Culture

Other Libraries / Bibliotecas Ajenas

by Cayre Alfaro Fonseca

Cayre Alfaro Fonseca, editor of the independent Peruvian publisher ‘Personaje Secundario’, has been running the bookstore ‘Espacio Secundario’ since the end of last year. Before thinking about opening a bookstore, he imagined a questionnaire about books he’d like to have from libraries he’s visited. “Other Libraries” talks about three books he wishes he had, as well as the impossibility of arranging a bookshelf, of fixing a library.

Author Cayre Alfaro Fonseca

Other Libraries

An Argentinian bookshop has a questionnaire that asks writers how they arrange their personal library. It also asks for a picture of it. “I don’t send a photo of my library because I think it looks like all the others”, replies Santiago Venturini, who prefers sending a photo of the light he’d mentioned in a previous question about the most beautiful colour he’d ever seen.

 

Every library has its own order. And its own disorder, too. I think of the photos of libraries I’ve seen: overflowed, excessive, inhospitable. I believe in those photos. Bookshelves organised like a military parade, ideal for Zoom backgrounds or backcover pictures, are a fiction. There’s real photos of publishing offices, journalistic studios or admired writers’ libraries which justify their own chaos. In fact, I have yet to order my own library after returning from a trip with a couple of suitcases full of books. There’s no way to order a library without disordering it. Or giving it a new order, in any case.

 

A Mexican bookshop, for its part, records writers’ libraries. I remember a writer who, intending to take excessive care of his image, would turn his books so that, instead of their spines, one could only see paper sheets. That way, he prevented anyone who’d visit his library from learning his tastes and influences — and also from them asking to borrow any books. In any case, in the Mexican bookshop’s videos, writers stop at certain books, be it for antiquity, affection, or both.

 

Most libraries are impossible to photograph, or to record, especially if they’re our own. There’s no distance with one’s own library. We usually value our friends’ libraries, and get surprised when they get excited over our books — rarities that we normalise and treat as if they’d always been there. In other libraries, on the contrary, we search for titles that we don’t have, in order to desire them, to make a mental list of books that we don’t but should own, in order to flirt with the idea of borrowing them, without, of course, intending to give them back. If I had a bookshop, I’d make a questionnaire asking readers which of their friends’ books they’d steal — or borrow without intending to give back. Because I don’t have a bookshop, I play the game and think of three books I’d choose from libraries that I’ve seen, that I’ve visited.

 

Before moving to the United States, my friend Ivana invited me to her house to select the books I wanted from her library. The only one that was out of bounds was a hand-made edition, rubber-bound with a coloured bond paper jacket. I was struck by how scholarly the edition was. I tell her this. The term scholarly is not derogatory, but true. It was a book her younger sister made for her as primary school homework. I don’t remember the title, but I do remember the cover had the word “sister” written on it. It was a manual for enduring having an older sister, for coping with being the younger sister. Against her sister, but in support of sisterhood. It was both a cute and cruel book at the same time: children’s literature in its pure state. That’s the familiarity I’m interested in: the conflict of coexistence, the tragicomedy of transiting other lives, and having others transit our own life.

 

On the birthday of my friend Ramos’s father, who is also called Ramos, but isn’t my friend, I stay to one side of the party talking with him all night, as if we were friends. After midnight, his wife approaches us and says, more as an affirmation than a question: You’ve become friends. No, he replies, and she, perhaps to break the tension of a denied friendship, asks him whether he’d told me the Borges anecdote. No, I reply this time. And the story begins, with a certain familiarity that becomes confusing. Apparently his father, my friend’s grandfather, who, of course, is also called, or, in this case, was also called Ramos, worked as a secretary in the Universidad de Buenos Aires. Amongst other tasks, he was in charge of the academic timetables when Borges gave classes at the UBA. In gratitude for giving him the best schedules, Borges gave him books at the start of each term, which he read during the year, and, at the end of the course, asked Borges to sign. Of all of those books, two arrived to Lima — my friend’s father brought them from Argentina to show them to his son, to tell him about his grandfather, about his job, about his books. After the conversation, after that emotional moment that my friend had in fact already told me about — right before asking me for a Borges book of short stories which he never gave back — both books were abandoned on some shelf of the Ramos family library. More abandoned than what they’d imagined, apparently, because every so often, when they looked for them to show them to a reader friend, they couldn’t find them. Until Ramos father’s second wedding, when Ramos son’s cousin gave both books signed for Ramos grandpa as a wedding present. The surprise was moving — which did not mean, however, that that family member was allowed back into the family library. The story ends, the party continues and the possibility of friendship remains in the drinks, in the stories, in the books to come, to be lent, to be returned.

