Political Jovenes, witches and the Club scene...

What happened at the Conferencia de Jovenes? I was late due to very VERY terrible directions from the lass who told me I should be there. I found the place, after an hour of checking out every likely establishment in the wrong area, my Spanish direction asking much improved by the occasion. The large, bare, old manufacturing plant room was physically cold but emotionally it was heating up with arguments of various and opposing leftist views. What was supposed to be (and for all accounts was) a gathering of some 35 young'uns from around the country to discuss the political hotspots of the day (and there are plenty including the likes of women's rights, nationalisation, and coca eradication), reminded me of the same such meetings of leftist groups I'm familiar with at home - leaving with a sense of helplessness that such groups may be meaningless, but with a contradictory feeling of solidarity, strength, hope. Without being able to understand a single full sentence of any of the speakers I can only postulate on the details of the conference... clearly. But my feeling is that I want to volunteer with the crazy guys who form much of the base of such action. This will at least improve my linguistical knowledge of political Spanish and certainly improve my awareness of what goes on here, again politically, although from a sometimes propagandically left view.

What happened AFTER the Conferencia de Jovenes? Well, I got involved in a bruhaha with a Bruja (pronounced Bruha with the gutteral J sound). I was walking down the road away from the conference, among old industrial wastelands on my side, and parkland on the other when I was approached by a little lad running up from four lean-to tents. He had a large round golden earring in his right ear, a vest, shorts, and no shoes. He insisted that I follow him back to one tent. I was curious. I did so. One of the open tents had an old woman lounging among enormous cushions and holding a deck of the Tarot. She popped up, looking like the Romanian Gypsy drawing you all read about when you were 9 (she indeed self-identified as a bruja, or a witchy/gypsy, quite the real deal, in fact!), procured a stony anti-tabula rasa from some area of her person, and proceeded to wave the thing around with an incantation along the lines of "buen suerte"-ing me. And in no pretty way, after spitting all over my own person (for good luck!), she dived into my pocket, and pulled out $120B. Now I have to point out that this is the FIRST time I've carried that sort of money around in my friggin' pocket (that sort! I know it's only about $20AU but it's TOTally relative!!). But there you have it. I was doing just that, in a dangerous part of town... Her hand flung out of my pocket, and with the body connected to it intending no similar flight, I was able to clutch said hand and began to grapple in the expectation that I'd be able to perform a session of reappropriation of wealth right there. She may have been around 70 but she was stronger than me, and as I continued to fail in reconnecting myself to my Bs. I saw the little shit who brought me there run off to another tent to, as it turns out, rouse the largish hombres to assist, and I'm pretty sure which of the two of us they'd be assisting. I bid a quick mental adieu to my moula and swore at the woman, let go of her hand and took off before the boys could no more than break into a trot. Me not stupid.

So anyway, I was GOING to give her SOMEthing for her trouble and generosity of bestowing on me her luck stacked spittle, so I guess this means that I'm in for some bloody enormous luck!

It rained heavily that night for the first time in three months, and the first rain I'd seen in Bolivia. Hope she got wet.

I've felt less safe and have been a little insulated lately, but now I'm fine. Still being careful and safe otherwise. Worry about me not.

In other news, I discovered the Bolivian Club scene with my Aussie companions last weekend. Latin American danceclubs are different to Australian ones... that's all.