Mini-Bus Etiquette

The thing that I continue to find most fascinating about this city is the transportation system. I now feel quite confident about my ability to take the crazy mini-buses to almost anywhere I need to go in this city, so I figured I would enlighten you all with my take on what they’re like and how people use them.

So the mini-bus is basically a long van (think school field trip) rearranged to hold as many as 16 or more people. I’ve seen a whole host of brands ranging from Subaru to Ford, but I’m pretty sure these vehicles are nothing like when they were originally manufactured. They are usually pretty plain looking on the outside, and they advertise their destinations with printed cards in the front window, usually abbreviations of the more popular roads and plazas in the city. The routes are never totally set because these buses are not controlled by the government, as far as I can tell, and are instead managed by a driver in the front and another person in the back, who is usually yelling out destinations at light speed through a sliding Plexiglas window.





People flag down the mini-buses like a taxi and jump through the sliding door, while the minibus often starts driving away with the door still open. Sometimes there’s an occasional “buenos dias” (good day), as people climb to the back, flipping down one of the third seats (which is basically like a fold-down chair) in a row if they need to. I’ve seen “interior decorating” ranging from faux-leather to plush leopard print, but above all these things just speak of relentless use. The person hanging out in the back asks “Los que han subido, pasaijes por favor”, (those who have climbed aboard, fares please), and people scrounge around in their change purses for the 1B ($0.15, for a shorter trip) or 1.50B ($0.25, for a longer trip) fare. Ever since I’ve stopped having a cold, I feel like my nose has been assaulted by the range of smells in the city, especially sitting in close quarters with all sorts of working class people (wealthier citizens take radio taxis).

When someone is ready to get off, they usually say “Voy a bajar” (I am going to get down) or “A la esquina” (at the corner), which is sometimes, but not always, followed by a “Por favor” (thanks). The person in the back yells to the driver “Se va a bajar adelante” (A person is getting off ahead), and the min-bus screeches to a halt while the person hurriedly gets off. Then the bus goes sputtering off into the line of traffic, often leaving behind a thick black cloud of diesel smoke, as the manual transmission goes grinding and lurching up one steep street after another.

It took me a while to get used to the min-bus lingo, if you will, because the translation doesn’t make sense directly into English. There are all sorts of interesting ways people interact with one another on these things, and I swear it’s like its own social space. I remember the first time I got on I felt the need to make room for people at every stop and to help with the door. Perhaps my favorite moment thus far was when a rather plump lady at the back was getting off, requiring a young woman to get out and make way for her, and as she got down she laughingly apologized “Soy demasiado gordita, señora!” (I'm too fat, m'am!)

I have a job?

So today my mission was to go check out the Hospital de Clínicas, the main hospital that services La Paz. The healthcare system here is a bit different from in the US - what I’ve gathered so far is that people far and away prefer to use local neighborhood clinics not only because they are less costly, but also because they often have better service and supplies. The main hospital, apparently, is a place that people avoid due to poor sanitation and hygiene (think using dirty needles and syringes), and it has been said to me that I should "avoid it at all costs," if you can imagine.

When I got there, the block was absolutely filled with people because the area holds not only the Hospital de Clinicas, but also a medical school, the Hospital de Mujeres, and what appears to be the police/army training grounds. As I wandered in, I was struck by the complete lack of security, and for that matter any sort of central administrative office. Instead, there were patients wandering around an open courtyard style place with lots of sunlight and open corridors. Although it was nice to break away from the sterile atmosphere of the hospitals in the US, I was a bit disturbed by the smell (was it urine?), the lack of sterile space, and the chaos.

