I've been in La Paz for a little over a week now and all I can say is WOW. So much to take in in so little time. There's the minibus system where passengers greet each other with "buenos
días" as they hop on. There's the cholita women who sell anything from Fanta to Bolivian phone chips on almost every street corner, in every part of town. There's feeling like an outsider, but being greeted by a kiss on the cheek anytime you meet someone new.
The only way I know how to describe La Paz is as a city of paradoxes. My favorite place to observe this is on the minibuses. And on the minibus, you see a LOT. You have indigenous women dressed in traditional Aymara garb sitting next to European/Mestizo businessmen talking on their smart phones. There's people who are surprised to see a gringa get in, but say "buen día" anyway. On your route, you pass hole-in-the-wall houses, as well as mansions guarded by tall walls and barbed-wire in La Zona Sur. There are children wearing fancy private school uniforms and children sitting at their grandmothers street-side shops. And looking out of the windows, you see the voice of paceños in the street art and grafitti that colors any open space. A few phrases include, "Evo" (with the colors of the Bolivian flag painted above), "Esta autonomía no es mía, " usually with "Es de todos" written underneath it. The passions of Paceños and government propaganda is splattered all over the city.
Then, little by little you start to understand Bolivia. And after that, you realize your own privilege. You start to ask the cholita woman who sold you candy about her day. You start to realize how loud Americans really are when we talk, and get used to people being surprised when you can talk in Spanish. So, thank you La Paz. I'm humbled and grateful for you. Here's to the next three weeks that I get to exist and pretend to be a Paceña.
The only way I know how to describe La Paz is as a city of paradoxes. My favorite place to observe this is on the minibuses. And on the minibus, you see a LOT. You have indigenous women dressed in traditional Aymara garb sitting next to European/Mestizo businessmen talking on their smart phones. There's people who are surprised to see a gringa get in, but say "buen día" anyway. On your route, you pass hole-in-the-wall houses, as well as mansions guarded by tall walls and barbed-wire in La Zona Sur. There are children wearing fancy private school uniforms and children sitting at their grandmothers street-side shops. And looking out of the windows, you see the voice of paceños in the street art and grafitti that colors any open space. A few phrases include, "Evo" (with the colors of the Bolivian flag painted above), "Esta autonomía no es mía, " usually with "Es de todos" written underneath it. The passions of Paceños and government propaganda is splattered all over the city.
Then, little by little you start to understand Bolivia. And after that, you realize your own privilege. You start to ask the cholita woman who sold you candy about her day. You start to realize how loud Americans really are when we talk, and get used to people being surprised when you can talk in Spanish. So, thank you La Paz. I'm humbled and grateful for you. Here's to the next three weeks that I get to exist and pretend to be a Paceña.
So this is a great ethnographic piece - but I wanted a bit more on how you little by little get to understand Bolivia. What is it about the experience of being here that helps? One concept we can think about (and we'll talk about in week 3) is that of embodiment - that knowledge is not just cognitive but literally as experienced through our physical presence in the world.
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