Day 26 - Palm Sunday

Arriving this morning at the crack of dawn with a brush of cool air hovering through the morning light I found myself with both palms together rubbing any kind of heat I could produce. Needing a bathroom after a nine and half hour overnight bus ride I paid my one Boliviano service charge and relieved my self with great satisfaction. Hungry and cold I ventured to one of the few counters which I could see was serving tea and hot cheese sandwiches. Pulling up a stole I immediately asked politely for a cup of black tea with no sugar. Looking at me oddly at my request for no sugar I very naturally replied that I was a diabetic. It always eases the pain of an explanation when I just say "soy diabetico" instead going on a long diatribe about how I am hypoglycemic. I wouldn't even know how to say hypoglycemia in Spanish let alone explain it. So as I slurp my tea with my still damaged lower lip, that hint of cinnamon which all black teas have here in Bolivia is hitting the spot. Once I get my cup a young gay Bolivian man orders a hot chocolate milk with the same melted cheese sandwich. After passing him the cup of hot chocolate he requests some sugar. Quickly, to preserve her condiments, the lady at the counter pipes up "it is already sweet." Even quicker then her reply he says "it's okay, I'm a diabetic." She throws me a look of confusion as to say "What the hell is a diabetic really?" Embarrassed I just shrug my shoulders, put my head down and continue with my tea. As I'm one third into my warm cup of goodness I receive my hot cheese sandwich which I very quickly inhale with intervals of warm tea slurps. Thanking the lady for something so simple yet so satisfying I exit the bus terminal laughing to myself "Diabetico!" Feeling good about being in a city I know really well I walk onto the streets with confidence. Almost 7:00am I make my way to the most important Franciscan church in La Paz. Enormous in its size I see people almost pushing their way into the front doors. A light goes off in my head "right, palm Sunday!" I immediately decide that I am going to prolong my arrival at my uncle's place and get inside that church. I b-line for the front standing with a packed church there are no available seats. The two main reason why I was so eager to attend was firstly for my mom because I miss her and secondly was to begin my research for the feature length fiction film I want to make in Bolivia - Pachamama. My main objective was to see Cholitas active in a Roman Catholic service just to confirm the intentions and beliefs that one of my character holds. As I walked in I was overwhelmed with how familiar palm Sunday is to my soul. I understood, in any language, exactly why a Catholic would be there. What the palms represent - the call and responses to every line of mass. It was equally important for the people who surrounded me to know that I respected why they were there. Fresh off the bus I had my medium size backpack with me so I easily came off as a very curious tourist. Being able to respond and say all the prayers because my mom's lessons to me as child before bed in Chile, I was right on cue. When I started to feel the eyes come off me I started to relax and look around. Every time I saw a Cholita in full worship I smiled and gained confidence in the characters I am creating through these confident stoic women. It's amazing how quickly yet so effortlessly I went from one cinematic frame of mind (the mines of Potosi) to these women. I guess I'm more surprised at how excited and amerced I find myself in both projects. As we come to my favourite part of the service when the priests asks us to turn to our neighbor to wish "peace be with you" I glow at the possibility to shake hands with these strangers. As to not over do it or his anyone with my luggage I remember when forced to attend church as a child, this was the part I enjoyed the most. Making a short but sincere physical connection with each person.
And today, I still do.