I sit on the train from Frankfurt to Cologne. The modern ICE with its elegant saloons slides almost silently on the rails there. Snow and ice whiz by behind the tinted windows, with us in here it is snug and warm. The subtle lighting creates a cozy atmosphere, from my headphones whispers soft classical music. The platoon leader informs us in German and English about the food that the chef now in the board for us. Well-groomed, well dressed people stick their nose in the Sunday newspaper Frankfurter Allgemeine, work on laptops or chatting in a subdued tone. A sleepy atmosphere above the area. I lean back, close the eyes and my thoughts wander back to another trip on another continent, maybe it was even on another planet ... a good three months as is now already back again ... I was Misereor in highlands of Bolivia on the road, should there partner organizations strategic advice and learn ....
. ... After I had the first three days spent at 4000 m above the sea city of La Paz and there engaged in numerous discussions, I made my way to the Bolivian province, more precisely, to Oruro, a mining town, once an important economic center in Bolivia has been and is now only dimly on the former glory remembered ... The choice of mode was not difficult - trains and planes are available on this route, so I bought the bustling bus station in La Paz a bus ticket to fabulous price of 20 Bolivianos , which works out at about 3 €. For the 230 km route, we would need about 5 hours, I was told at the counter. I should be just about 15 minutes before departure of the bus arrive at the departure platform. I had half an hour, so I shot a round through the bus station, a colorful collection of stalls facing barker loudly praising the remaining open seats. "Oruro, Oruro, Oruuuurooooo" calls one in a thick, gray-brown coat clad woman in front of the mid-fifties as my bus company with the name "Trans Azul". From over it sounds "Potosí, Potosí, Pottoooosiiiii" and also "Cochabambaaaa" and "Sucre Sucre Sucre Sucre" not missing. Between the ticket booths running around Ambulatory which a vendor's tray of sweets, cigarettes and Coca Cola have buckled or homemade Salteñas sell to the travelers.
short listed before the departure time begins to load the driver for the bus. Boxes, suitcases, boxes, bags and plastic bags are piling up already the exit platform. The bus company that wants to give a modern touch, challenges us passengers on the "boards." I grab a window seat in the third row, Kramer travel tablets from the pack (you never know ...) and stow my luggage under the front seat. The air smells stale, some minutes have previously left the arriving passengers from Oruro and the bus left the stink of a five-hour bus ride. I'm trying to delay the window, but it stuck and I do not insist long. Next to me to be a man in jeans and a sweatshirt covered in the seat. Fortunately, not one of these portly Highlands Mommies with numerous voluminous Skirts, ponchos and children scurrying, through my head and I am ashamed at once dutifully for my hatred. My neighbor throws a quick look over to me. A "Gringa" So, a foreigner ... Aha! ... What the well all alone here does? And what if a man want in Oruro? I greet him and give it to realize that I speak English. His face lights up, and ranks even while the bus from his close parking spot and it blows big black clouds of exhaust into the air, he asks me where I come, what I do, wherever I travel ... and all alone? .... I know these questions from many same or similar situations and yet they bored me. On the contrary - I am really very happy that someone is sitting beside me with whom you can talk a little bit ... Emilio - the name of my seat neighbor - is a more open and man of many interests and has an arsenal of questions ready, want to know like that so, this is Germany? how it is living there? as the politicians are there? And the whole modern industry ...? ... Is there really anything organized by as great as you always hear? ...
Emilio visited relatives in hospital in La Paz and is now on his way back to his family - wife, two girls (tooth-gap shining twins I can see in the photo) and a small son. Emilio works in a customs authority, its most important import goods Japanese used cars are to be in Oruro by driving on the left re-equipped with legal documents and then sold - a trade that Emilio can not be called really good, this whole flood of Japanese cars whose mileage has been set to zero and their quality can only speculate why do ... ever Emilio has very strong views and opinions on any subject. His opinion of the Bolivian government's tough. His demands are high. His disappointment with the Bolivian mediocrity according large.
This mediocrity, and even worse, the absolute provincialism of his countrymen can be already on such a bus ride as we watch them do well just gets excited to Emilio. Stuffy buses, the seats are worn, the sliding window broken ... on the condition of the engine and brakes, we would rather speculate not only ... "And the worst of everything" - said Emilio with genuine disgust in his voice: "little one sits in the bus and can grab the sign behind him, the people around her turn with rice, chicken or roasted pork feet filled bowls and bags from the bus and odor standard in a fat-dripping chicken rotisserie. "" I hate that, "echauffiert to Emilio. "I feel nauseated every time when the whole bus stinks of fried chicken and then I spend hours in the fug must squat."
I amused grin Emilios outbreak and confess that I had with the chicken theme can actually live quite well. What bugs me more, the violent action and horror films that are pushed on long overland journeys usually after a short time into the video device. Then the men go to the curtains, move their children to cope on her lap and look as if hypnotized at the flickering screen that hangs over their heads. The volume in which the films are presented, makes it almost impossible to escape the spectacle. I get so ever without earplugs and eye patches in a bus, and I am under the given circumstances, happy, Emilio a few provide as from my ear plugs nose plugs available ...
And as we are still so happy on blasphemy are immersed, the thick Mamita in the seat next to us in their crowded, plaid plastic bag, pulls out a flower decorated with orange enamel bowl, opens it and out flowed the smell of ... well, what ??... well rice and chicken! Emilio watched the whole thing with a delicious blend of amazement and disgust. Then we will look at us and burst out laughing. But that is already in the theme music of the just loudly started "Karate Warrior" videos As ...
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