La Bolivia que yo conozco

I've been robbed.
Not just robbed of my wallet during my last day in Bolivia (the country obviously didn't want me to leave), but also robbed of my heart, and of words to write to give the month I spent there justice. Contrary to the entry rather systematically organized resuming my stay in Poland, I have no idea how to speak about what I just lived. But I must, and I will. I will do my best because that's what this experience deserves.

There are three things I believe should be written about in separate entries (namely, what the Spanish language means to me now, a reunion with an old friend, and the volunteer work that sent me to Bolivia in the first place), so this entry will just be a collection of various retellings, impressions, and other such miscellany regarding my time in Bolivia.

I had already spent some time with South Americans and known a few Bolivians before going to Bolivia, so it's not as if I landed there knowing nothing about the culture. I had had an idea, and couldn't wait to experience a new continent for myself. I arrived with no expectations, just ready to take everything in, which is how it usually is whenever I prepare to travel to a country I've never been to before.
I still remember my first moments in Bolivia with my host family in Santa Cruz de la Sierra. That usual bewilderment and disbelief, that curiosity about the everyday goings-on around me, and the desire to adjust my habits to those of the people I was living with, were all familiar sensations from my first few moments in France as an exchange student. I relished them all. A particularity I noticed right away is that milk comes in little bags, rather than jugs or cartons, which are then placed into a pitcher. I had never encountered anything like that before.

Having grown up in a developing country that was also a former colony of Spain, I figured there would be many similarities between the Philippines and Bolivia. I wasn't disappointed, and really rather pleased that my 5th continent reminded me fondly of the place I grew up. There was a familiar chaotic organization in the cities I visited, and whenever I went out I would be constantly exposed to people around me from different social classes. There were the indigenous people selling fruit on the street, the people who took the microbuses (lol), the people who would never do such a thing but rather stick to the comfort of their own cars, the extremely rich people living in a neighborhood with a polo field, and way more. There was also a certain Latin Fire (it's totally a thing) I would feel whenever I spent time partying with the Bolivians, which is a kind of carefree passion that definitely exists in the people of the Philippines as well. (Singing and dancing super enthusiastically in the company of other people makes life great, ok.) Getting around was always an adventure, much like it would be in the Philippines. There was, of course, that microbus incident, and considering how nobody really cares about traffic rules, I would never wear a seatbelt. I found myself riding in the bed of a pick-up truck on multiple occasions, once in the company of a ten-year-old boy making strange cawing noises at passerby on the street the entire way. Similarly, I found myself in the back of a jeep with five Bolivian boys my age, who on random occasions started singing (their hearts out) super romantic, cheesy Spanish songs (that I wished I knew so I could join them; I just settled for being an infatuated listener). I've crammed into a taxi with a group of people on multiple occasions, once in the trunk (one of those open trunks where it's just floor space behind the backseat). It's all so exhilarating, and I was glad to be in a country where things like that are normal. In Bolivia they also have these things called trufis which are basically large vans which are something between a taxi and a bus. No metro though!

Inside of a house in the polo neighborhood (just one part of it)

On the back of a pick-up truck

Needless to say, I got along really well with the Bolivians and I'm glad I got to spend so much time with locals during my stay. Their view of life is so much like the Filipinos'; that mentality was something I took for granted growing up but was very happy to recognize when I stayed in Bolivia. I met three Bolivians who had been to the Philippines, much to my surprise, and they all agreed with me when I told them I found the two cultures very similar. To the rest of the Bolivians I met who had never been to the Philippines, they were very curious to know about where I was from and what it was like. I was always proud to tell them about my country, and happy when I told them that it was a lot like Bolivia, considering its colonial heritage. The Philippines is basically a latino country in Asia, which sounds unusual, considering it's on the other side of the world from Bolivia. Hearing my full name (which is completely Spanish) would always amuse them, and they would tell me I could practically be Bolivian. Another similarity I enjoyed sharing was how the last lines of both national anthems had almost the exact same melody. (Morir antes que esclavos vivir, vs. Ang mamatay ng dahil sa 'yo. Both even mention dying, which is super uplifting I know.)
Throughout my travels, I've found that not a lot of people know much about the Philippines. Some of those who are aware of its colonial heritage think Spanish is still spoken as a first language there, whereas others who aren't aware of it think that culturally and linguistically it resembles other Asian countries like China or Japan. I had never thought about it before leaving the Philippines and traveling so much, but it really is fascinating to be from such a unique country. It makes me proud to say I'm Filipino, and to tell people a little about the culture I grew up in so they know more about it and any misconceptions are cleared up. In all honesty, I find the misconceptions interesting and understandable, and it's never a hassle to explain what the reality of my country is.

