6 de Agosto!

Sometimes you forget certain Bolivian holidays when you are wrapped up in your daily life in the United States. Today is independence day (August 6th), yet it is just another workday for the tens of thousands of Bolivians living in Northern Virginia. However, today lets me reflect on this very special day because of all the good times I have had on this day.This year marks the first time since 2000, that I will not be in Bolivia. For four straight years, we made the two and a half hour trip to Villa Tunari for the annual Feria del Pescado (Fish Festival). This two-day long festival featuring bands from the entire country, including los Kjarkas, Yalo Cuellar and other cover bands, that play until the wee hours of the morning, is visited by about a thousand primarily, Cochabambinos. However, the main attraction is the fifty or so fish vendors. With so many different kinds of fish from the freshwater rivers in the Tropics of Cochabamba, fish lovers (like me) are in heaven. Surubi, Pacu, and Sabalo are some of the varieties of fish that are featured.

Yet, I am a bit spoiled. The vendors cannot compete with the cooking by a cousin of mine. As an amateur chef, my cousin makes the two hour drive to Puerto San Francisco to pick-up our ordered 30 lb. Sabalo. His connections in this sleepy riverport village have the fish waiting for us after a early morning catch. This old friend doesn't employ the tactics often used by fishermen in this area. Dynamite is often planted within the riverbed, then lit, and the explosion knocks dozens of fish onto the bank, where they are just scooped up.

Returning from our pick-up (and a stop to eat fish, of course), the charcoal grill is waiting. Yet the cooking time is slow. Placed between two banana plant leaves, the fish takes time to arrive at the desired state, where it will eventually melt in your mouth. My impatience forces me to walk around Villa Tunari, head down to the river, or just take a nap.

The best part of the meal is eating right of the grill. By now, I am famous within my family as the resident fish lover. In Bolivia, people aren’t pleased when you say you like the food. They prefer to see you eat, and eat a lot of their food.

My mouth’s watering right now as I type this. Well, there’s always next year.