Any trips? Days out? Much excitement? Well no not really. That’s not to say that nothing has happened.
Remember back in school when we all learned how to dance at a Ceilidh? The ‘Gay Gordons’ and the like? Well apparently that happens in Bolivia too. In fact this is a country bursting at the seams with traditional dancing and I (someone who doesn’t actually enjoy dancing much) found myself on the dance floor longer than anyone else. This was turning into a fantastic birthday party!
Maybe it was the South American music, maybe Avicci-Levels, which happens to have a significant football sentiment attached to it. You know what, it was probably the Johnny Walker whisky. Yes, I think the whisky that was being passed around at an alarmingly frequent rate must of been it. “Note to self, whisky makes you dance…a lot”
I will stress that traditional dancing in Bolivia is no easy task. Flanked by family relatives, a young Carlos and seasoned dancer Marcelo, I was egged on to copy every move they made. Am I painting an image that I was achieving this? Don’t believe that for a second!
Another special occasion was ‘Teacher’s Day’. What a wonderful idea, I even would have been able to enjoy it had I not been ill in my bed with what was to be my second bout of food poisoning since arriving in Bolivia. Shivering, vomiting and dizziness when I tried to walk, I wasn’t in the best of conditions to say the least. Now try this for three days! By the time I was able to stomach another meal I resembled a very scabby, hungry skeleton. The dehydration was perhaps the worst part, that and the special hydrating water the doctor prescribed me. Yuk!
It’s also been a time of great wisdom. By wisdom I mean wisdom tooth, and by time I mean non-stop pain. Luckily in this teaching job of mine having students who’s parent’s are dentists can, apparently, prove useful. One phone-call, a mention of who I was and even on his day off, Mr dentist was with me in no time. It certainly pays to be well connected.
One quick mention to all those back home continually bemoaning the soulless, tedious and downright dreary English commentators during the World Cup in Brazil. Thank goodness I’m here, not only is everything in Spanish but I get to here “Goooooooooooool” every time. I’ll take that over Gary Neville any day of the week!
That’s really about it, apart from trying cow tongue for the first time I ironically don’t have much else to say. “Cow got your tongue” I hear you quip? I’ll get my coat…