Friday was a slow day – when we asked why there were fewer patients, Dr. Santivañez told us it was because of the cold. Today was a cloudy day in a place that rarely sees clouds, and as the houses rise on the slopes of the mountain, the temperature quickly drops. The past few days we’ve been wearing gloves to warm up our hands before touching the women’s bellies. I am very glad that at least my stethoscope isn’t metal, even though I am sure my hands are more freezing than metal could ever be. It’s a -1 point for my being human. We finished seeing patients early, around noon, and since this was our last day working with her, she invited us out for coffee. We happily agreed. Still in our white coats, we left the doors of the clinic and saw snow. SNOW! La Paz has a cool rainy season (summer) and a cool dry season (winter) when it doesn’t rain for months and clouds are non-existent. Although mornings and nights are cold, it rarely gets below freezing except in El Alto and during the day, the sun is strong enough to warm everybody up. I’ve acquired quite a bit of freckles since coming here… So, obviously no one was expecting snow. It fell slowly, in thick snowflakes, like it does in those magical nights in movies, except that it was in the middle of the day, it melted as soon as it reached the ground, and cholitas still passed by in the street in skirts and shawls, shivering. Our friends who had rotations down in central (i.e. lower) La Paz on the other hand, had not seen any snow, although they did say it rained for a while.
We ran across the street to a tiny open window in a wall of a building and asked for 4 cups of hot coffee. We huddled over the tiny awning and shivered. Then, the window closed, and the door opened. “Pasen, pasen” said the owner and ushered us inside the cluttered shop to a small table in the back. The room was packed to the ceiling with STUFF (newspapers, boxes, posters, broken appliances, etc), similar to severe hoarder’s house, to the point where only a tiny path was cut out that led from the entrance to the table and to the kitchen and sleeping quarters of the elderly couple that ran the shop. They brewed real coffee from Las Yungas and also brought out cheese and tomato sandwiches. Those were some of the coziest minutes of my life. This is exactly what makes traveling worth it. These are the moments that make up for the long, uncomfortable flights, the upset stomachs, and the constant awkwardness of being a foreigner and speaking in a foreign language. A steaming cup of sweet, strong black coffee inside a tiny shop in the middle of a non-descriptive neighborhood is more memorable than any cathedral or museum that I may see while traveling. As in all of life, it’s the little things that matter most.
No comments:
Post a Comment