 

My best friend spent months writing countless versions of a book for his girlfriend. The anniversary present he dreamed of giving to her. He organised a trip to give it to her on the date when everything begun. But the book didn’t make it out of print on time. So, he had to give her the printed mock-ups with marks and corrections. That’s the book that I’d like to receive, that I’d like to read, that I’d like to have in my library. A book made against time, unfinished, imperfect. An accident. After returning from the trip, my friend gave her the official version. Because of the delay, the print shop should have given him a few more copies. But they didn’t, so my friend had to look for another place to print more books. A few months later, he published a version for the public: hundreds of copies that do not compare to that unique object resting in another library. In the end, the relationship ended, but the book survived, survives on anonymous bookshelves that they don’t know of, that they ignore. Perhaps that’s what we do when we write, when we edit, when we read: we build other libraries.

Translation by Patricio Ghezzi Novak

 

BIBLIOTECAS AJENAS

Una librería argentina tiene un cuestionario donde preguntan a escritores cómo ordenan su biblioteca. También piden mandar una imagen del lugar. “No envío una foto de mi biblioteca porque creo que se parece a todas las demás”, responde Santiago Venturini, quien prefiere mandar la luz que había mencionado en una pregunta anterior, referida al color más hermoso que vio en su vida.



Hay un orden propio en cada biblioteca. Y también un desorden. Pienso en las fotos de bibliotecas que he visto: desbordadas, excesivas, inhabitables. Creo en esas fotos. Los libreros ordenados como desfile militar, ideales para tener en el fondo de Zoom o en la foto de solapa, son una ficción. Hay fotos reales de oficinas editoriales, de estudios periodísticos o de bibliotecas de escritores admirados que justifican el caos propio. Tengo pendiente, de hecho, ordenar mi biblioteca, luego de volver de viaje con un par de maletas llenas de libros. No hay manera de ordenar una biblioteca sin desordenarla. Darle un nuevo orden, en todo caso.



Una librería mexicana, por su parte, graba libreros de escritores. Recuerdo un escritor que pretendía cuidar demasiado su imagen y volteaba los libros para que, en lugar del lomo, se vean las hojas de papel. De esa manera, evitaba que los eventuales visitantes a su biblioteca supieran sus influencias, sus gustos. Y de paso que le pidieran libros prestados. En todo caso, en los videos de la librería mexicana, los escritores se detienen en ciertos libros, ya sea por antigüedad o por cariño o por ambos.



La mayoría de las bibliotecas son imposibles de fotografiar o de grabar, sobre todo si es nuestra. No hay distancia con la biblioteca propia. Solemos valorar las bibliotecas de nuestros amigos y sorprendernos cuando ellos se emocionan al ver los libros que tenemos, rarezas que normalizamos y damos por sentadas, como si siempre hubieran estado allí. En las bibliotecas ajenas, en cambio, buscamos títulos que no tenemos para desearlos, para hacer una lista mental de ejemplares que nos faltan, que deberíamos tener, para tantear que nos los presten sin ninguna intención de devolverlos. Si tuviera una librería, haría un cuestionario para preguntarle a los lectores qué libros robarían —o pedirían prestados para no devolver—. Como no la tengo, hago el ejercicio y pienso en tres libros que escogería de los libreros que he visto, que he visitado.



Mi amiga Ivana, antes de mudarse a vivir a Estados Unidos, me invitó a su casa para que seleccione los libros que quería de su biblioteca. El único que no estaba en oferta era una edición artesanal, encuadernada con goma y con una sobrecubierta de papel bond a color. Me llamó la atención lo escolar de la edición. Se lo digo. El término escolar no resulta despectivo, sino cierto. Fue un libro que su hermana menor le hizo para una tarea de primaria. No recuerdo el título, pero sí que llevaba la palabra “hermana” en la tapa. Era un manual para soportar tener una hermana mayor, para sobrellevar ser una hermana menor. En contra de su hermana, pero a favor de la hermandad. Era un libro tierno y cruel al mismo tiempo: literatura infantil en estado puro. Esa es la familiaridad que me interesa: el conflicto de la convivencia, la tragicomedia de transitar la vida del resto y que el resto transite nuestra vida.



