It's The Little Things

Today was one of those days that reminded me of why I took this whole trip in the first place.

After a stressful but worthwhile visit to Uyuni, I came back to more travel worries.  Not exactly how I wanted to spend my last two days in Bolivia.  I was told that my 3am flight leaving Cochabamba, which was the only flight that didn't involve me sleeping in the airport before my flight out of La Paz, probably didn't exist and was a mistake on the part of the airline.  A previous volunteer had booked a flight at the same time only to arrive to the airport and find it closed.  This is where my mini panic attack ensued.

I could book an earlier flight for the night before, but I didn't want to sleep in the airport with all of my stuff, and as a woman traveling alone I wasn't too keen on trying to make my way to a hostel in the middle of the night in a sketchy part of town.  I couldn't risk the airport being closed at 1am and just take the next flight out because the next flight didn't leave until 10am which would be when my third flight of the trip, from Lima, Peru, would already be leaving.  I was torn on what to do and wasn't sure what the right route would be.

When I get stressed or am put under pressure my Spanish doesn't work too well.  I can't find the right words, I can't understand other people, it's just one more problem on top of a bad situation.  I knew that my Spanish wasn't up to par on the phone already and the worrying wasn't going to help, but the only thing I could do was call the airline.  Fortunately I live with a native Bolivian and a young woman from Texas who is fluent in Spanish.  After a few stressful (and some unconnected) phone calls to the airport and the airline to confirm that they would indeed be open and my flight would leave at 3am, I still wasn't completely convinced.  I was too worried that the Bolivian way of life, which is one of patience and "go with the flow" would still yield a problem for me.  It's only been a month, I haven't quite accepted that attitude just yet.  Needless to say, my habit of worrying was in full force, and it seemed like it would stay around for the next two days until I stepped foot on that plane.

Then we went on our daily trip to the community center in Tackaloma.  There was nothing out of the ordinary today, but it was still just what I needed.  The children were friendly, playful, and well behaved (ok, so maybe one thing was out of the ordinary today).  I had Jolina and Christian caught in a tickle fight, I had Dania sitting on my lap while we watched videos to teach them about helping others and appreciating family, I got a crying Jessica to smile if only for a moment, and a great group of fun and curious kids to play frisbee with.  I could feel the stress lift.  I figured running around a bit would help, but I didn't expect that the loving attitudes, smiling faces, and sincere hugs would make me quite so happy today.  They inadvertently created a new stress, but a welcomed one.  One where I know I will miss this place.

Just two weeks ago I was counting the days until I could be home because I missed it, but knew that I wanted to experience my trip too.  Now I am lamenting each minute that passes, but still allowing myself to be excited for home.  It's a good problem to have.  I've grown to appreciate Cocha for what it is.  It may be different than LA, but it has it's own charm.  While riding in on a bus last night I could only see pieces of the city and I thought to myself how much it reminded me of any other city in the U.S.  The differences were obscured and when I thought about how I just wanted to get home, I pictured my room in Cochabamba.


I'm still a little skeptical about my flight, but at least now I will be able to enjoy my last two days with my makeshift family at Bolivia Digna.

It's amazing what kids can do.

Nada Que Temer

A funny thing happens when you start to understand your surroundings.  You start to notice the more positive aspects of the place you're staying.

The parks seem to be more abundant, the people friendlier, the street culture more endearing.  Cochabamba is far from perfect, but on my walk this morning I actively noticed I had a different feeling about the city.  I don't know if it was from the elation I felt after finally getting my train ticket for the weekend on only the fifth try, or if it was because I was confident enough to find my way around on my own, but I could tell I was really beginning to like this city.

My first impressions were a mixed bag.  I was asked by multiple people what I thought, and I would tell them that is was a mix of being both above and below my expectations.  I realized that before arriving in Bolivia, sometimes I imagined my rose colored days in Spain and expected Cochabamba to have that feeling, but then other times I expected a really disheveled city due to the pockets of extreme poverty.  Cochabamba falls right in the middle of those two extremes.  But as I am finding my way around on my own and gaining confidence in both my directions and Spanish, it's swinging a bit more to the rose colored feelings.

