Week 1

I live on Independence Street. 6 de Agosto. Every morning I wake up to the sound of car horns and dogs barking. La Paz is a vibrant city, full of colors, smoke and music. The streets and sidewalks are twisty, uneven, and all uphill. I run out of breath so easily, I have to let old women carrying babies on their backs pass me as I struggle for air at this altitude. The Andes Mountains are also breathtaking in the non-literal sense. Truly magestic beauty. As we drove to our homes from the airport in El Alto, I fell in love with the panorama- the golden sunrise striking the homes stacked along the mountainside. Donkeys and llamas and children, whizzing past my view as we descended into this city full of unknowns.

The air is cold, dry and thin, striking my face as I step out of the car to meet my host mother. Arminda Chavez. La declamadora. She is in her early seventies, though I would never have guessed so. She speaks and moves with such energy, her passion for life exudes from every inch of her tiny stature. The first night in her home, she shared with me a poem she wrote, a hymen to the sea, lost to Chile. I love my mamita. She fills her home with her love for her family. Her son's family spends every Sunday with her after they attend mass. She is a proud Mormon, a rarity in this Catholic country. I feel as though I have known her all my life. With people such as my mamita and her beautiful grandchildren, I know that I will come to love this country too.