It's sunny out, and lunch time. Bye.

Highs, lows and a few analogies to help them along the way...

Life is like a cat, it’s either running around after your shoelaces like an idiot or it’s lying in the sun on your bedside table giving you the greasiest look you can imagine.

I have been flowing up and down the scale of happiness lately, as you may have guessed, but it's certainly more to do with the experience of international culture which is sure to be translated into a good story once home again.

I was at the children´s burns centre the other day with Phoebe the Australian woman, who always seems to have other things to do when she’s helping me with my visa stuff, so I go along with her, to this place and that, where she has been helping people for the last 45 years. The centre was a hell of a traumatic half hour for me, which means that I can’t even imagine how traumatic it is for those kids, confused and in pain, with various injuries. One child of around 8 was having his burns massaged by 5 nurses, burns which covered his chest, neck, parts of his arms and face. He was clearly in pain, tears streaming down his face, but his lips pursed so tight, and his eyes looking so brave, that in seconds I was in tears myself.

Another lad of about 12, walking around with most of his face covered, and his right arm braced at a right angle prostrate from his body. He found the courage to be happy, immediately finding me out as a keen rubber ball bouncer and catcher, using his one arm and limited mobility to enjoy the few moments we had, between improptu hugs.

Of course none of these kids have private health cover, and god knows how they get through but Phoebe told me that one wealthy, anonymous benefactor had given two kids some tens of thousands for their treatment, out of the blue. Came in, asked what kids needed the most help and said “here you go” *slaps down the cash*. Phoebe says that sometimes God’s will is the only thing to believe in. I continue to say, to myself of course, that the will of the people is the key *as he flimsily clings to his anarchistic, godless beliefs*

And of course, after much Immigration hoo-ha-ing they still haven’t giving me my year-long volunteer visa. They tried to send me to La Paz for an interview and to pick the visa up from there, with the temptation of not having to pay the 25 days overdue fine (250Bs) but I got it out of them that they just didn’t have the cellos, the stamps of approval, here in Cbba yet. The buggers.

And of course, Cochabamba continues to notice the winds of Michael-needs-a-pick-me-up, when on Thursday night I found, thanks to my Aussie friends, a really cool pool hall, which gave me my first “what’s down” after a three month “break” (get it?). Then on Friday (as pictured) Marty and Ivo were happily dragged along to the monthly K’owa festival where the K’owa is burned (as pictured and mentioned in previous entries) and lots of dancing ensues, and of course, embibing (as seen by the big old bucket of Chicha in front of us (13Bs for the bucket! That’s only $2 for some heavy, dangerous, sweet sweet stuff!)

Then on Saturday I caught up with my blog friend Patricia, who as it turns out (and not surprisingly) is much like she is on her blog, and more! She’s intelligent, funny, controversial at times and we talked for hours, (but only some 30 mins inSpanish...). It was difficult to leave, but fatigue of not enough sleep was dictating, almost...

I was going home to a much needed sleep, but Ivo, in his greediness forced me at gunpoint to go to the Secret Club with him. That was, again, an eyeful of sexy dancing and more, which made me just miss Fiona quite a bit more than I already do.

THEN on Sunday the Mundial finished (with a yummy Argentinean sausage bbq at Luke and Marty’s), which left us all wondering what we were going to do now!

On my way to work my first private English lesson this morning I had a skip in my step, unsure of whether it was due to the good sleep I had (which included a dream of how to make more money!), the midnight oil smoothing my path, the prospect of higher paid English classes, or just the fact that I was feeling really comfortable and safe in my little city.