The Bolivian

A couple of new foreign students showed up at Ako (Aloisiuskolleg) at the start of Untertertia (April 1966) - one was French and the other Bolivian.

Now - about the French in general: You have to admire their style - but if you're not into style the French are just plain exasperating... Like - did you know that their infantry wore bright red pants at the start of WWI? (Duh???) - then there are those incomprehensible movies - and they think Jerry Lewis is funny - and don't get me started on those unforgivably ugly Citroens... Plus the whole freaking country takes the month of August off!

OK - I'll admit that Sophie Marceau and baked brie almost make up for all of it (and there's that lovely statue in the New York harbor)... But my point is that the new French kid at Ako drove me up a wall so much that I've been on a (good natured) rant about the French ever since... But I digress :-)

The Bolivian kid was Victor Emilio Sanchez Maldonado (Emilio for short) - he was the son of a politician/diplomat stationed at their embassy in Bad Godesberg.
It's hard to put a finger on just what was so memorable about him. I guess it was a combination of things: He was interesting, charismatic, easy-going, likable, a master of martial arts, and (judging by the way women reacted to him) very good looking... Kind of like a 15 year old hispanic James Bond, but without the "license to kill". Yeah - he was definitely cool :-)

A bit of background: The 1960's were a time of major political unrest in Bolivia. No matter what side the politicians were on they always had enemies - danger was something they (and their families) had to live with. So, although parents usually weren't allowed on campus - especially not past the main building - they made an exception for Emilio's father. I remember him driving up to the Stella Rheni in a black Mercedes accompanied by large men in dark suits and sunglasses... And given that background it should come as no surprise that training in weapons and martial arts had always been part of Emilio's life...

Emilio was technically not supposed to carry weapons on campus. The request had been made and denied - but he always had a knife on him (and could throw it with deadly accuracy).
Then there was the "attack Emilio" game: Four of us would rush him and try and wrestle him to the ground. It was impossible. He shed us like water off a duck's back. After 10 minutes we'd be exhausted and he'd be standing there laughing :-)
His familiarity with weapons became a running joke - like: "Emilio - your first machine gun - was it before or after you started kindergarten??"

I had the good fortune to be at the same lunch table as Emilio - that was a definite bonus:
Each grade had it's own lunchroom . There were 6 to a table and each table got a fixed amount of food - there were no seconds... Unless you were at Emilio's table...
The Ako kitchen was staffed by young Spanish women (guest workers). He'd sneak down there and turn on the charm - and they'd give him whatever he asked for... It made the guys at the other tables really mad - mostly because they had all tried and failed :-)
BTW - the whole "limited amount of food" thing led to some really interesting interpersonal dynamics - that was when I started 'inhaling' my meals...

Then there was soccer... It was common knowledge back in the day that South Americans played 'rougher' than Europeans. And sure enough, when opposing players got too close to Emilio they tended to go down... The amazing thing was that you never saw the contact. I honestly don't know how he did it - it was like magic... So we had a talk with him - he agreed to tone it down a bit - at least during scrimmages :-)

On the official "visiting day" another cultural difference became apparent: Emilio's mother and grandmother waited on him hand and foot - it was like they were his servants... I guess I have no "official comment" on the matter - I was just taken aback by it...
BTW - that was the first time I got to play with "dry ice" - they brought it in to cool the drinks... It's fun (albeit dangerous) stuff :-)

I could tell lots more little stories, but the point is that Emilio was just one of those people you tend to remember...

I'll close this with my favorite "national stereotype" joke. It's only funny because it's true :-)

What's the difference between heaven and hell?
In heaven the chefs are French, the police are English and the engineers are German.
In hell the chefs are English, the police are German and the engineers are French.