At first, I wanted to name this particular post ‘street shows’, but that would imply that these had been elaborately planned, or boasted an actual venue they performed in, and charged admission. This is clearly not the case.
I will write more about traffic and streets in another post, but this one is dedicated to the artists roaming - and performing - on the streets of their beloved city. These are people actually working for a living, scraping together a few bolivianos from whatever the La Paz traffic can bear.
In Kathmandu, by comparison, the sideshows were a little, shall we say, different? There would be the holy cows in the middle of the road, the two peg-legged beggar doing his balancing act in heavy traffic for the benefit of a few rupees, and the little kids selling colorful postcards of some of their beloved Hindi Gods. More than not, you kept your windows rolled down and kept your eyes on the road. That went double for the holy cows, since I have already described how costly it can be to strike a cow in Nepal. That concern was always there.
The first sideshow on La Paz’s roads has nothing to do with human beings. On my way in a taxi through Callacoto, the driver suddenly pulls on the brakes when we come across five lamas swiftly jogging down the road. They are well disciplined and intuitively run shoulder to shoulder, as if anybody separated from the herd would be easy game for predators. The entire width of these lamas spans no more than that of an economy sized car, and their herder with the stick behind them makes darn sure they go the right way.
Even so, lamas are rather rare in the city, so we can chalk that up to pure luck.
More attractive are the shows the artists put on whenever the lights turn red. You will see jugglers, acrobats, and artists stepping to the forefront and squeezing their little act into the little time they have until the light turns green again. The jugglers are impressive. Complete with the entire colorful clown garb, they will hurl balls, rings and clubs in the air, fully aware that they need to be extra perfect here. One erratic toss could land your little club under the tires of an oncoming car, which is not good. I haven’t seen it happen yet.
Even more astounding are the duos performing their juggling acts. This means more space is needed for their back and forths, which dictates nothing less than perfection.
The acrobats, on the other hand, need to pretty much walk (often on their hands) a straight line, which presents little trouble. Of course, the last thing you would want to see is a clown neatly towing the line between cars when suddenly some passenger has the overwhelming urge to leave the car and open the door, thus spilling the clown to the turf. Again, though I have never seen it happen, I’m sure it does.
Possibly the funniest sideshow I have seen so far happen in front of the Quetal market in the middle of Callacoto. When the light turned red, this guy, dressed in a Panama hat, overalls, and the brightest colors you would ever see outside of Haight Ashbury, slowly marches to the front of the traffic, straightens his shoulders, and plays on his trumpet for the entire neighborhood to hear. Can you imagine a rock band symphony orchestra doing an impromptu in the middle of an intersection? This guy clearly doesn’t care how ridiculous he looks and he probably envisages dozens of pairs of rolling eyeballs behind the windshields. Yet, he is part of the show here, and that is all that matters.
I will write more about traffic and streets in another post, but this one is dedicated to the artists roaming - and performing - on the streets of their beloved city. These are people actually working for a living, scraping together a few bolivianos from whatever the La Paz traffic can bear.
In Kathmandu, by comparison, the sideshows were a little, shall we say, different? There would be the holy cows in the middle of the road, the two peg-legged beggar doing his balancing act in heavy traffic for the benefit of a few rupees, and the little kids selling colorful postcards of some of their beloved Hindi Gods. More than not, you kept your windows rolled down and kept your eyes on the road. That went double for the holy cows, since I have already described how costly it can be to strike a cow in Nepal. That concern was always there.
The first sideshow on La Paz’s roads has nothing to do with human beings. On my way in a taxi through Callacoto, the driver suddenly pulls on the brakes when we come across five lamas swiftly jogging down the road. They are well disciplined and intuitively run shoulder to shoulder, as if anybody separated from the herd would be easy game for predators. The entire width of these lamas spans no more than that of an economy sized car, and their herder with the stick behind them makes darn sure they go the right way.
Even so, lamas are rather rare in the city, so we can chalk that up to pure luck.
More attractive are the shows the artists put on whenever the lights turn red. You will see jugglers, acrobats, and artists stepping to the forefront and squeezing their little act into the little time they have until the light turns green again. The jugglers are impressive. Complete with the entire colorful clown garb, they will hurl balls, rings and clubs in the air, fully aware that they need to be extra perfect here. One erratic toss could land your little club under the tires of an oncoming car, which is not good. I haven’t seen it happen yet.
Even more astounding are the duos performing their juggling acts. This means more space is needed for their back and forths, which dictates nothing less than perfection.
The acrobats, on the other hand, need to pretty much walk (often on their hands) a straight line, which presents little trouble. Of course, the last thing you would want to see is a clown neatly towing the line between cars when suddenly some passenger has the overwhelming urge to leave the car and open the door, thus spilling the clown to the turf. Again, though I have never seen it happen, I’m sure it does.
Possibly the funniest sideshow I have seen so far happen in front of the Quetal market in the middle of Callacoto. When the light turned red, this guy, dressed in a Panama hat, overalls, and the brightest colors you would ever see outside of Haight Ashbury, slowly marches to the front of the traffic, straightens his shoulders, and plays on his trumpet for the entire neighborhood to hear. Can you imagine a rock band symphony orchestra doing an impromptu in the middle of an intersection? This guy clearly doesn’t care how ridiculous he looks and he probably envisages dozens of pairs of rolling eyeballs behind the windshields. Yet, he is part of the show here, and that is all that matters.
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