So the past two weeks have been full of activities as you can see in the previous posts. Overall, we`ve generally gotten a bit more comfortable with the pace of life here. Cochabamba, La Paz, and Oruro have all been warm and welcoming with great weather, delicious food, and even better hospitality. Here are a few of the highlights for me-
Cochabamba- I was welcomed into the house of the most gracious Montellano family with a cup of tea to revive my tired body after a long day of travel. As soon as I caught my second wind, I was shuttled outside to the fiesta of their son Carlitos` Rotaract club. We enjoyed music, dance, a few drinks, and it was refreshing to enjoy an evening with a younger crowd. The rest of the week, my host father, Fernando and Carlitos took me to their coveted country club, where I got to work out at altitude, getting ready for the Road and River Relay, sponsored by Lexington Sunrise Rotary and cycling season with team traveler. We also got to check out a number of academic institutions, including Univalle, one of the top Universities in South America, and we got a culinary tour of Cochabamba, a city known for its delicacies and as a result they eat 4 or even 5 meals a day. My favorites were pique a lo macho and sopa de manì.
La Paz- After a scenic bus ride along the altiplano, I was welcomed by Renzo Loza, a member of the Bolivian GSE team that visited our district just before our trip. Renzo went above and beyond as host, taking us all over, and showing us a bit of the night life as well. My first full day was the most memorable as I met up with a few of the Rotaract members to volunteer with a program, Un Techo para mi País, to build houses for those affected by the landslides in February. We split up into teams and began the construction of 5 pre-fabricated wooden houses about 10 by 15ft, very similar to the shed I built for my motorcycle a few years back, a fact that made me feel quite guilty realize that my motorcycle enjoys better living quarters than many people in this country and the world. We worked tirelessly starting at 8AM finishing the foundation, then piecing together the floor, walls, roof and then the simple door and two small windows which required a bit more attention. Our team finished by 3pm, at which point we ceremoniously handed over the key to the most appreciative family of four. The father brought me to tears with a speech of how thankful he and his family were and how their kids would have a much brighter future due to this very humble structure. He insisted to take a picture with me and asked me to be padrino(godfather) of his youngest son, Kevincito. I`m not entirely sure what that entails, but I accepted. Then we went to help the other teams finish their houses until well after dark, at which point Renzo took the younger team members and a few friends I made earlier in the day to the top of a mountain with a beautiful view of the entire city where we enjoyed music, dance, and drinks until 2 in the morning.
Oruro- The trip is quickly coming to an end, and we are now enjoying Oruro, a city known for its Carnaval celebrations. So far, I have enjoyed a Rotary meeting which ended just before daylight after some intense music and dance. My host family also made sure that I tried the dish that the city is famous for- Cordero (lamb), which was quite delicious. I also took advantage of my last opportunity for altitude training by running to the top of the mountain just outside the city, El Socavón. The next few days we will be reunited with friends we have met from all across the country for the district conference, and I expect the festivities to be plentiful.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Anne: Coming to a close
Today has been mostly free. A few of us went to a German school this morning which was very interesting. It seems as though the private schools or colegios are more like our public schools. They are very nice and the children are learning top-notch education techniques in modern facilities. There is a price for this. Parents have to pay tuition for the same quality education that students get at home. Life is interesting here. We also found out that teachers make about $150 per month and close to $500 if they are administrators. Can you imagine living on $150? I´m not talking about Bolivianos; I´m talking about U.S. dollars! WoW! Of course the cost of living is lower here, but this is very minimal pay for educators.
As our long 5 weeks of Bolivia is coming to a close, I´m feeling like a party-storm is brewing. The official kick-off for Bolivia´s Rotary Convention starts tonight. My host mom said that I should get a nap because I will be up very late-no one has told me to take a nap to prepare for the forthcoming night. I thought that was telling. I say bring it on! I want to experience how much fun these wonderful people have every year.
I´m looking forward to seeing all of you soon. I have a lot to talk about and will probably need a few days to process all these new experiences.
As our long 5 weeks of Bolivia is coming to a close, I´m feeling like a party-storm is brewing. The official kick-off for Bolivia´s Rotary Convention starts tonight. My host mom said that I should get a nap because I will be up very late-no one has told me to take a nap to prepare for the forthcoming night. I thought that was telling. I say bring it on! I want to experience how much fun these wonderful people have every year.
