This past Friday evening I had the wonderful (and kind of crazy) opportunity to play live tango music for the La Paz Tango Club. I’ve rehearsed a few times with a pianist that I met at the one and only Milonga (tango dance) that I went to during my first month here. Tango is very different from classical music, obviously, so although I had the music, it was quite different to have to “interpret” the music. We went down to Café Berlin in the Zona Sur – by 8:30pm the café had filled with 50 or so people, smoking and drinking, sitting around a nice wooden dance floor. We played two sets of 4 songs each for a surprised and very happy crowd of dancers (I think it has been a while since they had live music), including one improvisational “techno tango” song.
I’m so used to having easy access to group violining, like chamber music and orchestras in the United States, so it was so nice to be able to practice with another human being instead of locking myself in my living room and staring at music. We had only practiced 3 or so times, but after a 2 hour dress rehearsal in the cafe the music was so effortless and fulfilling. The actual playing went by very smoothly (yes, the music was a bit easy), and as I walked off of the dance floor I got a few very big applauses. We played an incredible song written by Astor Piazzola, as a memory for his dead grandfather, called “Adios Nonino” that apparently moved a few of the audience members to tears.
I suppose the highlight of the evening, and perhaps the scariest moment for me as well, was when the crowd asked for an encore – Stefan (the pianist) and I had briefly rehearsed the Czardas by Monti, which I haven’t touched for about 6 years. It’s not a very difficult piece…after you practice it for a while…but it has a series of very, very fast runs. The crowd was cheering and smiling, so I looked at Stefan, shrugged my shoulders, and began to play the music. At the beginning of the most memorable part, the whole place started clapping and stomping. My mind and fingers were basically on autopilot. I heard myself playing in to the microphone, thinking to myself “Wow, this is fast. Wow, this actually sounds pretty good.”
I still don’t have much of an idea how I managed to play the piece without practicing – I credit the success to adrenaline and relaxation. Usually when I play in front of crowds I get incredibly nervous and start shaking, but this time, because the focus of the evening was dancing, I didn’t really feel agitated or worried. I just let myself be.
Tonight is actually my last night here. I spent the day running around and doing errands, visiting the doctors at the hospital and buying a few last minute gifts (including coca tea, but don’t tell the US Government or I might get in trouble.) I have a bunch of pictures to post of Tihuanacu and Lake Titicaca, which will be coming en seguida, but I think now I am going to sit back and let the night flow…and reflect later.
lunes, 10 de septiembre de 2007
jueves, 6 de septiembre de 2007
The Parentals Have Arrived
As you can gather from the title, my parents have arrived in Bolivia for a more or less two week stay. As their unofficial tour guide, it’s been an interesting and ultimately awesome experience being able to show them the sights and sounds of “my” country. They don’t speak a shred of Spanish (my mother claims that she can sometimes understand what is being said, but I don’t believe her), so it’s been my job to make reservations, hail taxis, translate museum tours, and order food. They’ve been less shocked by the life here than I would have expected, but they credit that largely to the pictures that I’ve been showing them. They seem to find the markets and the animals running wild in the streets the most interesting, although the altitude has also made it’s mark when we walk up steep hills (and yet my pulse seems to be as high or higher than both of theirs, go figure.)
Their flight was delayed from Thursday night to Friday morning due to some plane difficulties in Washington DC (typical), so I arrived at the El Alto airport at 5:00am to pick them up. They had the chance to see the fantastic view of the city as the sun creeps over the canyon ridges, marveling as much at the crude brick houses as at the sputtering vehicles (and accompanying smoke-filled streets.) From practically the moment he stepped off the plane, my father has been obsessed with taking photos. Taxis have had to stop at viewpoints, and we’ve had to wait for him on the streets – all I can say is that the photos (it’s a brand new digitial SLR) better be worth it…
The stay in La Paz involved a visit to the cemetery, some time wandering the markets, and a visit to a peña – a Bolivian folkloric musical experience sometimes accompanied by music. Although we arrived at about 9:30, we didn’t end up getting our food until 11:00 (these South Americans eat late). We all ordered typical Bolivian food – my mother had her first experience with chuño, the freeze-dried potatoes, which she now refers to as “the sewer potatoes,” and my father had his first experience with Bolivian-style food poisoning (he had a meat dish, other than that we have no idea what made him sick.) After much deliberating over the decidedly meat-filled menu, I decided to order “charque,” strips of dried llama meat, the classic Bolivian version of beef jerky. Despite being a vegetarian, I’ve been looking for charque since I saw the strips of llama meat being dried on the adobe rooftop of a house on the way to Tarabuco. Suffice to say it was quite chewy and didn’t have much flavor, but I’m glad I ordered it nonetheless.
In Sucre and Potosí we went to a lot of the same sights that I had seen on my week and half adventure through the country. We flew to Sucre and took a cab to Potosí, so my parents didn’t get to experience the 10+ hour bus rides back and forth between cities (flying is definitely worth the money.) Our hotel in Sucre (Hostal de Su Merced) was stunning – described as being “in true Sucre style,” it was a beautiful white building with a central courtyard filled with flowers and stained glass. All of the rooms were furnished with antiques, and there was a rooftop terrace with a beautiful view of the city, where my mother and I enjoyed a nice afternoon coffee while my father slept off his bought with food poisoning.
Potosí was the same stunning colonial city that I remembered – for me, it gives off a serene air, and the feel of colonial times is almost tangible as you explore the 16th century churches and walk down the cobblestoned road. My parents had a bit of a time walking through the markets – my father was put off by the smell of Bolivian cheese (I think it brought back memories of being sick), and my mother had a hard time with the various animal parts hanging from the booths. I’m a bit surprised that as the resident vegetarian I was able to tolerate the sight of a cow head with the tongue hanging out, the top part skinned and showing the muscle and eye sockets. My dad, of course, was running around taking pictures of all of the stalls and the bloody tracheas.