In reality, I was there because I have been emailing back and forth with a doctor who worked with the spouse of a fellow UofC grad student. There was no central directory of offices, because there just see to be waiting rooms and procedure areas, not personal spaces. After asking a few people if they knew him, I finally found someone who did, and was directed over to the endocrinology area. After peeking my head into a room with doctors, notebooks in arms, wandering around dormitory-style beds (picture an orphanage and that’s probably about right), I found the doctor standing outside in the courtyard, standing in the sunlight talking with a young woman. He was a bit younger than I expected, and as we started chatting for a while, I realized that he thought I was a doctor...whoops. I had no desire to have to pose as someone who had been medically trained (although I probably could have gotten away with it), so I quickly explained to him that I was a biology student, although I omitted the part about being 20 and an undergraduate (having lab experience basically makes me a grad student, right?). He seemed to think that there were plenty of opportunities to do basic things, like be an observer or even help in the infectious diseases unit, and then he took me over to meet his supervisor, who may or may not be the head of surgery or the head of the hospital (not sure?).

I found my way into a small office area in the main building, where I encountered a middle aged man (the director, we’ll call him) in a nice suit, smoking a cigarette. He motioned for me to sit down, and he settled into the chair opposite me, leaning back and occasionally taking long drags on his cigarette. He started asking me about what it was that I wanted to do, what was my background, how long was I here for, and as we were talking, I noticed that I had developed an audience of about 4 extra doctors, including the original doctor who I had come to see. They all looked interested and a bit perplexed, maybe even a bit amused by my presence. Eventually, he offered that I could start work on Monday on an 8:00am-2:00pm schedule. I’m not sure exactly what I am going to be doing, other than that I am going to be following along some of the work in infectious diseases (tuberculosis, malaria, yellow fever), and perhaps shadowing a doctor, taking notes, developing a small epidemiological project. On my way out, the doctor recommended that I “desayunas bien”, aka eat a hearty breakfast because I should expect a long day…I rather like the sound of that.

It’s unclear what I’ve gotten myself into, other than a glimpse into the heart of public health issues hear in La Paz. Yes, of course I’m a bit nervous that I’m going to be spending a lot of time around very sick people, but I think that this could be a rare opportunity to not only help care for patients (without an M.D.), but also to truly understand the situation of healthcare here. I guess it all started to hit me when they told me that I had to go buy a doctor’s coat. I was a bit confused as to where this might be possible, but then they told me to just walk towards the school…and there would be some people selling them in the street. I found a little stand run by two chola women who were selling doctor’s coats, scrubs, cloth face mask…and latex gloves. By the pair. Oh boy, here we go…

A long entry to fit a suitably long day

I just had the pleasure of watching Pirates of the Caribbean 3 in a theater on El Prado in downtown La Paz. So, other than the movie being far too long, it was really interesting seeing an English film with Spanish subtitles, mostly because my eyes kept wandering down to the translations to see if I could understand them, and to see if the subtitles seemed correct (yes they did). But other than that, it was a pretty normal theater, and it was nice to escape the TV commercials that have become the standard "pre-entertainment" at the American cinemas. (I might get myself in trouble here if I keep using the word "American" to refer to the United States, whoops.)

This morning I had perhaps the most defining moment in my time in La Paz. I was on one of the crazy mini-buses headed towards one of the two destinations I'm familiar with, and as a chola woman sat down next to me, I felt something fall by my side. Turns out her watch had fallen off of her wrist, and after I picked it up for her, she held her arm out (which was surprisingly frail, the layered clothing makes these women seem overweight when they aren't at all) and I helped her put her watch back on. I had a hard time understanding her Spanish, but we didn't even need words to communicate. Her whole mannerism changed after she saw my willingness to help her. This is perhaps the first time that I've felt any sort of access or connection to the indigenous community here, and I hope to continue gaining insight into this culture about which I clearly know nothing.

Earlier in the day I made it down to the nearest area of the Zona Sur (finally) called Obra to pay a surprise visit to USAID/Bolivia. It was so obvious that the building was associated with the US government, as it was the only place for blocks that had an extensive security checkpoint. I don't think they understood that I wasn't asking for a job there, but rather for information about volunteer work for some of the organizations they support. So while my visit was basically pointless, it did give me the chance to wander around the neighborhood.









