The Best Day Ever (Well, Sorta)


Today is a huge festival here in La Paz, celebrating the native deity of Ekeko, god of household items and prosperity. So of course, me and my Scottish buddy went to check it out.

The streets, normally full of vendors of all sorts, were literally crammed today with people selling everything imaginable, but in miniature. Mini houses, mini cars, even (and this was the most common) mini stacks of American dollar bills — all fake of course. You could even buy mini passports and mini college degrees. For some time I was quite confused as to the reason why, but it soon became clear.

My Spanish teacher told me to go to any church for noon, so off we went to the largest cathedral in town (of course). Here, it was crazy packed with people and vendors, and the air was smoky with this potent incense burning everywhere. It was here I saw the reason for the mini stuff. On the steps of the church were five priests (catholic, of course), sporting some very nice priest-clothing. They had what looked like miniature palm trees in their hands, and they were using them to sprinkle water on the crowd below. People took their miniature items, and had them blessed with the water. So naturally, I had to do it, so I bought a stack of American 100s and pushed through the throng and got sprinkled. It must have been quite a sight — there were hardly any gringos there and I’m about two feet taller than everybody. The Scottish guy couldn’t stop laughing.  But still, I was blessed for prosperity. Cool!

Here’s where it gets ironic.

The crowd became very thick, and when I cleared it, I noticed my cool handbag was mighty light . . .

Even though I had sewed a zipper onto it, it was not enough to prevent it from being slashed. Bye bye, camera, so long, wallet.

I canceled my bank card and credit card, and I only had 50 bolivianos in there (about $10). The camera, fortunately, was a P.O.S., and I had just taken out the memory card, so I still have all my pictures. But now, I must hang out in La Paz for another week while TD sends me a new bank card. Don’t worry, I can still get money, as I have my traveler’s cheques and my Scotia card.

Live and learn, I suppose. My losses were minimal, and I still love La Paz. But damn it, I’d been blessed not even five minutes before. That settles all questions of divine existence for me at least.

Anyways, I must be off.

‘K Bye.


~ by turvyc on January 24, 2008.

3 Responses to “The Best Day Ever (Well, Sorta)”

  1. By God, that is indeed unfortunate, but you’re right; the camera was a piece of sheeeeeet.

    I told my Uncle Wayne over Christmas that you were roaming around Bolivia and Peru. I don’t know if you’re interested in visiting him, but I thought I’d give you some information about the his B & B.

    It’s called the “Lazy Dog Inn,” located about 8km east of Huaraz in the Cordillera Blanca Mountains. It was built entirely by hand, without equipment and electricity; the labor was provided by community neighbors. It generates absolutely no sewage and wastewater (the toilets are urine-diverting and the water is filtered and re-used for sub-soil irrigation, while the shit is dry composted into an organic fertilizer!)

    However, it might be costly. You can take a taxi for about 30 Soles from Huaraz. The cheapest room is on the main floor of the mountain lodge (I checked out a picture and it looked great); It has a mountain view, a queen-sized bed and a semi-private bath. The rate is $40 a day – breakfast and dinner included.

    I know it doesn’t fit your budget; I just wanted to give you the info, and write a lengthy comment, since no one seems to be leaving any replies.

    Anyways, I’m going smoke a bowl and read The Lord of the Rings.


    ‘K Bye.

  2. It’s me again Colin. I want to contribute a very befitting poem to your blog, entitled “Avacados.” I wrote it this past week. It’s just a draft, so feel free to delete it if you think it’s crap (I’m still working on the ending).


    Bombo, Bombo, Bombo, ovoiding
    on the stem, maraca-girthed, like Aztec testicles,
    Mombo, Mombo, Mombo,
    tree Peccaries gulping sludge from the sun,
    bellies of soluble fiber, pots of potassium, hanging
    like Sri Lanka, bigger, bigger, alligator shakers, dancing
    with the Ava-bodha sun, O’ my Peruvian pixie pears,
    my jolly amigos, O’ my bloated
    Cuban socialists,
    Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo,

    Bee boo, bee boo, bee boo
    with Brando cheeks. What a rabble Bolivian aborigines,
    what a banquet of sorbet-butter-mayonnaise, creamier, creamier,
    come you Vavoom-advocates from the pre-Incan
    Chan Chan to the hieghts of La Habra, come you
    tree knobs, bobbing in the foliage with monosaturated sacs,
    and I, would-be Crusoe, I, gringo
    them at the grocery store.

  3. *After reading Tim Lilburn’s “Pumpkins”

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