Bolivia is a rough country. It is one thing to travel here as a tourist. And it is quite another to experience the country first hand, from the perspective of everyday life. Because this country has enchanted my younger brother, I have the opportunity to live the second option with him in Cochabamba in early 2016. First time in South America … first cup of coca and first chewing it … first time over five thousand meters … first cup of chicha and first meal of the guinea pig … first time to practice my long unused 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 chewing it does even more … even beyond five thousand meters in thin air I don’t feel like fainting, which is a bit of a disappointment (I’ve been told it’s because I have a high red blood cell count) … chicha is a good thing, especially the homemade one, and the same goes for the guinea pig … I got along quite well with the Spanish, although it took some time … dinosaur tracks reminded me of my old passion for natural history, and hiking in the endless Atacama reminded me of one of my old dreams. Experiences come one after the other, like beads on rosaries that old ladies quietly recite in local churches. I meet good people, I meet people I do not want to meet again. Like everywhere. And like everywhere, there are a lot more of the first ones. And that is good. Because … what would a wonderful country with lush jungles, barren plateaus and condors flying through the clear blue sky be worth without people you would like to remember?