La Paz... Dislocated

After the violent events of the previous day, it was no surprise that we had another accident-related incident after checking out of our hostel, en route to meet the others and head to Copacabana. While eating a delicious and ridiculously cheap fruit salad with M’s crush from the hostel, a young girl fell off the see-saw behind us and dislocated her elbow. I will never forget the look of terror on her poor face as she looked up at me and saw my look of horror at her hideously bent limb.

I was shell-shocked, taking a complete step back to avoid the girl seeing my face again and panicking further, while M and his crush sprung into action. Luckily there was a police station just next to us so they whisked her away and called an ambulance. Hectic.

Getting to Copabacana, however, was an entirely more complicated process than getting a young girl to hospital. We had heard from our hostel people that Bolivia was on a one-day transport strike and there was – along with a strike from drivers – actual blockades around La Paz that prevented anyone from going anywhere. So we were grounded. We tried to think of other options, but even using a private taxi we were told would cause protesters to throw rocks at our vehicle as we passed the main problem area.

I had checked into the same hostel as the Turkish brother/sister combo, not wanting to walk the hill again with my backpack, and left M at the other hostel meeting us the next morning. However, with him stressed that he wouldn’t get up in time, I found him in the foyer of my new hostel asking which room I was in. Now I was fine with that, but sharing a bed with him I found a little annoying – he doesn’t believe in deodarant and also doesn’t shower all that often. Luckily, after some haggling with the bitchy owner, we changed to a room with 2 double beds and all was forgiven.

So we resigned ourselves to staying another day in hectic La Paz, and used our time to check out the markets. I had started to become obsessed with buying an alapaca/llama poncho, and also wanted to see prices for some other handmade items I wanted to buy. Some bday money had arrived in my account courtesy of the olds so I was feeling a little more generous with my wallet. At fucking last, I say!

Before we knew it, it was getting late and I almost missed the second interview I had set up with the Caribbean chick about work. So I settled myself into the local bar we’d started to call our meeting point (still having bought nothing – thought it best to wait until the very end to lug it around), and waited. And waited. And waited. About half an hour after our arranged time, I called it quits, frustrated that for the second time this lady had bailed on me. But, remembering she lived on a tiny island, I forgave her for her tardiness and awaited her repentence.

I knew it would be an early start so I laid off too much booze – also I was feeling a bit funny from the medicine I was taking for my tooth, and tired from everything from the day. So I basically laid my head on K’s lap while the others played pool and drank a few, and then we called it a night.

Back at the hostel, M and I came back to the room and he starts madly scavenging around his bag. I ask him what is wrong, and he tells me his cap is missing… OK, not cool, I think. Then he tells me inside the cap was 300 Argentinian pesos. Definitely not cool. He never finds it, obviously gets annoyed about it, and I fall asleep to him rummaging around.

At 5:30am, my alarm went off for my medicine and I noticed the room was empty besides me and my things. I had no idea where M went, but I noticed the door was left unlocked. Something a little amiss, given there was clearly a thief around that could even get in with a key… so I was naturally a bit annoyed. Nothing, however, could have prepared me for what went down the next morning…

Picking up in hoodies and fisherman pants

Missing money returned, but amigos gone, I was left lonely and bored. Luckily, my Iguazu friend was still around and so after a small amount of faffing, I gathered here and the hot Dutch chick now living in my room to go to the markets.

Now at these markets there are probably the best looking people I see in Buenos Aires... dredlocked, alternative, tattooed... basically one step up from homeless people but hey, it's better than the wankers I saw at that club the other day in their matching striped shirts and slicked back hair.

I bought some magic cakes from a guy at the markets, but resistesd buying any of the goods at the actual markets, and proceeded to get more and more dazed n confused at everything around me. In a good way. I already looked like a bum in a guy's hoodie and fisherman pants.

So eventually I got talking to a Columbian rasta who made me a nice little ring out of wire, and then asked me to dinner and smokes at his house, and I said he could pick me up from my hostel around the corner. I just kept laughing at his charming little Columbian speech - I swear they are all as bad as each other - and how much he reminded me of my other Columbian friend... ¨que buuuuueeeennnoo, que rrrriiiiiccooo¨ haha... I was also quite stoned by this point so anything was funny.

Regardless, the rather rough language exchange seemed to work, even with my super homeless get-up, and I went back to the hostel to chill with my workmates in the bar. Well, he never showed, not sure why, but that is all good. I just drank myself stupid on cheap drinks with a Brazilian guest here, speaking bad Spanish with him, and then took myself to bed. I think I am over my crush with the other Brazilian here, the bartender. He tells me he likes ass too much... next!

La Boca...the true spirit of Argentina

So yesterday me and my amigos finally made it to La Boca, the area famed for its colourful corrugated iron buildings, traditional life-sized figuirines lining the streets, endless tango dancing and cute little cobble-stoned streets. We were firmly instructed NOT to bring anything of value and not to flash around our cash, or we would likely be robbed. La Boca itself is quite a poor area, but the little pocket of tourist trap heaven is regularly patrolled by police so that part is at least OK.

We walked around the markets, H fucked the risk and bought her half-broken digital camera so we at least got some shots... of which I am super glad, since the place was actually beautiful and we didn't end up being robbed.

We did, however, almost get the shit kicked out of us by one of the waiters.

It all began when we tried to pay for our bottle of wine, requested to be the cheapest as we're all on tight budgets, but upon receiving the bill we saw we'd been served the bottle twice the price but the same name. Hmmm, intentional much?? So we kicked up a fuss but eventually paid the money, sans tip.

Apparently, the ¨tip¨ is not an optional thing... and we were chased down the street by some guy who worked at the restaurant who we hadn't actually seen before now. Of course, it kicked off when the Guatemalan basically shoved the extra 10 or whatever it was down the guy's shirt, and said something obviously degrading to him. Well, there was no stopping this guy now. He kicked, punched and ripped off his jacket to get things started.

By now, everyone had stopped and was looking at us, us girls were basically just worried for our safety - I know I was not looking forward to the bus ride home and potentially getting jumped by this guy's mates in some dark alley... We begged the Guatemalan to just leave it, but when he walked away he found a cop and brought him back to the shop to tell him he'd been assaulted. We hung back while a small crowd gathered around the restaurant, and eventually he came back all satisfied he'd given the restaurant a bad name, at least for that day. Pelotudos.

We scurried across the road and literally bolted for the bus, and we were on the way home as the sun faded into the distance. Thank GOD that was the last we saw of the crazy Argentinian... but fuck me dead, that was scary for a moment. At least we got a TRUE La Boca experience though... ha!