A Week with Chino: “Stay! Drink!”

We had pulled up outside Chino’s house to find that there was no one there. We decided we would go and get something to drink from the shop, and if there was no one there by the time we came back we would just head off anyway. By the time we returned, one of the guys from the ranch was outside Chino’s — no doubt the one who was going to be our escort. He told us to follow him, so we drove to the other side of town and he waved us into a parking spot by the river. Chino came out of the house opposite, totally unfazed by our complete change of plan. I’m not sure he ever planned to come that morning and now told us to leave the van and come inside to meet his friends. We let the cats out to run around, as it was far too hot to keep them inside, before going inside ourselves.

Here sat Chino and his family, with a few other friends seated along a long table. We were waved into seats and, before we could introduce ourselves, large plates of caiman were plonked in front of us. It was the equivalent of popcorn chicken, served with a powerful and very delicious garlic sauce. Having forced myself to eat a small bit of barbecued cow the other night, which I thought had been utterly disgusting, this was a pleasant change. It’s times like these you can’t really turn around and say you don’t eat meat. This family let us, complete strangers, into their home, fed us and gave us drinks, completely unquestioningly. How rude would you be to throw it back in their faces? Besides, I thought the caiman was quite tasty and reminded me more of eating a tuna steak, something I can deal with.

We sat with Chino, who liked nothing better than to work his way through a large can of beer and tell some awkward gay jokes. Things here are not quite so forward-thinking as we might be used to back home. We could at least get on board with the beer drinking, and so we spent the afternoon doing just that.

Naturally, we weren’t driving anywhere, and after spending a few hours with his friends we went back to his house. He invited us to park up in the garden, gave us a place to hook up our electric, and showed us a bathroom and shower we could use. He also offered us a room to sleep in if we preferred. We were not done drinking though, as he set up some chairs outside and was soon joined by more local friends, one of whom brought an enormous speaker. We sat and drank.

Conversation was impossible as the speaker — the same size as the chairs on which we sat — was turned up so loud it began to distort. After some of their music, we were invited to play ours, which went down pretty well along with more beer. The owner of the speaker, however, was not enjoying it — every time our songs came on he turned the volume down and looked resentful. I wasn’t unhappy with that anyway; at least we could then hold a conversation. Before long, his speaker monster ran out of battery, he disappeared with it, and the party mellowed out.

We had made no plans to stay here with Chino and his family, but they invited us to go with them to the river the following day. As ever, the grand plan wasn’t really what happened — but that was becoming familiar by now.

Things got off to a late start. Despite making plans to go to the river, it seemed like it was something of a surprise when we mentioned it the following day. He was more than obliging, but it was like the conversation had never happened and we had been the ones to suggest it. He was happy to go though, and we all set off in his car to save packing ours away. We reached the last small town down this road and parked up. From here, Chino told us there were lots of other small towns only accessible by river. Then he headed off into a nearby house to drink some more. We were passed beers too, and then told we should go with his wife, Dabeaba (Dabe), and look for dolphins in the river. We sat on the banks of the muddy waters and soon enough we did indeed see the dolphins.

Back at his friend’s house, Chino was still drinking. Other guys sat around the plastic outside table in different states of inebriation. The woman there, who I assumed was the lady of the house, was responsible for supplying a never-ending stream of beer. One guy was so drunk he had fallen asleep in his chair. His head fell forwards and he proceeded to dribble on the table, much to the amusement of everyone else. The other one was clearly the angry drunk. He wasn’t so happy with the gringos in his house, especially the girl who definitely wasn’t welcome to what looked like a “man afternoon”, and at one point, in an attempt to fix this, he threw his empty can of beer at my head. Luckily for me, he was totally wasted and it didn’t quite make it — though I’m sure the intent was there.

After we were done drinking with this next round of friends, we headed back to Chino’s in the dying light. They had been setting up for a party in the huge open shed in the garden. While there are rooms at three of the four corners, it’s a large sheltered area with a concrete floor and a huge table — perfect for parties. Apparently it was the first birthday of one of the children of the ranch workers and we were also invited in, even given party bags with the rest of the guests. While Dabe had been socialising with us, as soon as she was back in her house it was clearly her responsibility to do the food. She brought us snacks and drinks while Chino retrieved a guitar from somewhere and he and Lee began their own karaoke session.

They had put a huge amount of effort into the party: goody bags, a huge balloon arch, a sound system, cleaned and lined-up chairs, and a special stand for the cake and photos. They take their parties seriously. With all this you might think it would have been a late night, but I suppose because it was for a baby it was all over pretty quickly, and we were left with Chino serenading us before we headed to bed.