The air might not be the cleanest and the trash disposal could use some work, but the people are a million times more friendly than I ever expected.  I may have a fear of some of the food, but I love that portion sizes rival those of the United States.  I AM ABSOLUTELY HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE WITH ZONZO.  It's grilled yuca with cheese.  That has got to be the loveliest part of my trip thus far.  I'm even beginning to appreciate the way every store is a little shop that looks like it is the bottom of someone's house.  Shopping without speaking to someone is quite the luxury here.

Working with kids in areas that are poverty stricken that exist right on the other side of the street from wealthy families, I've learned that education here has it's good and it's bad just like we do in the United States, but what I had pointed out to me is that there is quite the entrepreneurial spirit in Bolivia.  That even if one didn't get the education they deserved, they can still open up shop either with a food stand or possibly a real shop with a little help from someone who understands the finances.  And I have no doubt that the people here are willing to help each other because I've seen nothing but kindness from everyone, children through old age.  I could see the genuine nature of a couple on the street with whom I exchanged a "buenas dias", and they definitely aren't the exception.

My first week was a bit of a contrast to now, and I'm glad that the tables have turned.  The children I volunteer with have been a big help with that, but also my fear of the unknown has subsided.  It was easier to spend my free time in the house where I felt comfortable because no one was available to show me around, but it just took the first small walk alone one morning to help me start making sense of the city.

I wouldn't have traded this route to traveling for anything else because the availability of the other volunteers to explain customs and how to exchange money and where to eat has really helped make me feel more at home.  And now the man who moved here from New Mexico seven years ago and hasn't left since makes a little more sense, even if he's still a bit odd.

Step 1?

Cochabamba Urkupina Festival 2013 - Photo courtesy of David Clow on Flickr 

I've been pushing this post off for quite some time now.  Maybe it's because I'm a slacker, but maybe it's because none of this has seemed real.

Five months ago I took a leap of faith/insanity/desperation and applied for a month long trip to Bolivia.  This isn't news to most of my friends by this point, who have all been so excited for me, but with less than a month until my flight, it's just starting to feel real.

Here's how it all went down last summer.  I was having a mild life crisis, which you've seen some of in previous posts, where I was getting restless and reading travel blogs multiple times a day.  I was getting jealous of the lives others were living.  I started looking into trips I could do just for fun while I still held onto some semblance of reason.  Then in a moment of weakness and insanity, I found myself filling out forms and hitting submit before I could stop myself.  It still didn't feel real though, they had to actually accept me and who knew if that would actually happen.  A little voice tucked deep down called out hoping they would never see my application.  Then I got the email stating they had in fact seen my application and everything looked good pending a Skype interview.  What had I done?  I wasn't ready for all this.  I couldn't even fill out the travel dates because I had no idea when I'd be able to go.

I moved forward with the process because I felt I had no other choice (and because I wanted to, but that voice was not the dominant one).  The following month I did a little fundraiser for the trip that still didn't seem like it would happen.  Now I am three weeks out from my travel date, and all I need to do is pick up my visa and step onto the plane.  How did this happen?  I'm a moron.  What was I thinking?  If I hadn't spent so much money on the flights, vaccinations, etc, I would totally be writing a letter lying about how I suddenly could no longer help with the organization's program.  I'm terrified.  That's right.  For the girl who claims to love traveling, I don't know why I'm doing this.

This could be the stupidest smart thing I've ever done with my life.  I planned it as well as I could around my work schedule. However, as is common in entertainment, schedules change.  Unfortunately plane tickets don't (at least not without penalty).  Have I just royally screwed myself financially?  Have I just thrown off my whole future work trajectory?  Wait, I'm going to have to speak Spanish on a daily basis?  WHAT HAVE I DONE?!

Let's take a moment for a calmer side tangent, and I'll tell you about this organization I applied to that is forcing me to realize my dream of traveling.  Agapé Adventures.  It's an organization based out of Ireland that has programs around the world.  They teach children, bring medical aid to communities, stimulate local economies, care for wild animals, and more all around the world.  They help fund their endeavors by allowing travelers to come help their programs for short periods of time.  The trip I'm going on is to teach children of Cochabamba, Bolivia subjects like math and reading while also helping with their sports program.  It's totally voluntourism, which is a touchy subject and some days I question if what I'm doing is morally right, but at least it is still helping in some ways, hopefully more than it's harming.  If I find that not to be the case after this trip, I'll work that knowledge into my future plans.