En el cumpleaños del padre de mi amigo Ramos, que también se apellida Ramos, pero no es mi amigo, me quedó con él, a un lado de la fiesta, hablando toda la noche como si fuéramos amigos. Pasada la medianoche, su esposa se acerca a nosotros y dice, afirmando más que preguntando: Ya se hicieron amigos. No, responde él, y ella, acaso para romper la tensión de una amistad negada, le pregunta si ya me contó la anécdota de Borges. No, me toca responder a mí, esta vez. Y la historia comienza, con cierta familiaridad que se torna confusa. Resulta que su padre, el abuelo de mi amigo Ramos, que, cómo no, también se apellida o, en este caso, se apellidaba Ramos, trabajó como secretario en la Universidad de Buenos Aires. Entre otras labores, era el encargado de ver los horarios académicos, cuando Borges dictaba clases en la UBA. En agradecimiento por darle los mejores horarios, Borges le regalaba libros al inicio de cada ciclo, que él leía en el transcurso del cuatrimestre y, al terminar el curso, le pedía que firme. De todos esos libros, dos llegaron a Lima, traídos desde Argentina por el padre de mi amigo para mostrárselos a su hijo, para hablarle de su abuelo, de su oficio, de sus libros. Luego de la conversación, de ese momento emotivo del que mi amigo sí me había hablado —antes de pedirme prestado un libro de cuentos de Borges que nunca me devolvió—, ambos libros terminaron olvidados en un estante de la biblioteca familiar. Más olvidados de lo que pensaron, al parecer, porque, cada tanto, cuando lo buscaban para mostrárselo a algún amigo lector, no los encontraban. Hasta el segundo matrimonio de Ramos padre, cuando el primo de Ramos hijo dio los libros firmados para Ramos abuelo como regalos de bodas. La sorpresa fue conmovedora. Lo que no evitó, sin embargo, que ese familiar no vuelva a entrar a su biblioteca. La historia termina, la fiesta sigue y la posibilidad de ser amigos se mantiene en los tragos, en las historias, en los libros por venir, por ser prestados, por ser devueltos.



Mi mejor amigo pasó meses escribiendo incontables versiones de un libro dedicado a su novia. El regalo de aniversario que soñaba darle. Organizó un viaje para entregárselo en la fecha donde inició todo. Pero el libro no salió de imprenta a tiempo. Entonces, le tuvo que regalar las pruebas de impresión con las marcas y correcciones apuntadas. Ese es el libro que quisiera recibir, que quisiera leer, que quisiera tener en mi biblioteca. Un libro hecho contra el tiempo, inacabado, imperfecto. Un accidente. Luego, al regresar de viaje, mi amigo le regaló la versión oficial, salida de la imprenta que, por el retraso, le debió dar al menos un par de ejemplares más. Pero no, mi amigo tuvo que cambiar de lugar para hacer más libros. A los meses, sacó una edición abierta al público, cientos de ejemplares que no se comparan a ese objeto único que descansa en una biblioteca ajena. Al final, la relación terminó, pero el libro sobrevivió, sobrevive en estantes anónimos, que ellos desconocen, ignoran. Acaso eso hacemos al escribir, al editar, al leer: construimos bibliotecas ajenas.

 

Cayre Alfaro Fonseca (Lima, 1997) studied Hispanic Literature at Pontifica Universidad Católica del Perú, where he currently teaches, and is taking the Art History and Curatorship masters degree. He has published the books of poems _Hay un animal entre nosotros_ (2019) and _Quince minutos de receso_ (2022), amongst others. He has also written for theatre, stories and essays. This year, _Historia personal del baño_, his book that parodies autofiction novels, will be released. He currently runs the independent publisher ‘Personaje Secundario’ and the bookstore ‘Espacio Secundario’.

Salsa: A Story of Migration

Salsa: A Story of Migration

Songs from Willie Colón’s El Gran Varón (1989) to Bad Bunny’s NUEVAYoL (2025) have played a significant role in the lives of many Latinos. They are a representation of a diverse history and culture. These songs, backed up by trumpets and timbales, manage to transgress differences in generations and nationalities, which is often a difficult task.