I´m looking forward to seeing all of you soon. I have a lot to talk about and will probably need a few days to process all these new experiences.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Michael: There was gold in them thar hills
Today we visited a gold mine. According to our guide, the mine was in operation for 25 years but is closed now and in the reclamation phase. It is a strip-mine where literally a mountain was moved and another created from the tailings to produce precious few ounces of gold. There´s a lake where the mountain used to be.
If our guide is to be beleived, this is one of the most environmentally appropriate mines anywhere in the world. They release no contaminated water into the ground or the river and they bury their contaminated solid wastes so they won´t ever leach into the surrounding soil.
We have another Rotary meeting tonight, and then the District Conference starts Friday. All of us are looking forward to seeing again many of the friends we´ve met in the past month, but we
suddenly seem to be counting the days until we board our airplane home.
If our guide is to be beleived, this is one of the most environmentally appropriate mines anywhere in the world. They release no contaminated water into the ground or the river and they bury their contaminated solid wastes so they won´t ever leach into the surrounding soil.
We have another Rotary meeting tonight, and then the District Conference starts Friday. All of us are looking forward to seeing again many of the friends we´ve met in the past month, but we
suddenly seem to be counting the days until we board our airplane home.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Michael: Bombing downhill
I have a confession to make. Yesterday, I played hookie.
Months ago, shortly after I had been picked to lead our team to Bolivia, I learned about the infamous “Death Road,” reputedly the most dangerous road in the world. The Yungas Road once claimed more deaths per year than any other in the world, due to its steep cliffs, narrowness, absence of guard rails, and heavy traffic. A new, parallel road was completed in 2006, removing most of the traffic. (Incidentally, the parallel road is in fact longer, and curvier, but it has consistent, paved lanes and guard-rails.) But the precariousness of the old road remains. Read all about it here: http://www.travel-bolivia.com/yungas-road.html.
My understanding is that this experience was originally on our agenda, but was removed a week or so ago, either because the district governor thought it to be too dangerous or because we had one fewer day on our schedule because of the delay in Sucre. I was disappointed, but resigned. But on Monday, I sat next to a man at a lunch Rotary meeting who told me the trip was not to be missed. The schedule appeared to have more school visits (of which we’d already done many) yesterday, so I asked the team if they wanted to go. After some initial enthusiasm, everyone backed out. So I went myself.
I signed on with the oldest touring company here, “Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking,” at a cost of $106. They began offering this trip in 1999, years before the new road. So in those days riders had to fight with traffic all the way. And it’s a busy road, as it is the only route from the Yungas to La Paz. They picked up two groups of around 15 people each at a downtown La Paz restaurant and took us by bus to an elevation of 15,400, beside an alpine lake, where the road to Corioco reaches its highest elevation. They outfitted us with matching red vests, a helmet, gloves, and an optional jacket and pants. It was cold but the views were spectacular, with white puffy clouds framing the high, rocky peaks. The first half of the trip was on pavement, which passed rapidly under our wheels. I stopped several times to take photos, but was still able to catch up with the others. The bikes were deliberately under-geared, to keep crazy people like me from going too fast.
The clouds thickened and soon the rains came, heavily at times. The area had more plants, larger and denser. We quickly became wet, with water soaking through our jackets.
We were given the option of riding an 8-kilometer section of mixed uphill and downhill, but our guide discouraged it given the inclemency. So our guides re-loaded the bikes and we rode to the “official” entrance of the Death Road.
As I mentioned, a new road was completed in 2006, so almost the entirety of the traffic is siphoned off the Death Road. Although it is still a public road, it is now almost devoid of motor vehicles. It has become the world’s most exciting bicycle route.
Good thing, too, because it is extremely narrow in places. I am accustomed to riding roads like this, because for decades I’ve been riding similar mountain roads in our Appalachians, both on bicycles and on motorcycles. The difference is that on the roads with which I’m familiar, if you go off the side you can fall 20 feet and get injured. If you fall off this road, you can fall 1000 feet and you will surely die. Our guide says even many bicyclist have done so, typically from simply standing or parking too close to the edge.
