Trufi Oofs: A Compilation

I stare out the window as the Bolivian man next to me subtly thrusts his elbow deeper into my side. He’s holding a large silver bowl filled with traditional sopa, and his son nestles close, solemnly looking at his feet. I turn my attention back to the window and smell something sweaty and spoiled. Just as I am about to claim “cultural differences” and skeptically eye the soup sloshing next to me, I sniff deeper and realize the smell is me. As we pass by a colorful women selling fresh-squeezed orange juice on the corner of the calle, I suddenly and vividly remember that I did in fact forget to put deodorant on my left armpit… But was it really my fault that Wicked’s ‘Dancing Through Life” called for my deodorant stick to be used as microphone during the final vocal arc? I scoot closer to the door and hope that the warm flavor of the sopa is strong enough to beat out my only-growing cloud of BO.

Riding the trufi (a glamorized compact taxi with a fixed route) is my favorite part of the day. The ride- a crazed speed race filled with should-have-been accidents and merely suggestive traffic laws- is a 30 minute collision of color. Splattered graffiti, tangled telephone wires and dozens of meticulous trenzas whizz past me as I stare out the window and get a deep, uneven sunburn on the right side of my body. While I am sure that many profound things have happened during my first two weeks in Cochabamba, Bolivia, I am going to instead share all of my awkward, totally MLIA moments on the trufi- because hey, even in South America, I walk with two left feet, a really unfortunate resting bitch face and the grace of a pig without legs.

Trufi Oof #1: The One Where I Almost Kill a Man

So I might be just a tad bit uptight. While Cochabamba culture might call for a deep tranquilidad, I still have my super-fast internal clock that winds faster and faster, even as I sit here, heart-racing while writing this blog post. I’m working on it.

A note about catching/exiting a trufi- there are no stops and successfully entering and exiting the car is a process only gifted to those who understand the unspoken trufi culture. I am not one of the gifted. My second day traveling to school, the trufi pulls over to the side of the road, ignoring the gaggle of school children standing in the way (I’m sure it’s fine), to let a man in the second row out. I am in the third row, and the woman to my left taps my shoulder and gestures that she too is going to exit. Okay, I take a deep breath and decide: I AM GOING TO BE A HERO. The people in this trufi are going to work, they need the ride to go fast, they are depending on me to let this man out quickly. Grace, charm and personality- I shall be their hero.

The man in the second row begins to exit, and in my classic, over-analytical fashion I begin to calculate the exact moment at which I should lift my leg to momentarily exit the vehicle and let the woman next to me out. But then the woman is already pushing into my side and I get nervous and I can’t think straight and oh my gosh I’m delaying everyone and they all probably hate me already and god do I even know Spanish? I hurriedly stick my leg out. My shoe sticks to the exiting man’s shoelace and he flings out the side door, falling face first toward the large fruit stand on the street…

He only just catches himself. I look at him shocked and then start to giggle uncontrollably. I realize that I really should be mustering an apology, but by the time I start to blubber out the lo to my siento the man is already on his way. The woman next to me pokes me again, harder. I barely make it out of the car and let her pass without a stumble. As soon as I place my first limb back into the trufi, we are on our way. 

Trufi Oof #2: The One Where I Close the Door

Another side note: I have been studying Spanish for nine years. But there is no way in hell that I ‘know’ Spanish. I may ‘know’ Spanish when a teacher speaks slowly with minimal vocabulary. I may have my answer to ¿Cómo estás? on lock (¿Bien, y tú). But Spanish in the real world? Um, I’m working on it.

I stand outside my apartment building waiting for my trufi to pass. I find my lucky route 131 and raise my hand to hail it to my corner. The trufis never really stop, but this one continues right on by me and stops at the corner across the street. I decide to give the driver the benefit of the doubt (I mean, I may have been waving my hand like a crazed blonde fumbling through a rendition of the YMCA). I run across the street and jump in, closing the door with an exuberant ¡Buen día!. The trufi doesn’t move. Instead of pushing on the gas, the driver reaches back and opens up my side door, mumbling a verse in Spanish. I assume he said something to the effect of: “You didn’t close the door all the way, tonta”. I give myself a mental high-five and slam the door shut. You rock at Spanish, I mentally congratulate myself.

I look to my left, and a woman is looking at me incredulously. She says to me, in a slow Spanish drawl: “No, the car broke down. We are supposed to be getting out.” Awk. In a last ditch effort to re-gain everyone’s approval, I announce: “Lol, estoy nueva.”

Nice, Aly. We all tumble out of the car (It seems I didn’t make any new friends this trufi ride), and I stand on the corner to await a new trufi. As I’m waiting, I look down the street and see the “broken” trufi pick up five new passengers. It's fine.

Which brings me to “Trufi Oof #3: The One Where I Hope the Soup is Smelly Enough”. I’m sure for the average Bolivian (and the other Americans here in Cochabamba with me), a trufi ride is just a way to get from point A to point B. However, even through my myriad awkward mishaps (and I am sure there are only more to come), I still love my 30 minute slices of adventure. Today, in a stunning victory, I had a successful, mishap-less trufi ride. The older man next to me started up a conversation, and for those few minutes, I understood every word of his Spanish. He ended the conversation by asking: Is your life comfortable? Not great or superb or even amazing, just comfortable. I realized that life is really just a big oscillation between ‘profoundly comfortable’ and ‘profoundly uncomfortable’. I might not make it from Point A to Point B in one, linear swoop, but hey, everyday I am trying to take on the little curves and hard turns in comfort. And you know what, that’s enough for now.