Turning 30 in Bolivia

Overlooking Cochabamba from Parque Pairumani

Well.  Here it is.  The day talked about since one reaches awareness that it is in fact coming.  May 30th, 2012.  I am 30 years old.  For months or years there's been enough buildup that its arrival doesn't feel a shock.  I am ready to celebrate the new era.  I think any panic is done.  I'm also entering my "second half" here in Bolivia---armed with new housing,  better language capacity (though still wanting), a sketch of what life here is like and therefore what I want to do with my remaining time.  Armed with friends, a touch more understanding, and hope for the next 3 months. Perhaps--as I've been recently inclined--another 6 months or year.  

I'm ready for the next phase.  The first three months, in a sense, are violent.  So much change.  It's a little laughable that I anticipated tremendous personal (even spiritual) transformation, instead of just to emerge black and blue from the storm of change.  Now, though trees still are down, I can walk amidst the beautiful rubble of my new world with a little more understanding. 

Not my birthday, but some of the same people
helped me celebrate.  This photo's from
4th of July (Dia de los Gringos!).

I failed to pull my camera out for my birthday (which means I'm no longer a tourist?), so for those interested in how the B-day passed, here's the scribed slideshow:

7:45am  My morning birthday run.  Along the river near my house that is much smaller, browner and garbage-filled than the Mississippi.  But lovely to be there. And just my birthday luck--this run is whistle-free.

10:30am  A morning mocha while I spend some quiet time reflecting simply on the day's landmark.  

1:30am Lunch with the collective, as on all Wednesdays.  

2:45pm I teach a voice lesson, then begin preparing for the evening.

4:45pm My housemates make banana bread and a birthday carrot cake.  I prepare a large, delicious, hearty salad.

6:00pm  The two Vanessas call me, and watch my "rehearsal" with Chelo via skype.  They clap after each song, and it's a delight to have them "in the room" while we sing.

6:30pm  The party technically starts, but this is Bolivia, so I'm not expecting anyone for a least another 30 minutes.  Likely an hour. I get a text from a friend who says he'll arrive "en la hora Boliviana"

6:50pm  My first guest arrives (why are you so early?).  As a reward she gets to assist carrying food upstairs and help me change my outfit (I'm a messy cook--food everywhere).

7:30pm  You could call it a party now.  Guests from my various new communities have arrived or are trickling in.

8:00pm  The Cala-Cala household--Sol, Eliana, Thomas and Sophie--arrives, carrying stuffed roasted peppers and gallons of Guava refresco (juice).  Nice.

Again, 4th of July.  Gringos sharing some Independence
Apple Pie with the Bolivianos. Got to take advantage of the
one day in which I felt validated flaunting my gringita-ness

8:05pm  Aliya freaks out: "there's Coca-Cola on my table -- I can't handle having Coca-Cola in my house."  (I wonder who the 'eff brought the coke?  Even my friends here are too cool to drink coke, aren't they?)

8:10pm  I find out Eliana---ELIANA--the jewish lesbian vegetarian Oberlin student brought the Coca-Cola.  "I found it in my house" she says, "and no way am I going to drink it so I brought it here."   I thank Eliana for bringing us her trash.

9:00pm  My spanish teacher Chi-Chi calls to apologize for her absence but that she's sending me "una torta"--by radio taxi.  I walk outside to greet the desert dish and taxi.

9:30pm Eusebio arrives with Rum.  We bring the Coke back out.

9:35pm  My new amazing friend (and Whitworth alum) and her brother need to head out.  So they can catch the music, I call Chelo over and we sing two songs, La Pascua and Summertime, with Chelo on guitar.  It's delightful.

9:45pm  The jamming begins -- a few others grab the guitar, and the various percussion instruments sitting around the house (I note to myself that one should always leave percussion instruments laying around at parties).  There are some awesome musicans at the party, and a few of us feel free to play or dance along.  It's lively and beautiful.

10:30pm  The cake comes out.  Happy Birthday is sung to me in eight languages:  Spanish, English, French, Quechua, Hebrew, Irish, German, Portuguese.   

A man I met the day before somewhat awkwardly prays for me; I'm grateful, but simultaneously I suspect he's kind of a fundy, so I hope he doesn't say anything too rash.

"Sopla! Sopla! Sopla!"...I blow out my candle.  "Muerde! Muerde!"...I bite into the cake and they smash my face into the frosting, as is the tradition here.

11:15pm  The computer music and dimmed lights begin to shape the party.  The dancing begins.  Aliya and Chelo (the people who actually live in the house)...go to bed.  I hope we that we won't wake them.

11:30pm  Lara bikes to her house to fetch her computer -- with the superior dance music.

11:40pm  The superior dance music (and thus inspired dancing) begins.  We dance hard and wild and silly.  It's a blast, and (I think) everyone feels free.

Views from Parque Pairumani, NW of Cochabamba

12:30pm  "Salsa" is requested, and amazingly a few couples get going--none of us good at it, and none of us well acquainted with our partners--but it's fun and we're learning and I find myself so grateful for the crowd of people who have gathered.  

1:15am  I go into the kitchen to boil more water (hot water isn't particularly refreshing after hard dancing but it's better than no water).  I return--after a couple distractions and conversations--to find the dancing crowd nearly dead.  Everyone splayed out, exhausted.  Alexia is awkwardly sideways on the couch, like someone sliced her in half.  Gabo is literally face down on the floor--with his backpack on--he had tried to leave, but didn't quite make it out the door.  I say to myself:  this is one of the perfect ways that a party could end.   I consider what an amazing party--as far as parties go--that it's been.  It had all the right ingredients.  "The only flaw," I thought to myself:  "I don't know these people."   

But new as this community is, I was very glad to have celebrated the marker with them.