The houses here, as was described to me, are certainly much larger, much further apart, and have these distinctive high walls surrounding them. I don't know if I would classify it as a typical American suburb, but it certainly does have a different feel from downtown La Paz. Also, as you can see from the pictures, the mountains are even more visible than in the thick of the city. Wandering around downtown, sometimes it's easy to forget that you're in the middle of the Andes, but here, no.





As much as the area is pretty, honestly...it reminded me of some of the suburbs of Florida, apart from the fantastic view, of course.



Please note how almost every car on this street is an SUV...blech.









I spent the rest of the day wandering around Sopocachi and El Prado (I think I spent something ridiculous like 8 straight hours walking.) I was on an epic quest to find a bookstore, which ended up in my wandering back and forth across town from one closed store to the other. Who would have thought that it would be so hard to find a bookstore (that isn't for little kids and doesn't exclusively carry religious literature) in the area where most of the foreigners live?

[Calle 20 de Octubre]





[funky building]

[La Universidad San Francisco de Asís]

[Plaza Eduardo Abaroa]





[Gorgeous house in Sopocachi, right off 20 de Octubre]




[Surreal car dealership]

Anyway, I finally made it back to the store where I first bought my map, and I ended up buying a great book (in Spanish of course) of short stories by a Bolivian author, Oscar Cerruto. I've never heard of him, but I always find the genre of "fantástico e imaginario" interesting, so I look forward to filling some of my more bored afternoons puzzling over Mr. Cerruto's work. I also picked up "Los largartos terribles" by Isaac Asimov, obviously a translation, which should be...fun.

On my way back towards a coffee house called Cafe Terraza, which is basically the ritzy hangout for foreigners and wealthier Bolivians, I also caught a glimpse of a demonstration/parade/protest by the Miner's Union in the Plaza del Estudiante, which basically caused a huge traffic jam in the area. As you can see in the pictures, it was interesting to see the fully outfitted police (or soldiers) standing by, ready to intervene.







Well...if you made it to the end of this entry, I apologize that I crammed so much into one space. I did a lot of walking and seeing today, so yeah, that's what happens when I'm alone and have a camera :)

A quick lesson on the layout of La Paz

So I’ve fallen in love with the area of town called “Sopocachi”. It’s a bit different from where I live (okay, a lot), in that it’s definitely a place with more money and more foreigners. You can see it on the streets as you’re walking - much more of a diverse crowd (aka not everyone looks of Andean origin), more stores that cater to “western tastes,” like a French fusion restaurant, a furniture store, and lots of internet cafes. But mostly it’s that the buildings are more colorful and there are a few trees spattered here and there. It's a toss up for me on where I think the "right" place to live would be - I know that where I live now is closer to the heart of La Paz (if you will), as it houses a mostly indigenous, working class population. But as a new arrival (not to mention the fact that I'm pretty much on my own in a neighborhood that is foreign in every aspect), I feel more comfortable in a more western, comfortable environment. On the upside, living where I am now is like a crash course in La Paz life...get on the mini-bus, yell when you need to get off, don't get hit by a car crossing the street, hail a radio taxi and repeat, "yes, Cruce Villa Copacabana" four times, just to make sure.

But this area Sopocachi: apparently it was built towards the beginning of the 20th century to house the growing population of richer people and foreigners, who now live in the suburban area called the “zona sur”, which is fascinating in and of itself. While Sopocachi appears to be a normal, if not a bit ritzy Bolivian neighborhood, the Zona Sur is apparently modeled after the American Suburb – it’s cut off from the rest of the city, and filled with huge single-family mansions, gated and surrounded by gardens, that often include an array of chola servants. It has its own supermarkets, people get around by driving SUVs, you name it. How interesting (ironic?) is it that the richer people of Bolivia model their homes after the middle-class American dream of the 1950s?