The upper portion of the road was wrapped in a dense fog, so I could sense little of the precariousness. It was perhaps a good thing, as I began to bomb along the road with a blissful exuberance. I was determined not to let the weather dampen my enthusiasm. As I told my guide at one of the many stops, I’ve been cold and I’ve been wet and I’ve been wet and cold. I can handle cold and I can handle wet. Cold and wet is miserable. At this point, we were wet but with the steadily decreasing altitude, the temperature was warming.
What was evident in the mist was the increasing foliage and jungle-like environment. At some places, there were impressive waterfalls spilling down from above. In others, there were streams of water spilling onto the road from overhangs. It was magnificent!
Further down the road, the rain stopped and the skies began to break, revealing imposing mountains, rounded by dense foliage. I began to peal layers of clothing, leaving the loaned pants and jacket in the bus. My bicycle was clearly intended to do this type of extreme down-hilling, with ample suspension front and rear. I could really fly on it!
Towards the bottom, we rode through two streams, re-soaking our feet. Finally we began to reach habitations. One village looked almost like a ghost town, where once travelers stocked up on Coca-Cola before braving the road, but now all the traffic was gone. We encountered only a smattering of vehicles the whole way, mostly motorcycles.
Our trip ended at an elevation of 5000 feet (10,500 lower than where we began) with lunch, showers, and a tour at a wildlife rehabilitation center, where parrots, monkeys, and other animals flocked around the grounds. That’s a story in itself, but I’ve got to get ready for our day, including a presentation to all seven La Paz Rotary clubs at lunchtime, then a bus transfer to our final city, Oruru, later this afternoon. Yesterday was my best day of the trip!
Months ago, shortly after I had been picked to lead our team to Bolivia, I learned about the infamous “Death Road,” reputedly the most dangerous road in the world. The Yungas Road once claimed more deaths per year than any other in the world, due to its steep cliffs, narrowness, absence of guard rails, and heavy traffic. A new, parallel road was completed in 2006, removing most of the traffic. (Incidentally, the parallel road is in fact longer, and curvier, but it has consistent, paved lanes and guard-rails.) But the precariousness of the old road remains. Read all about it here: http://www.travel-bolivia.com/yungas-road.html.
My understanding is that this experience was originally on our agenda, but was removed a week or so ago, either because the district governor thought it to be too dangerous or because we had one fewer day on our schedule because of the delay in Sucre. I was disappointed, but resigned. But on Monday, I sat next to a man at a lunch Rotary meeting who told me the trip was not to be missed. The schedule appeared to have more school visits (of which we’d already done many) yesterday, so I asked the team if they wanted to go. After some initial enthusiasm, everyone backed out. So I went myself.
I signed on with the oldest touring company here, “Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking,” at a cost of $106. They began offering this trip in 1999, years before the new road. So in those days riders had to fight with traffic all the way. And it’s a busy road, as it is the only route from the Yungas to La Paz. They picked up two groups of around 15 people each at a downtown La Paz restaurant and took us by bus to an elevation of 15,400, beside an alpine lake, where the road to Corioco reaches its highest elevation. They outfitted us with matching red vests, a helmet, gloves, and an optional jacket and pants. It was cold but the views were spectacular, with white puffy clouds framing the high, rocky peaks. The first half of the trip was on pavement, which passed rapidly under our wheels. I stopped several times to take photos, but was still able to catch up with the others. The bikes were deliberately under-geared, to keep crazy people like me from going too fast.
The clouds thickened and soon the rains came, heavily at times. The area had more plants, larger and denser. We quickly became wet, with water soaking through our jackets.
We were given the option of riding an 8-kilometer section of mixed uphill and downhill, but our guide discouraged it given the inclemency. So our guides re-loaded the bikes and we rode to the “official” entrance of the Death Road.
As I mentioned, a new road was completed in 2006, so almost the entirety of the traffic is siphoned off the Death Road. Although it is still a public road, it is now almost devoid of motor vehicles. It has become the world’s most exciting bicycle route.
Good thing, too, because it is extremely narrow in places. I am accustomed to riding roads like this, because for decades I’ve been riding similar mountain roads in our Appalachians, both on bicycles and on motorcycles. The difference is that on the roads with which I’m familiar, if you go off the side you can fall 20 feet and get injured. If you fall off this road, you can fall 1000 feet and you will surely die. Our guide says even many bicyclist have done so, typically from simply standing or parking too close to the edge.
