I donīt like Cochabamba very much, but one image will stick with me for the rest of my trip: traditionally dressed women in the market bargaining for an ultra-modern stereo system. Bolivia is forcing me to change my understanding of the undeveloped world. I expected dirt, chaos, and squalor - a place where life was clearly terrible. It turns out that life in Bolivia is just like life everywhere else. I see beggars and homeless people, but not as many as I do in New York. There are lots of pickpockets, but violent crime is almost unheard of here. I feel safe everywhere I go. People do the same things they do at home in America - they go shopping, they eat out, they hang out with their friends and girlfriends. Itīs easy to fall into the trap of thinking of Bolivia as the land that time forgot, but itīs moving along at the same pace as everyone else. As the petty-coated, bowler hat-wearing women and their swanky CD player prove, fashion is not an indicator of modernity.

    So, why donīt I like Cochabamba? The omnipresent reek of garbage, for starters. I donīt see a lot of trash on the street, but the city still smells like trash rotting in the sun. Problem number two: I do not like my hotel. Itīs right across the street from three coffin stores. Ordinarily, I find this sort of thing morbidly intriguing but these stores specialize in babyīs and childrenīs coffins. The first thing I see when I step outside are tiny coffins, each with a tiny window in front of the face. How sick is that? The second problem with my hotel is the famous Bolivian electric shower. Hot water here is often provided by electric wires feeding directly into the showerhead. Taking a shower causes the lights to blink on and off and turning the knob delivers a small electric shock. For awhile, I thought I would trust my rubber-souled Tevas to protect me from severe injury, but Iīve decided not to take the risk. No more showers till La Paz - Iīd rather stink than die.

    The best thing about Cochabamba is supposed to be its vast market, but I already feel jaded on Bolivian markets. Just like every other Bolivian market, it sells everything under the sun: dog food, hair dye, bicycle parts, cow heads, tourist kitsch...itīs all there. Iīve finally figured out the Bolivian bargaining system. Itīs much friendlier than the one in Egypt and mostly a matter of persistence. Things seem to go for eighty percent of the initial asking price. First, I ask the price. The vendor tells me, then promptly offers a discount: "Ten Bolivianos! No, eight and a half!" I offer something slightly lower, and the vendor repeats "eight and a half!" or pretends not to hear me. I increase the offer slightly, then say it over and over again till the vendor says okay. Itīs less stressful but not as fun as haggling in Cairo.

    Cochabamba is notorious for fake passport checks. Guys pretending to be plaincothes cops flash a crappy fake ID in your face, then demand your passport. If you give it to them, theyīll snatch it and run away. If you say you donīt have it, theyīll demand a fine. A guy tried to do this to me and Liz, but we said "I donīt think so" and walked away. He didnīt follow. Iīm proud of our confidence.

    Liz was going to stay here for some Spanish lessons, but she decided she doesnīt like it enough to stick around. Iīm glad we can stay together for a few days more - weīve gotten to be really good friends, and Iīll be sorry to see her go. Tomorrow we are going to buy tickets to La Paz.

~Meredith