Day 13 - The Plaza at Night

Plaza at night

Back in the 80s, when I first went to Bolivia, I lived like an American my first year.  That meant after school was over, I was at home eating my dinner around 5:00 or 6:00, and then watching TV until bed time.  If I went out with friends, and my first year my friends were all Americans, it was for dinner around 5:00 or 6:00, the normal dining time in the States.  I was amazed at the empty restaurants.  How did they stay open? I wondered.  There might be four of us and ten people working in the restaurant.

Slowly, I made new friends, many of them Bolivian.  They never went out to eat before the sun set.  That just wasn’t normal to them.  They might pick me up for dinner at 8:00 or 9:00.  If they say 8:00, that might mean 8:30.  And the same restaurants were filled with clients and life.

I started venturing out more and exploring.  At first my explorations were in daylight.  I occasionally got lost.  But after a while in Bolivia, I rarely ate before 7:00, and I rarely stayed indoors at night.  I discovered that Bolivia comes alive after dark.

Once it was dark, families would stroll down the street or in the plazas scattered around town.  Years ago I discovered the Plaza Blacutt, where I live now.  Here you will find people of all ages.  Kids are riding bikes or tricycles.  Parents are chatting with friends.  A young couple might be smooching on a bench.  Teens have met up to walk around the plaza, girls looking for boys and boys flirting with girls.  Vendors are selling food or toys for the kids.  A little boy might be climbing a tree and several old men looking at a newspaper together. 

Some neighborhoods are quieter than others, but rarely will you find them empty.  I remember seeing families sitting on their stoop watching TV, while the kids ran up and down the street.  After a while, you begin to feel it is safe on the streets of Santa Cruz, Bolivia at night.

When I returned to Texas in 1989, I still went for walks after dark.  Nobody was outside.  Nobody was walking.  I remember someone looking through their curtains at me, probably wondering if I was casing the joint.  Eventually I stopped because it didn’t feel quite right.

The truth is that there is probably not a safer place to live than in Texas.  Our crime is low and people own guns.  Our streets are safe in Texas.  Yet people still lock themselves in their houses after dark.  I don’t think Bolivia is quite as safe.  There is a lot of poverty.  I realize as I walk through the market that I might spend more in a day than some of the ladies working there spend on their families in a week.  They are poor.  Some poor people get desperate and might steal from you.  But I feel safe on the streets in the evenings here.  Go figure!

If you live in a safe neighborhood, get out and walk.