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Agosto 06, 2005
6 De Agosto
Having spent numerous Bolivian Independence Days in Bolivia (mainly because it falls during the North American summer vacation), I have many memories of August 6th. When I was a kid, my grandmother’s apartment was situated right on El Prado, Cochabamba’s main promenade. Tradition calls for all of the area school kids, police, civic organizations, teachers, etc. to process out of obligation to the sound of a brass band and booming drums.
Unfortunately, these parades begin rather early so that families have the rest of the day to enjoy the holiday. Hiding under your covers or a pillow is of no help. No matter where you go in the apartment one cannot escape the bass drum’s wrath, which seems to be amplified during those precious asleep/half-awake states. The bedroom window faced the noble statue of Simon Bolivar, located at the center of El Prado, where admirers would place commemorative wreaths at the base.
As I grew older, I would end up spending time in Villa Tunari for the Annual Feria del Pescado in the Chapare. My cousins, friends and I would catch a bus on Avenida Oquendo or hitch a ride on the back of a camioneta for the the three hour ascent and descent into the Bolivian tropical forest. It seemed as if all of Cochabamba would be present for that holiday weekend, which included a giant open air fish festival featuring 4-5 different types of fish including surubí, pacú, sabalo, and pejerrey. (Don’t ask me for the English translations, because I don’t know). My goal was always to find the perfect dish, making my rounds observing cooking techniques of the 30+ vendors and trying to hope that my selection would pay off. Others had the same idea, standing at the foot of the grill “reserving” specific pieces of fish, until it was ready. When you walk up, you have to ask whether a fish had been “claimed”.
After three consecutive years of attending this Feria, I had it down to an exact science. I would get three different fish meals per day (yes, pescado is my favorite food). Once at lunch around noon, another around 5 pm and then as the night is winding down you go back around 1 am to find vendors who want to sell their remaining fish at a reduced price.
Even though the selection is hard to beat, nothing could top what was made next door at my cousin’s cabin. The connections he has are just a phone call away. Fish plucked straight from the river that morning, we drive 1.5 hours to Puerto San Francisco, where a giant sábalo is awaiting us. The fish that weighs around 35 lbs will be that night’s dinner. Cooked over a grill between banana tree leaves, this fish is the best meal I have eaten in my entire life. Some say one shows appreciation for a meal by visibly enjoying your food. After the others have been served, we would stand around the grill finishing off the remaining grilled fish in silence, because one cannot eat while talking.
If I were in Bolivia today, undoubtedly I would have lucked out and missed the marching band, and be planning my fish feast.
Posted by eduardo at Agosto 6, 2005 11:33 AM
Comments
As usual Eduardo, you make me hungry. You make me think of the Truchas (Trout) in Huatajata (on the way to Titicaca lake).
These fish are farmed there, fished fresh, cooked and served for the day. The last Trucha I ate was a big filet, Alaska Salmon pink, juicie grilled and served with potatoes and some vegies.
Ah, what a delight.
Posted by: Miguel at Agosto 7, 2005 08:51 AM