The upper portion of the road was wrapped in a dense fog, so I could sense little of the precariousness. It was perhaps a good thing, as I began to bomb along the road with a blissful exuberance. I was determined not to let the weather dampen my enthusiasm. As I told my guide at one of the many stops, I’ve been cold and I’ve been wet and I’ve been wet and cold. I can handle cold and I can handle wet. Cold and wet is miserable. At this point, we were wet but with the steadily decreasing altitude, the temperature was warming.
What was evident in the mist was the increasing foliage and jungle-like environment. At some places, there were impressive waterfalls spilling down from above. In others, there were streams of water spilling onto the road from overhangs. It was magnificent!
Further down the road, the rain stopped and the skies began to break, revealing imposing mountains, rounded by dense foliage. I began to peal layers of clothing, leaving the loaned pants and jacket in the bus. My bicycle was clearly intended to do this type of extreme down-hilling, with ample suspension front and rear. I could really fly on it!
Towards the bottom, we rode through two streams, re-soaking our feet. Finally we began to reach habitations. One village looked almost like a ghost town, where once travelers stocked up on Coca-Cola before braving the road, but now all the traffic was gone. We encountered only a smattering of vehicles the whole way, mostly motorcycles.
Our trip ended at an elevation of 5000 feet (10,500 lower than where we began) with lunch, showers, and a tour at a wildlife rehabilitation center, where parrots, monkeys, and other animals flocked around the grounds. That’s a story in itself, but I’ve got to get ready for our day, including a presentation to all seven La Paz Rotary clubs at lunchtime, then a bus transfer to our final city, Oruru, later this afternoon. Yesterday was my best day of the trip!
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Doug: Cooking With Renzo
No this isn't the next show coming to Food Network but, it should be. Last night the team chipped in and we went to a local market to pick up all the ingredients needed for a cookout. We bought piles of meat, chorizo sausage, potatoes, corn, and a variety of other vegetables. The markets aren't the "super" variety we are used to back home. They are more rustic but, the ingredients are all fresh (I think).
We enjoyed a leisurely cookout at Renzo's place. We ate in spurts, as the meat was prepared, and sampled the local wines and beers. We started around 8 and finished around midnight. Plenty of time to learn some new cooking skills, chat, and check out the grill. The grills here are pretty cool. Charcoal is the preferred BBQ source here. All the grills I have seen have a crank with bicycle chains that lower or raise the grilling rack to control the heat. I want to build one when I get home so I can use some of the cooking tips Renzo taught us.
Feel free to contact me for some great recipes and cooking ideas when this trip is done.
We enjoyed a leisurely cookout at Renzo's place. We ate in spurts, as the meat was prepared, and sampled the local wines and beers. We started around 8 and finished around midnight. Plenty of time to learn some new cooking skills, chat, and check out the grill. The grills here are pretty cool. Charcoal is the preferred BBQ source here. All the grills I have seen have a crank with bicycle chains that lower or raise the grilling rack to control the heat. I want to build one when I get home so I can use some of the cooking tips Renzo taught us.
Feel free to contact me for some great recipes and cooking ideas when this trip is done.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Michael: An astounding place
The nature of GSE is the constant introduction of new people into our lives. We have house hosts for each city, changing every 5-6 days. Then we have daily hosts who usher us from place to place. Some days we have good drivers and some days less good. Yesterday, Doug and I had a good one. His name was Miguel and he is a Rotarian and civil engineer.
It was Easter Sunday (Happy holiday, everyone), and it was a day for us to be tourists. In the morning, we drove out of the bowl that contains La Paz on the only real highway connecting the city to the new city on the rim, El Alto. As the city grew and filled the bowl, El Alto grew around the airport high on the rim.
La Paz is a city of around 850,000, officially located in the valley of Chuquiago Marka. The elevation is listed at 12,000, but it varies all over the deeply corrugated landscape. There are many high-rise buildings (up to 30 stories) and many modern features. The weather varies by location, but is generally warmer than the surrounding countryside.
