Gerardo

Went on a walk yesterday to the peninsula jutting out from Copacabana - where most gringos don´t venture - and thought about things. It seems to me that I needed some perspective on why the hell I´m here. Sure, it´s a fascinating landscape culturally and geographically, but that doesn´t necessarily mean that it will be an amazing trip, unless I really think about what I want from it. Anyway, the walk was good - I cleared my mind and wrote some things down. Interestingly, I had written that I wanted to interact with locals, but only if they seemed to want to talk to me. I find the people here rather aloof in this regard, and have found initiating these interactions somewhat challenging. So as I walked back along the shores of Titicaca from the temporary haven on the peninsula to the trash strewn waterfront of a post-Semana Santa Copacabana, I encountered a local guy who was fiddling with something on a bike and had two dogs around him. I gave him the usual Buenas Tardes and flashed him a smile, as is my custom with locals, and to my surprise, he responded in Aymara, the local dialect. I don´t remember his words, but he was saying How are you? When I gave him a puzzled look back as I pulled my headphone out (Nina Simone´s Greatest Hits - goes well with the landscape), he switched to Spanish and informed me of his previous Aymara phrase. For the proceeding hour, he accompanied me along the dirt road - walking his bike - teaching me Aymara phrases and interviewing me about my life, then telling me about his. He asked how much it cost me to come here. I didn´t have the heart to tell him - he can´t afford the $1.50 bus trip to La Paz to see his wife and daughter. I diplomatically dodged his query, but told him I thought it was important for us privileged folks to see how others lived, so that we might gain some perspective. We parted ways. I walked back to my hotel on the hill, he rode his bike back to his farm on another hill. The sun set over Titicaca.