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There aren’t many corrugated metal, yellow and red painted façade bodegas left across the City. That classic look of the storefront bodega is often emblazoned with one single word: “Grocery.” They are often decorated by a simple row of light bulbs, and sometimes a banner on the awning. In El Alto, some of these bodegas remain, rusted metal exteriors and all, a little shabby on the outside, but still as varied and vibrant on the inside. In some cases, the metal awnings have evolved into equally bright plastic awnings that still demand the same attention. But the bodegas still stand as neighborhood lighthouses.
Bodegueros and bodegueras have devoted a life of hard work, often into the wee hours of the night, to provide simple buys: chopped cheese sandwiches, coffee, and a last minute purchase of yuca.
The neighborhood shops are as iconic to our great city as the subway and the elevated tracks. They are a fixture from the past that attempts to adjust to the changes of the times and sometimes is threatened by extinction as big stores and corporate flagships take over some neighborhoods.
But for me, the bodega will always remain alive. As long as I remember that I need milk after coming home past midnight on a Wednesday night, the bodega shall thrive. As long as I continue to have a hankering for platanitos [plaintain chips] washed down with jugo de mango [mango juice], jawbreakers and 50 cent nutty, or when I desperately need a ‘Monster’ or a ‘Toma tu Bizcocho’ phone card to call the homeland, I know the bodega will be there – and so will I.
For example, the “rapidita,” the buck-priced packet of two pills guaranteed to cure the worst of hangovers. Wash it down with a can of your favorite fruit-flavored juice. Yes, I know, it’s mostly sugar but, it hits the spot. In the ‘pharmacy’ department of the bodega, the options range from toothbrushes and deodorant, for a last minute sleepover, and Pepto Bismol and castor oil, and my abuela’s favorite, Vick’s VapoRub, for when the flu starts creeping on you.
I’ve only been to a few bodegas that are large and spacious in El Alto. Most of them are pretty limited spaces in the ground level corners of residential buildings, where they serve as the go-to place for neighbors that trust they’ll find all essentials at the bodega. And they do.
The bodega, with toilet paper rolls stacked to the ceiling, and the ubiquitous fridges that sit in front of the counter filled with everything from ice pops to single servings of ice cream, will always be an Alto classic. Bodegas will continue to thrive if they’re willing to grow and adjust to the changing community. I like my turkey sandwich, appreciate that Habibi has embraced and speaks Spanish, but sometimes I do wish they had a fresh produce section. And some bodegas are on their way, with the healthy Bodega initiative launched by the City not too long ago. The possibilities are endless.
My bodeguero, a man I’ve been seeing for the past 10 months, and whose name I’ve yet to learn, makes the best coffee every morning. He doesn’t know my name either, and our conversation has never extended past good mornings and “How are you’s.”
But I know his simple coffee, made with warm milk, is our connection. A connection he has with the rest of the neighborhood, his customers, and the City who will always see him as the bodeguero, master of our neighborhood’s lighthouse.
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