Bolivia is a raw country. In any sense of the word. It is one thing to travel here as a tourist. And it is quite another thing to live the country first-hand, from the everyday life perspective. Because this country has enchanted my younger brother, I get an opportunity to live the second option at his place in Cochabamba in the beginning of 2016. First time in South America … first cup of coca and first chewing of it … first time over five thousand meters of altitude … first cup of chicha and first meal with the guinea pig … first time to practice my long forgotten two semesters of Spanish … first time to see dinosaur tracks and first time to hike through an endless desert … first time this, first time that. South America is colorful … coca tea gives the right amount of strength and its chewing does even more … even beyond five thousands meters and thin air I don’t feel like fainting, which is a disappointment (I was told it is because I have high red blood cells count) … chicha is a good thing, especially the homemade one and the same goes for the guinea pig … I ended up quite well with the Spanish, although it took some time … dinosaur tracks reminded me of my old passion for natural history and hiking in endless Atacama reminded me of one of my old dreams. Experiences coming one after another, like beads on rosaries that old ladies are quietly reciting in local churches. I meet good people, I meet people who I would not wish to meet anymore. Same as everywhere. And as everywhere, there is much more of those first ones. And that is good. Because … what would a marvelous country with lush jungles, austere plateaus and condors flying through spotless blue sky be worth of without people who you would gladly remember?