Today I wandered around a place referred to as the “mercado negro” and perhaps the “mercado chino” (okay, I’m still not familiar enough with the city to know the difference between street market areas). It’s a zig-zag of streets holding a sprawling market of stalls and indoor areas crammed with anything (seriously) you could ever think to buy. It’s actually separated spatially by the different types of goods that are sold, for example clothing vs. electronics vs. paper goods vs. household items. The “mercado chino”, which I think is just one part of this giant market area, is basically a black market selling all manners of stolen goods that some poor tourists were unfortunate enough to lose. I’d love to take pictures of the place, but something tells me that if I whipped out my camera and played the part of the obvious tourist, I would end up leaving the market with a lot less values then when I came. It’s a fascinating place, definitely a bit off the main drag, and once my Spanish is a bit more manageable I intend to go back and bargain for some important things...like a space heater. Hace mucho frio por aqui.

Push those second thoughts out of your head

This is perhaps a bit harder than I thought it would be. Last night I blew a circuit breaker in my apartment and lost the internet, causing me to effectively lose contact with my entire world. While I was stressing out about the power in my apartment (I didn't realize until this morning that the breaker is right outside my door, damn), all of my neighbors were having fiestas and getting drunk and making merry with their family and friends. I guess at that point I realized just how lonely it can be living in a foreign country all by yourself. I feel a bit lost in this city...I'm not really comfortable with anything yet.

But honestly, what was I expecting? This isn't supposed to be easy - if I had wanted that, I would have stayed in Chicago working in a lab, playing frisbee, doing everything that I'm used to and comfortable doing. I guess I sort of realized that I can't just sit around all day (not that I have been, I'm still sick with this goddamn cold) and be afraid of the world (because in reality I am) and expect to accomplish anything. So I sent out a flurry of emails hoping to start in on this volunteer business as soon as possible. As much as I enjoy gazing at the Andes from my window, it's time for something a bit different.

And speaking of gazing and mountains, here is the view from my balcony:

¿Cómo está el pescado?

I went to the house of the aunt of my friend Alejandra Taborga today, who plays frisbee with me at the UofC and is originally from Bolivia. I’ve been trying to network as much as possible here (and get some practice hablando en español), but it’s been a bit hard because I’m still adjusting to the altitude (check this out: my pulse in Chicago is más o menos 60, and my pulse here is 95!), and now I’ve come down with a mild version of the flu. Honestly, it’s hard to tell what is what, because all of the pollution from the sputtering taxis and mini-buses makes it hard to breath…but anyway, I’ve been really excited to meet her and her two sons, so when she offered to cook me lunch today I jumped at the chance. I got a bit lost on my way over, had a bit of an adventure, and finally found my way over to her nice yellow apartment building in Sopocachi (the south of the city). I had sent her an email saying I was vegetarian ("Perdón, no quiero ofenderte, pero soy vegetariana"), and as we were discussing lunch, she said she was going to cook me rice, fried potatoes, a salad of tomato and avocado...and some fish. Oh...

I knew that this was going to happen sooner or later, because here it’s basically unheard of to not eat meat, it’s such an integral part of the culture. When you say you're a vegetarian, unless you make it clear that you're allergic to meat, they think that you eat chicken and fish. I think she could see I was looking a bit tired, so she presented me with a huge hunk of fried fish on my plate. Honestly, I’d been walking around all day and I hadn’t really eaten anything in about 20 hours, so I just dove in and started eating it. Having not eaten meat for about 2.5 years now, this marks a pretty big event in my career as a vegetarian. But en realidad, I really, really liked it, era muy rico. I don’t exactly think that I’ll go out and buy myself a fillet of fish or order meat in a restaurant, and I suppose I should wait until I’ve been given a bloody llama steak before I say more, but I don’t think this will be so bad.

