Cholitas, and my new home.

The taxis continue to blast, but not for me. I´m not at the centre of everyone´s universe, except when kids, (nay, most people who have someone to nudge and suggest that they look) are wide eyed or snickering at my height. Yes, I´ve said it before but it´s so constant that you all have to deal with it just the same as me. I realise (or was reminded) that during the telling of my experience of the bus ride to Cochabamba I referred to the woman, who at midnight was working hard for her family making food for tired and hungry travellers, as a "bowler hat", indicating a possible lack of respect. Not cool. Regardless of my time restrictions I should be aware of my comments especially coming from a very VERY privilaged position. The collective name for the women who wear what are similar to bowler hats (but higher and usually not fitting the head so that a strap must be worn), are Cholas or Cholitas. The entire dress I´m sure you´ll recognise including the hat which is about as striking as the beautiful striped, coloured cloth that is used as a carry-all, including for their kids. The dress was imposed on them by the Spanish king in the 1700s and the Viceroy of Toledo (holy toledo?) insisted on the part in the hair. It seems that the women have reclaimed the formerly imposed dress, and now wear their ensemble with pride (and warmth, given the amount of layers they wear!) What is also most impressive about their appearance is the incredibly long hair plaits that they wear. It must be a real job to keep them looking as good as they do. It seems, as I´ve mentioned in previous missives, that the tradition will not live long past the current young generation, except perhaps for in ceremonial reenactments, for many young indigenous women have taken hold of western ideals with gusto, although this isn´t always the case. I´ve seen the occasional young twentysomething with the traditional dress and plaits, but not usually the hat. They stand out because I haven´t seen that many.

I´m beginning to enjoy my time in Cochabamba more immensely (as a group of teenage musicians play their way merrily past this city cafe) with my growing Español, my familiarity with the streets and local people.

I have a job! I teach two women English who need it for their work in a seemingly ethical Swedish development organisation. I´m finding out more about it through their "homework" in English talking technically about their work. That´s three mornings a week, and there´s more to come I think.

More soon, and don´t forget to breath!!

Michael.