In Potosí I also took my parents out for their first salteña (met with generally positive reviews). The owner started chatting with me, and after I gave him a particularly satisfactory answer of my opinions on Evo Morales, he took me to the back of the restaurant and showed me how they make salteñas. It was great, because I tried to make a vegetarian version about a week ago, and although they were tasty, the definitely didn’t look or taste anything much like the street-vendor version. And thanks to my father, we now have a picture of my awkwardly standing next to the 70-year old owner in the back of his kitchen (soon to come).
The most surreal part of the trip happened as we were leaving our hotel – I was carrying my bags out to the taxi driver, and a tall guy in the lobby stopped me and said “Natalie?” I was a bit confused, and said “No, Nadine, wait…how do I know you?” And then he introduced himself as the “Anti-Chris,” a Canadian guy who had read and commented on my blog. (I’ve also run into 4 other Uchicago students randomly in every city I have been to, small world.) I was stunned, and awkwardly asked him how he was enjoying his stay, if he had recognized me from the picture, etc. (If he reads this again I’m sure he can attest to how surreal of an experience it was.) As we conversed about the lack of tourist information about Bolivia (beyond the Lonely Planet Guide), I had the idea to write some mini-reviews of the restaurants, hotels, and sights that I have visited while I’ve been here…so I guess I’ll be working on that for the next few days.
But honestly, what a surreal, ridiculous experience!
Their flight was delayed from Thursday night to Friday morning due to some plane difficulties in Washington DC (typical), so I arrived at the El Alto airport at 5:00am to pick them up. They had the chance to see the fantastic view of the city as the sun creeps over the canyon ridges, marveling as much at the crude brick houses as at the sputtering vehicles (and accompanying smoke-filled streets.) From practically the moment he stepped off the plane, my father has been obsessed with taking photos. Taxis have had to stop at viewpoints, and we’ve had to wait for him on the streets – all I can say is that the photos (it’s a brand new digitial SLR) better be worth it…
The stay in La Paz involved a visit to the cemetery, some time wandering the markets, and a visit to a peña – a Bolivian folkloric musical experience sometimes accompanied by music. Although we arrived at about 9:30, we didn’t end up getting our food until 11:00 (these South Americans eat late). We all ordered typical Bolivian food – my mother had her first experience with chuño, the freeze-dried potatoes, which she now refers to as “the sewer potatoes,” and my father had his first experience with Bolivian-style food poisoning (he had a meat dish, other than that we have no idea what made him sick.) After much deliberating over the decidedly meat-filled menu, I decided to order “charque,” strips of dried llama meat, the classic Bolivian version of beef jerky. Despite being a vegetarian, I’ve been looking for charque since I saw the strips of llama meat being dried on the adobe rooftop of a house on the way to Tarabuco. Suffice to say it was quite chewy and didn’t have much flavor, but I’m glad I ordered it nonetheless.
In Sucre and Potosí we went to a lot of the same sights that I had seen on my week and half adventure through the country. We flew to Sucre and took a cab to Potosí, so my parents didn’t get to experience the 10+ hour bus rides back and forth between cities (flying is definitely worth the money.) Our hotel in Sucre (Hostal de Su Merced) was stunning – described as being “in true Sucre style,” it was a beautiful white building with a central courtyard filled with flowers and stained glass. All of the rooms were furnished with antiques, and there was a rooftop terrace with a beautiful view of the city, where my mother and I enjoyed a nice afternoon coffee while my father slept off his bought with food poisoning.
Potosí was the same stunning colonial city that I remembered – for me, it gives off a serene air, and the feel of colonial times is almost tangible as you explore the 16th century churches and walk down the cobblestoned road. My parents had a bit of a time walking through the markets – my father was put off by the smell of Bolivian cheese (I think it brought back memories of being sick), and my mother had a hard time with the various animal parts hanging from the booths. I’m a bit surprised that as the resident vegetarian I was able to tolerate the sight of a cow head with the tongue hanging out, the top part skinned and showing the muscle and eye sockets. My dad, of course, was running around taking pictures of all of the stalls and the bloody tracheas.
In Potosí I also took my parents out for their first salteña (met with generally positive reviews). The owner started chatting with me, and after I gave him a particularly satisfactory answer of my opinions on Evo Morales, he took me to the back of the restaurant and showed me how they make salteñas. It was great, because I tried to make a vegetarian version about a week ago, and although they were tasty, the definitely didn’t look or taste anything much like the street-vendor version. And thanks to my father, we now have a picture of my awkwardly standing next to the 70-year old owner in the back of his kitchen (soon to come).
The most surreal part of the trip happened as we were leaving our hotel – I was carrying my bags out to the taxi driver, and a tall guy in the lobby stopped me and said “Natalie?” I was a bit confused, and said “No, Nadine, wait…how do I know you?” And then he introduced himself as the “Anti-Chris,” a Canadian guy who had read and commented on my blog. (I’ve also run into 4 other Uchicago students randomly in every city I have been to, small world.) I was stunned, and awkwardly asked him how he was enjoying his stay, if he had recognized me from the picture, etc. (If he reads this again I’m sure he can attest to how surreal of an experience it was.) As we conversed about the lack of tourist information about Bolivia (beyond the Lonely Planet Guide), I had the idea to write some mini-reviews of the restaurants, hotels, and sights that I have visited while I’ve been here…so I guess I’ll be working on that for the next few days.
But honestly, what a surreal, ridiculous experience!
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