‘Con Altura’: La Paz, Bolivia - The Hidden Gem of the Andes

Source: The Guardian

Source: The Guardian

By: Carla Suarez

DISCLAIMER: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the KCL Latin American Society or El Cortao

La Paz, Bolivia, located at 3600m above sea level, is the highest capital city in the world and the hidden jewel of the Andes. Its imposing beauty will take your breath away (and so will the altitude!). After taking a combination of miraculous sorojchi pills and mate de coca to cure altitude sickness, any visitor to La Paz is set to start exploring the city. 

Calle Jaen, at the heart of the Casco Viejo. Source: Viator

Calle Jaen, at the heart of the Casco Viejo. Source: Viator

Surrounded by the mystic Andean mountains of the Bolivian Altiplano, La Paz is a unique town that expands all over a bowl-shaped canyon, with variations in altitude and climate all around the city. The city centre, with its idiosyncratic mix of old colonial buildings and modern skyscrapers is the ideal place to get lost in an urban adventure. The never-ending competition of minibuses and trufis with the city-run buses known as puma kataris, could have you stuck in traffic for hours, so walking is definitely the best way to discover downtown La Paz. As you walk around the city, you will see different unique characters that are iconic to the city, such as the famous cholitas, street vendors and zebras. Yes, zebras. Citizens disguised as zebras are part of an urban education campaign created by the Alcaldía de La Paz to promote the use of crosswalks and have become an icon of the city ever since. The streets of La Paz are a marketplace of their own with a diverse range of products being sold by street vendors thanks to whom you will be able to find any Bolivian snack within a mile of anywhere you go, from the essential marraquetas (a smaller and typically Bolivian version of baguettes) to fresh pressed juices. Street food classics include the glorious salteña, the famous sandwich de chola (featured on Netflix’s Street Food Latin America) and the essential api con pastel.  

A casera of the Mercado de las Brujas in the Calle Sagarnaga. Source: Alone Dusty Roads

A casera of the Mercado de las Brujas in the Calle Sagarnaga. Source: Alone Dusty Roads

Downtown La Paz is composed of the Casco Viejo, San Pedro, San Jorge, Miraflores and Sopocachi. El Casco Viejo is where you will find the oldest colonial buildings, as well as La Plaza Murillo and ‘el Palacio Quemado’, the seat of government and the Congress. The famous Calle Jaen is the best-preserved colonial alley with colourful houses and museums. The Calle de las Brujas and Calle Sagarnaga, sitting behind the San Francisco Cathedral are also well-known tourist destinations where you will discover the Andean paraphernalia that tourists rave about. Sitting close by the ‘Witches Market’, the San Pedro jail is known for its infamous in-house cocaine lab and tourist tours. El Casco Viejo is the perfect place to try out the best of Bolivian cuisine with fine dining restaurants such as Popular and Ali Pacha offering a modern and high-end take on Bolivian staple dishes. For some of the best coffee, one of Bolivia’s premium products, you can head to Antigua Miami or HB Bronze and sip on a flat white accompanied by a dulce de leche alfajor. In San Jorge, the Cinemateca Boliviana hosts film screenings every day, displaying the best works of Bolivian cinema such as the movies of filmmaker Jorge Sanjinés. Miraflores hosts the highest football stadium in the world, the ‘Estadio Hernando Siles’ which is known for the unnecessary controversy that surrounds it in international football due to FIFA legislation against football matches at altitude. Sopocachi is the most bohemian and nostalgic neighbourhood in La Paz. Its 20th century architecture, vintage cars and cultural spaces have turned it into a vibrant and trendy cultural hub filled with up-and-coming restaurants and cafés such as Ahijada, Manq’a and Typica. 

Popular, one of the finest fusion cuisine restaurants in La Paz. Source: The Culture Trip / Popular Cocina Boliviana

Popular, one of the finest fusion cuisine restaurants in La Paz. Source: The Culture Trip / Popular Cocina Boliviana

Exploring La Paz in the Teleférico cable car allows you to explore the city from North to South within an hour while enjoying the breathtaking views. Jump into a cabin at one of the many stations and take a ride across the paceño sky. In the highest parts of the city, reachable through the Teleférico red line, you can find the colourful barrio of Chualluma, a revitalised commune with murals depicting the greatest cultural emblems of Bolivia. If you take a ride on the yellow and green lines you can reach the Zona Sur. Known for its warmer weather, it is primarily a residential area, however it is also home to some of the coolest restaurants and bars of the city such as Gustu, Phayawi, Tinto and Imilla Alzada. The Zona Sur is worth visiting for natural wonders such as the Valle de la Luna and the Valle de Las Ánimas. These valleys feature unique and spectacular rock formations, similar to the surface of the Moon, with some claiming that legendary astronaut Neil Armstrong once visited the Valle de la Luna and made the famous comparison. The Muela del Diablo, a tooth shaped mountain crowning the city’s landscape, is ideal to go on a hike which will culminate with some of the best views of La Paz. 

