Santa Cruz - Bolivia

In the central square of Santa Cruz men play chess. Not just the older generation of men either, but men of all ages. Groups of friends turn up in the morning and occupy one of the already set up chess tables that sit in the shade under rows of palm trees. They sit and play through the day for hours on end, betting a couple of bolivianos a game, pointing out each other's errors and playing at such a speed that I barely have time to register a move before the next one has been taken. The speed speaks of hours of play, memorized openings and the kind of understanding of chess that I can only ever guess at. So to be completely fair to myself - I wasn't expecting to win.

3 moves in and it's already apparent that I'm not following the expected pattern of play. There is a sudden pause in my opponents game as he has to recalculate his moves. "Not so quick now" I think to myself. I am, after all, a semi-decent chess player. 

8 moves in I lose my queen and from that point on I succeed only in postponing checkmate while my pieces fall like wheat before a scythe. From over my shoulder my opponents friend, a gentlemen of about 40 or so, keeps desperately pointing out pieces I need to move, checkmates to avoid, mistakes to exploit and what my opponent might do next with rapid jabbing hand movements. He looks quite pained at the terrible positions I am managing to get myself in but valiantly tries to keep me in the game.

He valiantly fails. Despite the help, little more than 5 minutes later I am 2 bolivianos poorer. (20p). And so is the friend from over my shoulder. It turned out he had bet on me to win before the game had started and had been a little disappointed  at my 'give the queen away and arrange all other pieces terribly' opening. 

Still. It felt like a lovely way to spend an afternoon so Ellen challenged me to a game and for a while we enjoyed the atmosphere and joined in with the locals.