So yes, culturally, the Philippines and Bolivia are very similar, but geographically, they couldn't be more different. I think that was another reason I was so enamored by Bolivia; although the atmosphere was similar, the surroundings weren't at all. The Philippines is a tropical country composed of 7,107 islands clustered in the sea, whereas Bolivia is a landlocked country in the middle of South America. Considering that Bolivia is quite large and spread out and there are far less people than in the Philippines, it didn't feel as stiflingly crowded. This was especially the case in Santa Cruz, which was large and spread out, though of all the Bolivian cities I visited it reminded me of Filipino cities the most thanks to its tropical climate.

With Ernesto, a Santa Cruzeño I met in Boston when he was studying English

Ernesto and Julio (my Bolivian friend from Harvard)

In the main plaza

A few hours' drive away from Santa Cruz through green provincial settlements and perilous mountain roads is a town called Samaipata. I was lucky to get the chance to stay in a private hillside cabin and get to know the town a bit. There was even a parade and some kind of historical reenactment of a battle that happened there. Ah, those Spaniards.

For a kid who grew up on sea level, La Paz was overwhelmingly, dizzyingly high (around two miles in the air), so it was an adjustment. It was really cool to see that they have a cable car as a form of public transportation in the city, and to drive through steep winding streets that reminded me of San Francisco's and Seattle's. There were a lot more indigenous people (women in distinct skirts and bowler hats) than in Santa Cruz, and it was a LOT colder. It even snowed.

View below from the cable car

A bit of a ways out of the city...

I didn't spend a lot of time getting to know the city itself, though, because I spent a day visiting Lake Titicaca (the highest navigable lake in the world) and the Isla del Sol. Now that was an island different from the one I grew up in. It was interesting, however, to see cultivation terraces carved out onto the side of it much like certain rice terraces you can find in the Philippines. The island was pretty hilly, but that meant there were some breathtaking (in more ways than one lol) views from all sides. I even saw the mountains of the Peruvian side of the lake in the distance. There were donkeys! We visited a temple that was built a few hundred years ago by the Aymara people who lived on the island. I found the fact of its construction quite impressive.

Copacabana

Disembarkation at the Isla del Sol

Panorama of the lake, docks, and terraces

The temple

By our boat, the Andes Amazonia

Finally, a city that has become dear to my heart was a city in the middle of Bolivia, Cochabamba. Its climate was between La Paz and Santa Cruz, as was its altitude. I will say the least about it because there are other entries that will focus on it, and it's time to wrap up this one.

Flying into Cochabamba

It occurred to me recently that my feeling at home in Bolivia and feeling at home in Europe are two distinct situations. I had never really thought about how it was possible to distinguish between sensations of "feeling at home," but this summer has proven that it is something worth mulling over. I talked about how I felt at home in Europe while I was living in Krakow, because I had already lived in Europe. I think part of it has to do with the fact that living in Europe was an idle dream I used to have that I made a reality, a reality that included triumphs and frustrations and everything that living a life entails. Another part of it also has to do with the potential I see in Europe for me and my future, and whenever I'm there I like to imagine myself living a life I could, at present, only dream of.
On the other hand, as you might be able to infer from reading this entry, I felt at home at Bolivia because my stay combined the fact that the act of traveling feels like home to me with a culture that was at once familiar and new. I think it's always nice to be reminded of your roots wherever in the world you travel, so while Europe offers me prospects of a future home, being in Bolivia reminded me of the first home I ever knew.

Now that I've left, I've been able to properly reflect upon my stay because I'm no longer living it. I spent the first leg of my journey back to the USA writing this entry, and I admit that I'm rather pleased with how it turned out. Looks like the words that had been robbed of me were returned, somehow.
However, Bolivia still has my heart. I hope I can go back soon to find it. (The wallet I've long since given up on, lol.)

P.S. I either have a massive heart or multiple hearts, because as far as I know, France still has part of me too, and Poland, and the Philippines, and every country I have yet to visit and discover a part of myself I didn't know existed in... oh, travel, you are life.