Looking for the Blue Church
I was determined this morning to find a blue and white
church I had seen from the window of the hotel.
I had to find it! I decided to
not eat at the hotel, and instead look for something to eat on the street. I go several blocks north and several more
west, until I sight it. Something isn’t
right. Maybe it is not a church.
As I am turning the corner to the blue church, I am
distracted by a beautiful plaza. Yes,
another plaza. This one is about three
blocks long and opens with a statue of Simon Bolivar, the liberator of much of
South America. I am planning a blog on
him in the near future. Behind him opens
onto a park of tall trees, pines and eucalyptus, with blooming trees on its
edges. At the far end is a
fountain.
As I head back, I see a group of people surrounding a food
vendor. That is always a sign that she
makes good food. I ordered two things,
both she called empanadas. One was
filled mostly with potatoes, but she called it a beef empanada (there was a
little beef in there). The other she
called a cheese empanada, but it was stuffed with egg. I also had a fruit drink of some kind. I’ve seen it before, but never bought
it. I sat in the shade and enjoyed a
breakfast that cost me $0.88! That’s
life!
Two blocks later and the blue and white building is standing
before me. It is of a definite Victorian
style, with stripes of blue and white.
But it is not a church. Several
friends told me about the building later, so I am going to research it and
share more about it one day soon. It was
a center of a literary association, but is also associated with ghost stories. It looks like a good read.
From there I headed toward the Plaza Principal through a
neighborhood that reminded me of the quiet streets of Santa Cruz that I loved
from the 1980s. Flowers flowed over
walls. Dogs barked at passers-by. Elderly ladies in their finery walked down
the street looking as dignified as a president’s wife. I encounter a church dedicated to Saint
Francis, San Francisco. There are more
than a dozen beggars along the path to the church. I have a pocket full of change, so I get rid
of it.
At the Plaza Principal, I decide to rest and enjoy the morning. There is a lady selling corn to feed the
pigeons. She looks so perfect. An elderly woman dressed as a woman from the
mountains would dress. I don’t buy any
corn, but after moving to several different spots to get a picture of her, I
decide to ask if I can take her picture.
“Oh, I’m too ugly,” she says.
“No, you are beautiful!”
She scoffs.
“You are the most beautiful thing in this plaza.” She lets
me take her picture and accepts the few coins I offer. I benefitted the most. I am her friend for life. I hope she is there when I go back.
I walk a few blocks to the south to a street I was told has
three or four different names, so I will just call it the Boulevard. The Boulevard has a park running through it
for miles. I don’t know how many miles,
because I never went the full length of it, but at least five miles. Today one side was blocked for
bicyclists. My plan was to walk a bit
and write a bit. That kept this old man
from getting too tired.
What is there to see in this park? Blooming purple trees, beds of colorful
flowers, and roses. Tarija could easily
be called the city of roses. They are
everywhere. There is a black and yellow
plane hanging over your head. The Palace
of Sports runs parallel for about a mile along the Boulevard, with soccer
fields and basketball courts, all filled on this Sunday afternoon. A display of the flags of the Americas,
though none of the flags were up today.
There is a statue that looked like young Gandalf, though my friend,
Mariela, said this is the Moto Mendez (someone else I need to research for a
future blog).
I was entertained by a young man who was juggling at the
intersection. He was kinda good, but not
really. He could get the ring spinning
around his leg, but then would drop the bowling pins (that’s what they looked
like to me). I gave him a thumb up and
it encouraged him. He got better. Before I left, I indicated I would tip
him. He ran over to me and seemed happy
to get a 10Bs. I noticed that those who
gave him anything would throw coins out the window. He dodged cars to get his coins.
Lunch at the plaza again and I had to pack for home.
Goodbye Tarija. Until
we meet again.
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