Carnaval has begun in Bolivia. The first event is called "Compadres" and it is a night where all the men go out together and have dinner and drinks. It has been a tradition for a very long time. At some point, the girls decided they could do that too (and probably do it better), so the Thursday before Carnaval weekend is now known as "Comadres."
The day began with my host sister walking into my room and handing me a condom. This is much more forward behavior than I expect from my host family, or really anyone, for that matter. She laughed at the look on my face and then said, "You need to put this on your mobile phone, to keep it dry."
For some reason, Carnaval in Bolivia is synonymous with "water fight." In the past weeks, I have been hit with water balloons multiple times by complete strangers. People even throw water into the open windows of passing cars. Spray foam is also popular. Knowing these things, I complied with her advice on the cell phone.
We joined up with a bunch of Paola's friends and attended a party at Cochabamba's Country Club (a locale that looks like a fancy American golf club, and seems really out of place in Bolivia). All the groups of girls dress in matching shirts, and Comadres is pretty much a city-wide bachlorette party.
I know that the boys of my generation labor under the idea that groups of girls, when alone together, have pillow fights in their lingerie. I can report that this is not true. Girls, at least Bolivian girls, when left to their own devices, jump in pools with their clothes on and dance like crazy in wet tank tops to the Bolivian version of the Backstreet Boys.
The hours flew by and I can't remember the last time I had so much pure fun. All the girls in my group took to calling me 'Alaska,' which is a dream come true from a Velvet Underground song. But dancing, jumping in and out of the pool, and everyone promising to visit 'Alaska' in Alaska had to end at some point, and we started to collect our belongings in the dark.
This is when I discovered my purse was missing. In reflection, no matter how posh of a place you are in, your drunk friends are probably not the best guards for your belongings when you go to the bathroom. I stressed a bit last night, but daylight proved that a few travelers tricks really are worthwhile. A few months ago, I separated my credit cards so they weren't in the same place. I also finally got to make use of those xerox copies of now missing cards that I have been carrying around for years.
Perhaps the most tragic bit of this loss was my camera, and now you will never get to see the photos of Girls Gone Wild: Bolivia, but then, that's probably for the best.
Meanwhile, someone is enjoying a new condom-waterproofed cell phone.
The day began with my host sister walking into my room and handing me a condom. This is much more forward behavior than I expect from my host family, or really anyone, for that matter. She laughed at the look on my face and then said, "You need to put this on your mobile phone, to keep it dry."
For some reason, Carnaval in Bolivia is synonymous with "water fight." In the past weeks, I have been hit with water balloons multiple times by complete strangers. People even throw water into the open windows of passing cars. Spray foam is also popular. Knowing these things, I complied with her advice on the cell phone.
We joined up with a bunch of Paola's friends and attended a party at Cochabamba's Country Club (a locale that looks like a fancy American golf club, and seems really out of place in Bolivia). All the groups of girls dress in matching shirts, and Comadres is pretty much a city-wide bachlorette party.
I know that the boys of my generation labor under the idea that groups of girls, when alone together, have pillow fights in their lingerie. I can report that this is not true. Girls, at least Bolivian girls, when left to their own devices, jump in pools with their clothes on and dance like crazy in wet tank tops to the Bolivian version of the Backstreet Boys.
The hours flew by and I can't remember the last time I had so much pure fun. All the girls in my group took to calling me 'Alaska,' which is a dream come true from a Velvet Underground song. But dancing, jumping in and out of the pool, and everyone promising to visit 'Alaska' in Alaska had to end at some point, and we started to collect our belongings in the dark.
This is when I discovered my purse was missing. In reflection, no matter how posh of a place you are in, your drunk friends are probably not the best guards for your belongings when you go to the bathroom. I stressed a bit last night, but daylight proved that a few travelers tricks really are worthwhile. A few months ago, I separated my credit cards so they weren't in the same place. I also finally got to make use of those xerox copies of now missing cards that I have been carrying around for years.
Perhaps the most tragic bit of this loss was my camera, and now you will never get to see the photos of Girls Gone Wild: Bolivia, but then, that's probably for the best.
Meanwhile, someone is enjoying a new condom-waterproofed cell phone.
1 comment:
cell phones, pools and latin american countries...I am seeing a pattern
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