First day wandering the streets of Nuestra Señora de La Paz

This morning I woke up on my own rather early with a bit of a headache from the altitude. The evening was pretty chilly - it gets down to about 30/35 and there's no heat. I was comfortable in a sleeping bag under two alpaca blankets, and I had to submerge my entire head in my sleeping bag. And not five minutes after I'd gotten dressed, the landlady started banging on the door - apparently the last girl who lived here didn't pay the phone bill so the line got cut off, and Doña Emma ushered Ben and I over to the office, which was closed, and told me to take care of it. She's a bit of a menacing woman, as she kind of just yells at you when she wants something done, but she's also quite endearing.

After a brief breakfast (I still don’t have much of an appetite from this altitude business, which I'm feeling a bit more now...) I headed out to the city center with Ben. He had to buy a ticket to Cochabamba to go photograph and Aymara ritual (called a tinku), so I found an ATM in the bus terminal and spent about 5 minutes trying to figure out the conversion from Dollars to Bolivianos...I want to blame it on the altitude, but I could just be really pathetic at mental math. Then we walked down El Prado, the main street in the city center, and headed over past the Plaza San Francisco and on to the area around what is sometimes referred to as the "witches market" - the area where a lot of indigenous people sell their goods in artesanías, and also where my landlady happens to keep her shop. The guidebooks say it's known for selling all sorts of weird stuff, but it actually seems like a pretty normal, if not colorful, area of the city.

[La Plaza San Francisco]

We decided we were hungry, so Ben took me to the only place he could think of that had anything vegetarian, this place on Calle Linares (in the Mercado de Hechería) called "Angel Colonial", tucked away in a little courtyard between some of the shops.


[El Angel Colonial]



Ben had to go get read for his travels, so I decided I would wander around the city for a while and try to get my bearings. I started off walking around the Calle Sagárnaga area, which is more touristy (although it's quite a relative thing in Bolivia...) and then headed north to explore some of the less touristy markets in the area filled with mostly indigenous people. The streets are dotted with tiny stands selling fruits and vegetables, grains I’ve never seen before, and even raw fish. One of the more intriguing sights are the indigenous women called Cholas, who wear skirts, alpaca textile shawls, have long braids, and wear a bowler hat. It’s a bit of a cultural taboo to photograph them, so unfortunately I don’t have any pictures…yet.

[Calle Sagárnaga]


[Random street market]

After a while I decided I needed a better map, and as I wanted to explore a bit more of the city center I started walking down El Prado, the main street in the center of La Paz. It has the same tiny tiendas lining the streets, but it's also lined with more glitzy, modern shops that reminded me a bit too much of the U.S. and Europe. When I came across a Burger King and a car dealership, it made me sort of mad that those places were starting to come into such a unique city (although I still haven't seen a McDonalds).

[El Prado]


[Crazy traffic of downtown]

However, I did come across a pretty hilarious Pizza shop. When you look at the picture, make sure you read the small print that says “Chicago Pan Pizza”…even in Bolivia!

[Pizza Shop on El Prado]


I veered off the main drag on my quest to find a good map, and as I was walking by what I think was the Oficina del Vice-Presidente, I ran into a demonstration. It was actually very low-key, three groups of people standing around, occasionally raising their voices. When I was about half a block down the street, a few people started firing blanks into the air, but I was surprised that there was not at all a sense of violent tension.

[Protesters]



Using my new-found map, I decided that I wanted to try to walk back to my place from the center of the city rather than take a bus, which took me down further down El Prado. Maybe it's because I'm a little bit afraid of the mini-buses, which smell like burning oil, advertise where they go with block-letter signs on their windshields, and have people yelling destinations and price out the window. But even after the cultural shock, I think the most striking thing about La Paz for me, so far, is that you only have to walk one or two blocks in any direction to catch a breathtaking view of the canyon walls and the mountains.

[View of the hills from El Prado]

[Mountain?]

