In Search of 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 went several blocks north and several more
west, until I sighted it. Something wasn’t
right. Maybe it was not a church. What might it be?
As I was turning the corner to the blue
church, I was distracted by a beautiful plaza.
Yes, another plaza. This one was
about three blocks long and opened 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 was a park of tall trees, pines and eucalyptus, with blooming
trees on its edges. At the far end was a
fountain.
As I headed back, I saw 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 was standing before me. It was
of a definite Victorian style, with stripes of blue and white, almost like a
circus. But it was 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 though 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 encountered a church dedicated to Saint Francis. There were more than a dozen beggars along the path to the church. I had a pocket full of change, so I got rid of it.
At the Plaza Principal, I decided to rest and enjoy the morning. There was a lady selling corn to feed the pigeons. She looked so perfect, 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 decided to ask if I could take her picture.
“Oh, I’m too ugly,” she said.
“No, you are beautiful!”
She scoffed.
“You are the most beautiful thing in this plaza.” She let me take her picture and accepted 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 walked 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, then walk some more.
That kept this old man from getting too tired. I wrote this blog walking along the
Boulevard.
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 in one spot.
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 (something
else I need to research for a future blog).
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