Something wakes me up in the middle of the night, a strange noise that sounds somehow familiar.
An avalanche of water, a torrent from the sky
At the beginning it' s just an occasional plopp, but then faster and faster plopp plopp plopp plopp - I notice that it has started to rain; what a wonderful feeling under the blanket! - and then heaven drops on our heads. This is not a thunderstorm or a cloudburst, it is an avalanche of water, a torrent, a spring tide.
A few days more of this gift from heaven, and we might need a second Noah's Ark.
The hallway, a long room stretching over two floors, is protected only by a thin plastic roof, which now emits this booming, thunderous noise. It gives the impression of lying under an abysmal machine whose sole purpose is to make this infernal noise.
These are the subtropical rains, capable of changing entire regions within hours. For a moment, the thought passes through my mind that Asunçion is the city that is repeatedly affected by heavy rainfall and very bad consequences. The reason: the sewage system is in such a bad condition that it can hardly manage the water of a normal rainfall, let alone such a deluge.
But then I fall back into unconsciousness despite the noise and am woken by the alarm clock at half past five. It is still raining ...
Driving through an empty city
There is something dreamy about the early morning ride. The streets are empty, hardly any light in the houses.
It rains and rains, the cab driver has trouble seeing anything despite the windscreen wipers. The air feels new, fresh and clean, as if the sole purpose of the heavenly washing machine was to bring some fresh air into the city.
The airport is a kind of pretense of false facts. The pseudo-modern architecture suggests something that the interior cannot cope with. Everything is a little shabby, a little cheap, even the coffee I buy after checking in.
I'm much too early, the trip to the airport has taken much less time than expected. When we are finally called to enter, the type of plane waiting is unknown to me. Does Bombardier also manufacture aircraft?
And again man-made deserts
Anyway, the plane is packed and takes off on time. Unfortunately Paraguay is hidden beneath a thick cloud cover, as if it was still a bit upset that people are flying carelessly over it instead of taking the bus across the country. Sorry!
Eventually we cross the border to Bolivia far to the north, and now the sky is clearing up.
However, I would have gladly done without the sight below us. The rainforest remains behind us, is replaced by endless, chessboard-like fields, on which the sky knows what is growing. A hundred kilometers or more always the same, and now it becomes clear why Santa Cruz is the economic center of the country.
By the way, the city is supposed to be the fastest growing metropolis in the world. When I think of a number of Chinese cities with millions of inhabitants, I can't really believe it, but what the heck. In any case, a few decades ago Santa Cruz was just an insignificant junk town in southern Bolivia, today it is the country's most important trading center.
Where are the officers?
The airport controls are a separate chapter. While queues in front of the counters are getting longer and longer, they are surprisingly unmanned. Just nobody around. It takes a while before a few very sleepy-looking officials trundle in, sit down at their workplaces with apparent reluctance and mercifully wave the first customers to them.
But the control happens astonishingly fast, and so I am also standing in front of a young man giving me a long look and saying that there are a lot of stamps in my passport. Do I travel a lot and do I like it in South America? In these cases you have to bring out the really big lie and tell whatever they want to hear. In any case my exuberant eulogy arouses visible pride and I get another stamp.
Buen Viaje! Mucha's Gracias!
The Hotel 360 Grados
The cab drives through seemingly endless suburbs, past countless traffic circles, until we finally reach the city center. The traffic becomes denser, the alleys narrower, and eventually we get stuck. We have landed in a market, a million people are fighting for space, and right where the chaos is most dense there is the hotel 360 Grados.
It's big and airy and nevertheless hot, my room is fine, but there is no AirCon, and as I understand, the fan is also not running. So it might get a bit hot in there.
Instead of 360 Grados, 40 Grados might be more like the real thing, which is about the temperature in my room.
Roadside chaos
With nothing in my stomach but air, I inquire about a restaurant nearby.
Cerca de aqui? No problem.
So I stroll through the chaos, past countless stores and market stalls, wondering about a restaurant whose name is partly written in German. But I don't understand the text on the board. Best price. With extra charge. With a surcharge? So basically a discount with a surcharge?
Res con chorizo
I am tempted for a minute to inquire, but the growling stomach thinks this a bad idea. So I enter the huge restaurant and am once again irritated how the process of ordering is supposed to happen.
At the beginning you have to place an order at the counter and then a waiter is assigned to get the items you ordered. But I have no idea what I really want or how the dishes are called. There is no menu card, just a few menus written on a blackboard. RES con Chorizo. RES con something. Res con whatever. Thinking that maybe Res is a side dish, I order Res con Chorizo.
I should actually have been suspicious when it took so miserably long to bring the food. The other guests help themselves at the buffet (which of course I did not see once again) while I wait and wait. And there finally, the waiter smiles encouragingly and puts a plate with two freshly roasted pieces of meat, supplemented by a massive chorizo sausage, on the table and points to the buffet where I am supposed to get the supplements.
Wow! Now I realize what Res means. Very simple, it means meat. But meat is called carne, so what might be the meaning of the abbreviation Res? I will probably never know. In any case, the meat is first class, and the chorizo tastes excellent. But later someone tells me what is put into a sausage in this country. In retrospect, I'll feel a bit nauseated, and it will certainly be my first and last chorizo in Bolivia.
Don't fuck with me!
The afternoon is dedicated to exploring the city, a place that until recently I knew at best from the papers. I am prepared for one of the typical South American cities - spacious squares in the city center, numerous churches and even more, mostly friendly inhabitants, probably Murales, always a highlight of local artistic creation.
But the route to the center leads right through the hustle and bustle of my neighborhood, and somewhere in my mind a note on safety in Santa Cruz pops up, warning in particular about the market in the city center. Well, now it's too late anyway, so I put on my grimmest face, which is supposed to mean: Don't fuck with me!
The city is not a cultural center but primarily an economic one. So you should not expect much. There is indeed a large central square, like everywhere else, there is a cathedral, like everywhere else too. And not to forget of course the monument of heroes, this time even more unknown than those already seen. One thing is for sure: there is no lack of heroes in South America. Anyone who has somehow earned his merit, even if it is due to something unimportant, can always find its pedestal ...
And indeed - murales! Once again a great contribution by the local art scene to the aesthetic representation of the city.
A pond and a gathering
Quite by chance, during my aimless wandering, I stumble upon a strange gathering , the purpose of which is not apparent even on closer inspection. Could it be a game, a lecture, a political meeting? I should preferably ask, but sometimes I prefer to remain in the dark. To figure something out like in Puerto Alegre. Even knowing that my ideas might not apply in any way.
And then only heat and Lord of the Rings in Spanish
Last night's disturbed sleep due to the rain starts to make itself felt, and I decide to have an early night, but not without watching "The Lord of the Rings" in Spanish.
And while Gandalf is talking to Frodo in a completely inappropriate language, I glide heavily sweating (the fan!) away into a well-deserved deep sleep ...
Mileage: 2434
Matching film: El Senor de los Anillos
And here the trip continues ... to Cochabamba