El Alto grew from around 650,000 ten years ago to around 900,000 now, making it one of the fastest growing cities in South America. It sits on the Altiplano at 13,600 feet of elevation and is typically always cold. It has an endless sprawl of low (2-3 story) buildings and the people are mostly indigenous and poor. The Altiplano is a huge high-elevation plain, the largest in the world outside of Tibet, and Bolivia’s most unique feature. The south Altiplano is marked by the Salar de Uyuni, the salt flat we visited earlier and in the north by Lake Titicaca, our ultimate destination for the day.
After making our way through light traffic in El Alto, we stopped in tiny village called Laja, which was the original city of La Paz. When the Spanish Conquistadors found gold on the stream in Chuquiago Marka, they moved the city there to its present location. Today’s village of Laja contains a nice cathedral, which was empty this Easter morning.
We then spent several hours at Tiwanaku, where there was an impressive ruin of a pre-Inca community. Too much to write about, but Wikipedia has this: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tiwanaku.
Then our entourage of our team, plus Pedro, Renzo, and Nicholas (from the inbound team), Renzo’s girlfriend, Miguel, another Rotarian driver whose name I can’t remember, and Joanne White who was Nicholas’ host from Wintergreen, had lunch in the town, where for the first time I had llama meat. We then took a leisurely boat ride on Lake Titicaca, the largest lake in South America and at 12,500 feet, the highest commercially navigable lake in the world. Low hills framed the western shore and immense snow-capped mountains framed the east. Gorgeous!
The drive home was most memorable.
Miguel and I chatted in the front while Doug listened to music in the back seat. We talked mostly in English, his English being better than my Spanish. He said his work took him all across his country and he was familiar with perhaps 60% of the country’s roads. He admitted how difficult it was to be a good driver in Bolivia. On this rural road, cars were constantly stopping to take on passengers. There were stray dogs everywhere. A cow ran across the road. We were constantly weaving around pot-holes and pavement imperfections. It was tiring for him, but he said he was used to it. Bolivia’s first 4-lane highway is now under construction from La Paz to Oruru, our next and final host city.
As we spoke, dark clouds loomed overhead, but the sun illuminated one of the snow-capped peaks. Miguel stopped the car on the busy 2-lane road so Doug and I could run across the highway and snap some photos, one of which is yesterday’s post. Beside us as we took the picture there was a huge pile of mostly burned rubbish; a strange juxtaposition of beauty and trash.
We continued into the metropolitan area, with increasing traffic of people returning home from the holiday weekend. With no limited access roads like our interstate highways, movement slowed to a crawl. Miguel left the main road and wound us through the neighborhoods of El Alto. Many buildings looked to be under-utilized or under construction, at least on the top floor or two. There were several outdoor markets, still vibrant in the early night-time. At one point, in the center of a traffic circle, there appeared to be a concert or festival concluding. Two men, one apparently quite drunk, wandered into the street, where the inebriated fellow bounced off the side the slow moving car in front of us. We eventually reached the edge of the canyon rim, where El Alto gave way to La Paz. The great city loomed before us in a sea of lights, both blue-white and yellow, flowing over the hills below. The road made an endless series of tight, twisting switchbacks, winding downward. Miguel pointed out where a landslide had occurred decades earlier, with dozens of fatalities. The further we descended the taller and more modern the buildings became. It was spell-binding.
Miguel took us to the door of our guest home and promised to see us again in a few days. The adventure continues in this astounding place.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Michael: Now look what this crazy country gave us!
I don’t mean to offend anyone, but this is an insane country. The politics are as perennially unstable as the mountainsides above La Paz. The music is loud, the traffic is frantic and ungoverned by discernable laws. People drink hard, party late, and listen to their music loud. There’s trash and there are broken down vehicles everywhere.
And then, when this loco nation is about to drive me to drink (or equivalent; use your imagination), it gives us a scene like this.
Shelter Box tents
One of the two dozen camps for the 5000 people displaced by the Februrary 2011 land slide. It is a miracle nobody was killed in this event.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Doug: The Dichotomy of Our Experience
Today we started the day touring a site where a landslide had occured. Nearly 5000 people had lost their homes in that event. We were taken to the camps where these people were living. Local Rotary Clubs had furnished tents for the families to live but, in many cases multiple families were living in the same tents. It was crowded and one woman sobbed as she told us of how she had lost all she had. Rotary had already helped to give these people a place to stay but, there is still much that these people needed. It would be amazing to see clubs back in our district step in and contribute upon our return.
