Cochabamba, Day 1 – Mi Llajta
It was cold this morning. A surazo had blown in during the night. I was too cold to get out of bed and shut the
windows, so I just wrapped myself tighter in my blanket. But I was heading to Cochabamba, so I worked
my way out of the covers.
I have had a few people offer to
take me or pick me up from the airport.
I tell them not to bother. It is
easier to take a taxi for the set rate of $10.
At 7:00 in the morning it is quick, though I noted the traffic going
into Santa Cruz was getting heavy.
The process at the airport is
getting familiar too. First get your seating
assignment. Even if 30 people are in
front of you, here at the Santa Cruz Airport, it rarely takes more than 10 or
15 minutes. Going through security does
not seem as stressful as in the States, even though you still encounter people
who think the rules don’t pertain to them.
Once inside, you must check your gate assignment. It seems every time I go anywhere in Bolivia, the gate
changes. Today was no different. They have a thing in Bolivia called tercera
edad. Those over 60 get to board
first. I’m only 59, but they believe I
am over 60, so I am always at the front of the line, with two or three in front
of me.
As soon as I was seated, I was
asleep. I’m not sure if I was getting
sick or if I was just very tired, but I slept the entire trip. I don’t remember taking off. It seemed I sat in my seat and suddenly I
felt the jolt of a landing.
I was in Cochabamba. I was too early to check in my room, so I
left my bag behind the counter and went exploring. Strolling through the Plaza Colon, just a
block from my hotel, I fell in love with this city. Trees were blooming in cascades of yellow or
orange. Colonial churches seem to appear
out of nowhere as I turned a corner.
Christian music was playing from somewhere. The people seem happy.
Anna calls Cochabamba her llajta,
a Quechua word that means hometown. The
word’s definition indicates an Incan fort or administrative center, but like
many words it has deeper implications. Think
instead of my hometown or my neighborhood.
I can imagine the love in Anna’s voice as she says, “mi llajta.” I can imagine that because I fell in love
with Cochabamba, but I am also in love with Santa Cruz, Sucre, Tarija,
Samaipata, and Cotoca. Basically, I am in love with Bolivia.
Not far away was the Plaza 14 de
Septiembre, the heart of Cochabamba. I
was met by a hundred Cholitas, highland women, gathered in tight group,
discussing something in Quechua. Colonnades
and church buildings surround this plaza.
I was in awe of the age and beauty.
It is a place easy to fall in love with.
I understand, Anna.
Soon I discover why the women were
gathered. Around the corner came a
parade with another hundred men and women.
They are demanding water. The
greatest need of these people is clean drinking water. Last year’s drought brought the need to the
forefront of Bolivian politics. There is
not enough water in this desert country.
Though if you cross the Andes to Santa Cruz, there is too much water.
After lunch, I visited La
Coronilla and the Cristo de la Concordia.
By 3:00 I crashed. I slept like I
had been drugged. I could see the sky
darkening when I awoke. I couldn’t let
my fatigue keep me from further exploring, but I didn’t go far because I heard thunder.
Welcome to mi llajta.
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