Valle de la Luna. Source: The Culture Trip

Valle de la Luna. Source: The Culture Trip

As you stroll around La Paz, you will notice the snow-capped Mount Illimani, the highest peak of the Cordillera Real, is always rising in the horizon. Its imposing and majestic figure melts into a natural embrace with the city laying underneath. When the sun sets, the mountains engage in a magical dance with the sky at dusk before it turns into the night, when the shining lights of the city transform into a veil of stars that elegantly covers La Paz. If you wish to enjoy your stay to the fullest, head to el Parque del Montículo to catch the best views La Paz can offer. 

The view from El Monticulo in Sopocachi: the Illimani and La Muela del Diablo crowing in the landscape. Source: Author credits

The view from El Monticulo in Sopocachi: the Illimani and La Muela del Diablo crowing in the landscape. Source: Author credits

The surroundings of La Paz are also worth visiting. The mountains of the Altiplano and the tropical forest of the Yungas are stars of their own, found right outside of the metropolitan area of La Paz. North of La Paz, along the border with Peru, Lake Titicaca is a must for visitors. Tiwanaku and the Puerta del Sol, a monumental site of the Inca empire, is located close to Lake Titicaca. It only takes a two-hour drive to reach Copacabana, where you can visit the 16th century Basílica de Copacabana, home to an impressive colonial shrine made of gold from Potosi. Once in Copacabana, you can take a boat ride to reach the Isla del Sol where lies the birthplace of the first Incas, la Roca Sagrada, a sacred place in Aymara cosmovision. Trekking is another great activity to explore La Paz and its surroundings. The Tuni Condoriri mountain is a popular trekking route that leads to the mind-blowing sights of the Chiar Khota Lagoon. For the most adventurous kind, the Huayna Potosi mountain is ideal for mountain climbing. On the tropical end of the spectrum, Coroico is the ideal place to retreat. Located in the coffee region of Yungas, the town is mostly known for its Afro-Bolivian community, who have made substantial contributions to Bolivian culture, music and folklore.

Laguna Chiar Khota in Tuni Condoriri, Cordillera Real. Source: LatinX

Laguna Chiar Khota in Tuni Condoriri, Cordillera Real. Source: LatinX

Bolivia is home to surreal sites and natural wonders such as the Salar de Uyuni, the Desierto de Dalí and the Laguna Colorada in the Andes region. The Amazon forest hosts an incredible array of biodiversity in the Eastern lowlands of Bolivia. Cities such as Cochabamba, Santa Cruz and Sucre are also worth visiting for their colonial architecture, gastronomy and sights. Every year in February, the town of Oruro attracts visitors from all over the country as well as the world as it hosts the quintessential Carnaval de Oruro, a UNESCO World Heritage Masterpiece. Tarija, located in the southern valleys neighbouring Argentina, is known for its wine cellars and high-quality vino de altura. Bolivia is an adventure worth taking. 

Bolivia’s Iconic Salar de Uyuni served as a filming location for Star Wars: The Last Jedi. Source: Uyuni Salt Flat

Bolivia’s Iconic Salar de Uyuni served as a filming location for Star Wars: The Last Jedi. Source: Uyuni Salt Flat

There is something about La Paz that is truly magnetic. La Paz is an eclectic city you will never forget and that will always bring a smile to your face when reminiscing about it. The cosmopolitan spirit of La Paz reflects on its urban culture and its up-and-coming culinary scene. Its majestic and imposing landscapes of mystic Andean mountains and clear blue skies are one of a kind. La Paz is a city like no other: the crown jewel of the Andes.

Carla is a Final-Year Student at King’s College London with a great interest in political economy, international relations and philosophy. Having spent most of her life moving between her homeland Bolivia, and her second homes, Chile, Colombia, Belgium and the United Kingdom, she developed a strong interest in Latin American cultural identity, political affairs and environmental issues and the portrayal of these topics in film and global media.