San Matias

I have been travelling outside of the Americas for the past six years and I am very fortunate to have visited countries such as Korea, Japan, Australia and New Zealand.
I have discovered new worlds beyond the brown waters of the Paraguay River and the dusty streets of Caceres.

Verandas, windows
Bicycles, people, heat and rain,
Fill the tranquil town.

It was a warm summer in the year 2001; I had almost no work apart from my Saturday Spanish lessons at a university preparation school. I enjoyed the early morning fishing trips I did with my grandfather; we travelled daily before dawn on a 15hp aluminium boat.

No clouds in the sky
Stars and faint moon shine the way
Birds and monkeys sing

That morning was different, I was sent on a short one-day journey that would change my attitude towards people forever. I had grown in an atmosphere of distrust, always thinking that there is something hidden behind every individual action.

I took the Transjao bus that lives daily to San Matias, 90 kilometres west of Caceres. I still remember when the bus could cross the Bolivia-Brazil border without any problems, but the bureaucrats have since then decided that that was an international trip and a number of taxes needed to be paid, making the cost of the trip unattainable to most. As a consequence the bus now only goes as far as the line that divides the two nations.

As soon as you cross the dividing line you can feel the differences in development between the two countries. The asphalted road goes until an army base in Brazil where officials check peoples’ ID and their yellow fever vaccine certificate. I have lost count of how many times I have received the vaccine since I often lost my certificate, but that morning I was prepared and had my A6 booklet in hand.

Two very old obelisks
One representing Bolivia
One representing Brazil

At the Bolivian side white Toyota Corollas await the Transjao passengers. The cars are quickly filled with people and it will take us 20 minutes to reach our destination.

Our small convoy
Hides the Beautiful scenery
With clouds of dust.

The only reason for this trip was to send a parcel to my parents in Santa Cruz and this may seem a lot of trouble instead of just using the mail. But if I use the Brazilian Post it would take too long to reach my parents’ home. But if I dispatched it from a Bus service in San Matias my father will pick it up the next morning.

The small incident that impressed me that day was after I arrived into the centre of town, an old humble looking Bolivian pushing his bicycle approached me. He must have thought I was very tired from carrying this heavy box along the street. He asked me where I was going and offered me his bicycle, “that way it will be easy for you to carry that box,” he said. Now in a country where people are deceived on a daily basis and with extremely high criminality rates, the old man offered me perhaps his only means of transport, and if he lost it would take a very long time for him to afford a new one, this gesture to me seemed extraordinary. He gave me his name and address and told me to bring back his bike after I finished.

A forgotten city
At the edge of an abyss
A bridge of hope appears.

Jose was the old man’s name; he made mocochinchis and salteñas [1] which he sold outside his house. We had a drink and a small chat; it was already time for me to return.

I lived at my parents’ house in Santa Cruz, Bolivia and every summer I stayed at my grandparents’ home in Caceres, Brazil. I always had to pass by San Matias, a town that I always disliked. But after that incident I gained fondness towards the town and my attitude towards people will always be different.

Trust and give
Behind every action there is meaning
No matter the outcome

[1] Mocochinchi is a traditional Bolivian drink made of Plum. The drink is served in a glass with a dry plum inside. Salteña is a pastry filled with potatoes, green peas and chicken baked in a clay oven.

Santa Cruz, Bolivia

Paraguay River
Salteña
Mocochinchi