That night there was a huge thunderstorm that turned everything around us into a river and washed anything we had left on the floor outside the van out into the road. We had thought of leaving, but decided it would not be wise after so much rain. The dirt road in would be in a horrible state and we hoped that if we waited one more day the sun would come out and dry it all out. It had rained solidly all night and it didn’t stop in the morning either. We hid in our van in a downpour so strong that our Starlink dish completely stopped working.

We were not forgotten though. A knock on the window and we saw that two kids had been sent out to bring us breakfast in the rain. They balanced a plate of empanadas under a huge umbrella as they hopped around the river we were parked in, before completing their food delivery and heading back inside. At this point we decided that we would cook tonight. They had shown us so much kindness and generosity we wanted to repay it in whatever little way we could. Normally curry is our go-to dish, but there weren’t many ingredients for that here, so we decided to go with a traditional Sunday roast.

Once the rain stopped, we headed to the shop to buy everything, and also some booze. For three days straight Chino had waved away our attempts to buy in the next round. We thought we’d do it all: mashed potato, roast potatoes, honey-roast carrots, grilled broccoli, Yorkshire pudding, and veggie Quorn steaks. We wondered in particular how that last bit would go down. When we got back, we asked if we could use their kitchen to cook for them that evening.

We started early, as it takes a while. The sun was out now and the ground drying. Someone brought us two big buckets of water from the tank outside, as apparently the water in the town was off. Dabe frequently popped in to check if we needed anything — this was clearly a very new experience for her, having someone else cook in her kitchen. There were some very old-fashioned dynamics in this family. The woman cooked and cleaned; Chino sat at the table and had his food brought out to him, served, and then tidied away after. The boy of the family was fondly admired as he threw a temper tantrum on the floor. Chino remarked how strong his son was as he threw his bike across the room. The girl, however, was on a much tighter leash. I’m pretty sure no one had ever cooked dinner for Dabe before.

News of the foreigners cooking clearly spread. Soon Dorys, the owner of the ranch we had met previously, turned up. She was clearly staying for dinner too. We hoped we did everyone proud as we served up a huge roast and, I’ve got to say, the best Yorkshire pudding we’ve ever made. It seemed popular — even the fake meat, which I was slightly surprised by. We had all eaten when Dorys’ son arrived, and she delighted in tricking him with the fake meat.

That evening we saw how they made cheese and tried some of a previous batch. Dabe told me they have three of their own cows, so every day they make a huge piece of cheese from their milk. Her fridge was full of huge chunks, the rest sold at a market in town. I said I’d buy some before we left, and it was interesting to see the process — so simple I wanted to do it myself. The whey separated from the cheese is also used to make something called requesón. While the regular cheese is pressed in a mould overnight, requesón involves boiling out the water from the whey until you get a smooth, cream-cheese-like substance.

Lee was challenged to a game of chess by Dorys’ son, who stormed off in a huff when he lost, and then by Chino’s daughter who was about to play in a regional competition. We had a pleasant evening, drank all the wine we had bought and more, and enjoyed more of Dabe’s lovely homemade ice creams. We told them we’d be setting off in the morning, to which we were met with the usual response as Chino threw his hands in the air and exclaimed, “Stay! Drink!” for the millionth time. When it was clear that this time we were really going, he asked what breakfast we’d like Dabe to make. After those amazing homemade empanadas we’d had earlier that day, we asked for the same again. He looked at us sceptically, as he did with most of his wife’s food, as if surprised we actually enjoyed it. She looked pretty happy, however, with our enthusiasm.

As much as we probably could have stayed, the night was dry and the roads drier. After spending a week in Loreto it was time to move on. We exchanged numbers and ate our breakfast empanadas. We also left with a huge chunk of cheese that they refused to let us pay for. We were pretty short of fuel by this point, but they also contacted someone who sold it locally and he sold us a 20L jerry can in the garden for about £10 to get us safely back to Trinidad.

The road was still rutted and muddy from the previous day, but it was clear it had dried out a lot. I was glad we hadn’t tried earlier. We crossed a few very wet patches still without incident and made it back to the main road. It turned out it was lucky we had bought fuel earlier — the first station we tried was out, or just didn’t want to serve us. We drove on to the next. We must have made it there on fumes and I was very relieved when they agreed to serve us.

Now we started to look for a place to stop. There wasn’t much around and Lee found a lagoon that he thought might be good, even though it wasn’t marked on the app we normally use. We drove down towards it, passing another toll just before and then along a very lumpy little road, only to arrive at a padlocked gate. So much for that. We continued on a bit further and, just as it got dark, arrived in the small town of Cuatro Canadas, where we camped up at the local football field for the night. It had been a long day of driving after a week of being still, but it meant that tomorrow we’d arrive in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, the second biggest city in Bolivia.