Little Bolivia...

Once a year our neighborhood turns into, what some may call, Little Bolivia.  The Clarendon Day's Parade (which Tim thinks of as a little slice of heaven) graced us this past weekend.  Basically, it's a parade that features one group of Caporales dancers after another, adorned in the traditional costumes from each region, dancing the streets of Clarendon- intermittently interrupted by a political segment- and then back to the dancing.  Men, women, children... and this year I could see in Tim's eyes, his dream of our family joining in one day.  I'll be honest, at times it looks quite attractive, but then I remember that I am severely uncoordinated and that they probably wouldn't even take me if I tried.  Tim and Laila, on the other hand, may just have a shot.

To keep the Bolivian theme alive, we went to Victor's Bolivian Restaurant last night.  We went (in my opinion) to:  98%- visit with Arturo and Victor Hugo, two of Tim's friends from his mission in Bolivia, and 2%- eat.  I do love that a piece of Tim's heart (a fairly large piece) is in Bolivia, and that the food brings back memories of the good old days.  That said, the food is not so good.  We have gone out for Bolivian food a few times now, and I really feel like I went in each time with an open mind.  The first time we went Tim talked it up to be pretty darn delicious, and then after the meal was compelled to admit that there was a strong possibility that it was an acquired taste and more nostalgic  for him than anything.  Last night, again with a big wide open mind, I ordered from the menu a delicious chicken entree.  As we were driving home I mentioned to Tim that the food this time was pretty good, thinking this would give him hope for future Bolivian food outings.  He told me that what I ate was actually an Argentine dish, thus shooting himself in the foot.