I was lying in bed at 6 o’clock on Monday morning when it struck me how interesting the sounds of morning are and how powerfully they can define a place. In a dreamy haze I was transported back to my room in St Andrews and then realised that, here in Cochabamba, back in reality, there is a distinct lack of seagulls squawking outside my window every morning. Had I been awake at 6am in St Andrews (a rarity if ever there was one), my ears would have been bombarded by the obnoxious wails of those seaside dwellers. They drove me mad then, but I’ve come to miss them somewhat. Ah, the power of nostalgia…
But here, the sounds are different. I’ve swapped squawking seagulls for barking dogs, and quiet roads for honking horns. Maybe, it’s just the trade-off that everyone makes when they move from tranquil town to chaotic city.
This photo was taken at 6am on Monday. It’s the view I wake up to every morning and it sums up the start to my day. The mountains surrounding Cochabamba remind me of Scotland, especially when the clouds are heavy and grey. I’ve always loved the atmospheric weather of the Highlands, and I love that I can get my fix thousands and thousands of miles away!
In other news, Monday was also my first experience of a paro civico in Bolivia. All of the transport services went on strike and since my work is about 15km from where I live, we were told that there was no point trying to come in. So, there was no need for me to be up at 6am after all… but I got this picture so, all’s well that ends well. Swings and roundabouts. Further clichés, etc., etc.