After seeing the view of the mountain (I have no idea which mountain it is) I veered off onto the Av. del Poeta that ran down by the city’s official park. Seeing lots of kids playing soccer on little fenced in hard-courts made me want to join them really badly. I though I was well on my way towards my place, having walked around for about 3 hours straight by then, when I came to my supposed road and realized that it a) didn’t have a sidewalk and b) didn’t really go where I needed it to go. At that point, I was feeling a bit lost (not really, just confused…), and combined with my complete lack of a desire to backtrack uphill for about an hour and walk back to my place for another hour, I hailed a cab and somehow found my way home. It's nice knowing that even though I completely filled the "tourist with a camera" role, I have my own keys to an apartment and I'm beginning to catch on to this places ways (mini-buses, I will conquer you!)

The Arrival…

8:30 flight from Washington, DC to Miami, then a 1:15 connection from Miami to La Paz, Bolivia. Due to unforeseen travel circumstances, I had to change my travel itinerary and got bumped up to first class/business class. It was definitely a strange experience being pampered – having extra leg room, a warm and moist towlette, and getting free wine (a Chilean red, very good). I felt like I didn’t really belong (because I certainly wouldn’t have paid several thousand extra dollars for this). I really realized how out of place I felt when some passengers from the economy class needed to put their luggage in the first/business class area and the flight attendant got mad at them, saying “These people paid for this space, I’m sorry!” And then the flight attendant turned to me, after I offered to move around my luggage around, and she said “No, really this is your space, you paid for it.” And then I just got uncomfortable and looked out my window, avoiding the stares of the unhappy people.

The scenery from my window was gorgeous, and I kept wishing there was a better way to take pictures of it. As we were passing over what I think was the badlands of Brasil, I kept thinking of La Guerra al Fin del Mundo and The Backlands from my Vargas Llosa class this year (books about Brasil), and I had the urge to call Kelly (my teacher) up and talk with her about the geography. There was also a nice little bug that somehow got caught between the two window panes, so we hung out and commented on the view.

When I got to the airport I was really nervous and anxious, which resulted in my not really understanding the customs guy when he was telling me to push the button on the metal detector. I also remembered to go to the currency exchange only after I’d found a taxi to take me to La Paz, which was kind of embarrassing and caused a bit of a scene (not a big one, just enough to make me feel like an idiot). But driving through El Alto was an amazing sight – roughly paved roads, random traffic patterns (in fact I haven’t seen a single stop sign or traffic light in Bolivia thus far), dogs and people wandering everywhere, couples making out on the streets. And then the drive into La Paz was breathtaking. As the taxi drove down possibly the steepest road that I have ever seen, I looked into the canyon and saw the entire city illuminated against the night sky. There were little houses perched (rather precariously) all over the hillsides, and all along the sides of the street there were tiny stalls, literally holes in the wall, selling food and drinks.

I gave the tax driver the directions to the store of the landlady, and we finally came to the road. I was a bit confused as to where it was, when suddenly this little old aymara woman was poking her head into my taxi. I started asking her if she was, in fact, Doña Emma, and just she rushed me into her store (after I quickly paid the taxi driver) and told me to sit down in the back. She proceeded to have my count some invitations she is selling for the festival this weekend, and then she rushed me back into the street and into another taxi. I was having a bit of trouble understanding her Spanish, so I wasn’t really sure where we were going (although I hoped to the apartment). We finally got there, and I met Ben, a really nice guy from London (who actually plays Frisbee!) and was shooed up to the apartment. It’s not in the location I thought it was, but that’s a good thing. I don’t know exactly what I expected it to be like, but it’s definitely really nice - big, clean, has some character, lots of windows.