From what I've read, the program seems to be really doing good in the world and other volunteers have sung their praises.  I hope I can actually be of service to the programs and not just another face that comes and leaves with fun stories but leaves nothing good behind.  It's this hope that helps keep me somewhat motivated when faced with my screaming fears of this whole trip.

Speaking of which, SERIOUSLY, WHAT AM I DOING!?  It's been a tumultuous week since being back from the holidays.  This fact is not going to go away anytime soon.  I think I will worry up until my feet hit the soil of Cochabamba.  Then there's is no turning back.  It's that milestone I'm racing towards while simultaneously pulling away from.  It's that date of no return where I can enjoy the unknown and know that there is nothing I can do to change the path I'm on.  The next three weeks will be filled with fears fueled by the option (that's really not an option) that I can still back out.

Who is this scared little girl?  I can't wait to get back to the confident woman I know I can be.  Cochabamba, maybe you'll be my saving grace after all.  But dammit, I won't admit that until I get there.

Predictability

I was thinking tonight about what makes me feel restless about my circumstance.  I try to avoid the word unhappy because of what it can mean, and I don't want to say unsatisfied because I don't want to sound ungrateful, but there is something that nags at me about my outlook on where my life is going. Don't get me wrong, I am so fortunate with where I am, but what I realized tonight is the predictability of everything is what is not working for me.

For some, predictability is the anchoring factor in their life that provides the stability they seek, and I can't deny that I crave stability, but I don't know how to have that without the predictability that just doesn't mesh with my personality.  My whole life I have had at least one milestone to look forward to with a specific time stamp on it.  Graduating high school I always knew would be June 2007.  Graduating college: May 2011.  Moving to LA: September 2011. After each of those milestones there was this realm of the unknown.  I had a general idea of what I was to expect, but nothing concrete enough to limit my imagination.  And knowing that time of uncertainty was ahead of me was what I always had to look forward to, to race towards.  It was my weird version of a safety net.  As an adult though, those timestamps get removed.  Life's milestone may have a vague expectation of when, but no specific date to work towards.  This is what I think I've been having a hard time adjusting to.  I've been on my own for over three years, but I'm still getting used to the idea of just what it really means to have my whole life ahead of me.  A long, undefined amount of time ahead of me.

Now that I'm thinking about it, to some, knowing the "whens" can seem like predictability, and I guess in a sense they are.  How I always viewed them, though, was a new adventure of the unknown.  So, what I guess I'm trying to convey is that my future doesn't have any specific new adventures for me to look forward to, just the same day to day life.  Again, don't think that I don't love my life, because I do.  In general, this is the happiest I've ever been.  I have my independence, people I can relate to around me, a sense of accomplishment, but I wasn't built to have that all remain the same for extended periods of time.  No matter how positive they are.

Confession time:  Growing up I learned that people don't stick around for too long.  The best friends I made always left in some sense, whether it was to a new group of friends, a new school, or a new town. I'm not sure if this shaped me or if my personality type was what drew me to these people but didn't make me follow them.  So now I find myself trying to find new ways to meet new people.  I get bored knowing that I've met everyone I can in my current circle.  I like keeping my friends around, but only if it's relatively easy.  If it's difficult to get together I don't see that as our friendship fading, rather as more opportunities to make new friends to add to my repertoire.  New people excite me because I can tell the same stories over again, I can learn new stories from them, I can gain new experiences.  I love old jokes and shared stories and the ease of sitting around drinking wine on an afternoon, but I like the unpredictability of a new friendship and what exactly we will bond over.  The predictability of a friendship is what I appreciate, but still doesn't satiate something inside of me.

All of this is a crazy way of saying that I need to know when the unknown will happen.  I need that push that says it doesn't matter if you're ready or not, this is happening.  And strangely that means I have something to plan for.  It's a complicated web my mind weaves.  I'm forced to finish all of my preparations because there is no pushing them off, even when it's something you can't really prepare for.  I hope I'm making at least a smidgen of sense.

To finish my rambling, I am my own biggest obstacle anymore.  I've always been the procrastinator, so deadlines were my friend as much as they were an enemy.  When I don't have that deadline, I find ways to push it off.  Which is what I can see myself doing for the foreseeable future.  That's what scares me.  Never having the excitement of the unknown because I stifle my own chances with fear and excuses.  It's this struggle that will make traveling that much sweeter, even if that much more nerve-wracking.