significance than my green chucks.

...but back to the plaza. There were lots of shoe-shine boys (who all wear ski masks), young bolivian teens selling books, and ice cream and jello vendors. There were also a few vendedoras selling balloons and inflatable balls. One (wearing a pollera) was fairly near me, and an older german guy kept trying to take her picture with his giant camera. She clearly did not like this. She kept turning away, and pulling her hat down over her face. But this dude in his cargo pants, hiking vest, and stupid hat was persistent. It was kind of making me mad, so I decided I would take his picture. Here it is....

Sure, who the hell am i to be acting as karma, and i'm sure he a) wouldn't care that i took his picture and b) will probably never know, but i thought i'd try to objectify him a bit.

later, i got pooped on by a pigeon. it was green and slimy. and older dutch guy sitting next to me also got hit, and we started a little conversation. but after we both got hit a second time, we decided the spot was too dangerous and both left. but that's supposed to be lucky, right?

Tomorrow I'm off to take some pictures (but hopefully not objectify any more than they want me to) the luchadoras in El Alto. 4 1/2 years in the making....

Today was a city-wide holiday. This on the brink of the national bicentenial (sort of-its 200 years since a declaration of independence. which failed, at first). I saw a bit of a parade, and a strange protest i couldn't make sense of. masked young people holding hands in 4 or 5 rows, walking slowly through a plaza.

my only accomplishment was getting a slightly better sense of the city, and i made myself a nice google map. i also set up a time to meet with a friend on friday for beers. oh, and i figured out the hot water in the shower. that is certainly an important accomplishment.

but the lonliness has set in. its always hard to figure out a new place by yourself. especially when people like leap have high expectations of what you'll come back with. and its nothing new. it happened in austria, on the rez (yes, even with bii jih bah around), in lima, in carbondale, even in dc. but the ability to predict it does little to prevent it.

i'm convinced that a partner would change things drastically. i'm certainly more adventurous with a partner. its easier to walk into a bar and strike up a conversation. its easier to explore new areas. sit in a coffee shop without looking conspicuous (well, of course a couple of gringas look a little conspicuous). try new food. go to museums.

and certainly all these things are possible alone. they're just harder. especially for someone shy like me. especially for someone who's not so confident in their spanish like me. in essence, i need a field wife. someone who's up for a little adventure, but are willing to go along with my whims as related to my "research." the husbands of those like furnea, wolf, and turner don't know how good they had it. maybe this is just all whining and without merit, but i think there's something to be said for collaborative research, especially in the beginning. though i am most certainly not advocating people be arbitrarily stuck together based on common interests, and grant makers certainly wouldn't want to pay double for plane tickets and lodging, i think it might open doors more quickly.

in essence i'm jealous of those people like the jag, hgill, & rumagin that have an in. maybe i should stick with small town karaoke. i've certainly got the background for that. but oh now....i have to go out on a limb to a place where i don't speak well, and try to make something of it. sigh. i hope this gets better (i mean, i know it will, but it didn't get THAT much better in peru)

i'm here.

and one of the best parts is (this betrays what a dork i am), i get to go through my google task list and erase all the things i had to do to get here.

otherwise things are a bit overwhelming, and though my spanish is pretty much working, i'm going to have to use el dicionario to decipher the signs that tell me how to get agua caliente for my ducha. i guess its hard not to get a little freaked out the first night in a new place. especially when you're alone. especially when the language isn't quite comfortable. especially when you have high expectations for yourself.