[my room]

[bathroom]

[living room]




[kitchen]



And now I’m sitting in my new apartment – I hooked up the internet and sat down to have some té de coca (which tastes like really grassy green tea). I think I’m too excited to be here to even think about trying to fall asleep. I haven’t really felt the effects of the altitude yet, although it’s hard to separate out the Sudafed (which makes me feel like I’m having an anxiety attack), the tiredness, and the fact that I’m at 12,500 feet. There are a lot of noises in the neighborhood, but even though I’m a light sleeper I expect that I’ll sleep like a rock.

And now…the time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things: Of shoes, and ships, and sealing-wax, of cabbages and kings…

Adventures at the Passport Agency

Countdown: two days until I leave. Having rearranged my flight time, oh, 4 or so times, I'm now leaving Thursday morning and flying into La Paz (El Alto) in the evening. Estoy superemocionada. As of now, I have everything that I need for my trip except the most important thing: my passport.

The infamous passport,
creeping out of the shadows.

Having applied roughly 12 weeks ago, which they claim is the maximum time it takes to get your passport, I decided to head over to the office in person. They say that "If you are traveling in two weeks or less, please schedule an appointment with our automated, 24-hour system", but of course you can never get through to make an appointment because "due to the high volume of calls, all of the lines are busy." Beep, hang-up, fin. So on Monday I showed up office at 7:15 (it opens at 8:00), ready to camp out in front until someone would see me, and ended up waiting in a 200 person line for four hours before I saw someone (and it actually wasn't so bad because I had my computer with me.) When I finally saw a "supervisor", she informed me that my application was in New Hampshire and nowhere near to being ready, and that I would need 1) a new set of photos and 2) my birth certificate in order to re-apply at that time...neither of which I had. I went back today at 6:15 in the morning (and only waited 3 hours this time) with all of the necessary documents, and hopefully I can go pick it up in a few hours.

In my short stay in DC, I've been pretty astounded at the number of Spanish speakers here - I'm not sure if there are actually more people that speak the language, or if the city is just more integrated than Chicago - probably the latter, given Chicago's geography of sort of segregated ethnic neighborhoods. But everywhere I go I hear tons of people talking in Spanish in a whole bunch of different dialects. Although I feel a bit bad when I blatantly eves-drop, it's still fun to try to make out what they're saying (and I almost feel like I've been inculcated into a privileged world. ) At the passport agency today I was fortunate enough to be in line with a woman from Peru , and as I started asking her about her travels, we started speaking in Spanish (which was great practice and a lot of fun), and we ended up talking for more than an hour. Turns out she works in a cafeteria at one of the local schools, and her husband (an American) works for the FDA as a maintenance person (and he gets to clean the animal facility, which somehow involves playing with monkeys...) They met when he was putting up shelves in the laundry room of her sister's building, and apparently they hit it off right from the start. Que bueno.

Post edit: I did actually get my passport later that day, after waiting in line for another two hours, bringing the total time spent at the passport agency to somewhere in the vicinity of 10 hours. This system is clearly functioning and awesome.

Penelope Cruz Actually Does Have Talent!

With my desire to practice Spanish before I leave, I decided that I would try watching the Almodovar flick Volver...without subtitles...which was an experience.

Given my ability to understand most of my Spanish-speaking teachers and friends at the UofC, I was hoping that I wouldn't have too much trouble following the film. But about 2 minutes into it, I realized that the accents of the Spanish actors/actresses are almost completely unintelligible to me. I pick up every other word, so that basically, while I can understand what they are talking about, I end up missing a lot of the key plot twists. Which for an Almodovar film poses a bit of a problem.

It didn't surprise me that it was a great film, as I've really enjoyed his other films like La Mala Educación and Todo Sobre Mi Madre. But I was really surprised that Penelope Cruz actually did quite a phenomenal job. I've pretty much despised her in any American film where she's been talking in English, because she has this nasal, high-pitched, girly voice that really gets on my nerves. But in Volver her voice was a deeper pitch and had a lot more emotion. A pleasant surprise, for sure, although my inability to understand the film, on the other hand, was not.

Oh well, that's why I'm going to Bolivia anyway, right?