After touring the camps we were given another tour. We went to a place called the Valley of the Moon. It was a beautiful geographic area that one person said was like the Luray Cavern except we weren't in a cave. I think the team enjoyed the tour and I will post pictures soon. We then went to a country home for a BBQ. As usual we were treated to copious amounts of delicious food and drink.
All in all there is a certain dichotomy to this GSE experience. There are highs and lows we experience everyday. We see the poor and the rich, high altitudes and low, hot temperatures and cold nights. Today we saw people living in difficult conditions yet in the same day we celebrated and feasted. I think this experience highlights the blessings that we all have and the need to share what we can to make a difference in other peoples lives.
After touring the camps we were given another tour. We went to a place called the Valley of the Moon. It was a beautiful geographic area that one person said was like the Luray Cavern except we weren't in a cave. I think the team enjoyed the tour and I will post pictures soon. We then went to a country home for a BBQ. As usual we were treated to copious amounts of delicious food and drink.
All in all there is a certain dichotomy to this GSE experience. There are highs and lows we experience everyday. We see the poor and the rich, high altitudes and low, hot temperatures and cold nights. Today we saw people living in difficult conditions yet in the same day we celebrated and feasted. I think this experience highlights the blessings that we all have and the need to share what we can to make a difference in other peoples lives.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Michael: Exploring La Paz
La Paz is a most unlikely city. Over a million people live in this high elevation bowl. Another near million live on the flats above the rim in a new city called El Alto near the highest general aviation airport in the world.
Pedro (leader of the team from Bolivia to our district) joined us on a tour of the city yesterday morning. We rode around in a London-style double-decker bus listening to a recording in English of the city’s founding and most important buildings. We stopped to take photos at an overlook with a great view. Renzo Loza and Nicholas Zalles joined us as well, along with a woman named Joanne who was a host to one of them back home in Virginia. She has come here for a week-long visit.
Few places in the city look to be flat, but the canyon rims surrounding the city are particularly steep. Nevertheless, habitations in brick cling to all but the most precarious slopes. In most cities of similar topography, the richer people live away from the noise and crowds on the surrounding hillsides, but here they live closer to the city center in the lowest elevations. The reason, we’re told, is that the center city is warmer and more temperate.
Doug and I returned to our guest home where we let ourselves in with the pair of keys I’ve been given. One key is for the perimeter wall and the other is for the front door. Virtually all the homes we’ve stayed in have some sort of perimeter wall (The exception was my first in Santa Cruz that was in a gated community.). Most walls are 10 feet high or so, made of masonry and/or steel, with heavy steel doors. Walls are topped with spikes, strings of barbed wire, or broken glass bottle shards to discourage anyone from trying to climb over them. The glass shard topped walls of course glisten with color in the sun. We’re told that unprotected homes can be cleaned out entirely in short order.
Last evening, we hung out with Renzo, as he drove us around his neighborhood in the south part of the city. We stopped at a couple of overlooks, which are numerous due to the rugged topography. He spoke of the antics of his youth, getting in trouble with his mates. Then we joined Nic and two friends at the food court of a shopping mall. It was a clean, modern facility that looked just like those in the States except seemingly everyone had dark hair and spoke Spanish. Renzo and Nic said they had interviewed with a company from Lynchburg during their stay in our district and if offers came through planned to seriously consider accepting them.
I sat up late talking with my host. His English isn’t very good and my Spanish isn’t very good, but we managed to have a nice chat. He has an elaborate bar and has asked me many times to have a whiskey before bedtime, so I drank a glass of bourbon and Sprite. Only after he’d fixed mine did he say that he didn’t drink himself. He had a late snack of left-overs from our lunchtime meal. During the course of the conversation he mentioned that his wife’s father had once been president of Bolivia. Surprises are everywhere.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Michael: Wishing for the good things at home
I suppose it’s true for anyone who travels. There always seems to be one day when in spite of all the fun, exploration, and discovery, there comes a day when a traveler really, and I mean REALLY wants to be home – home where friends, family, and familiarity are. This morning this happened to me.
I awoke with – How you say in your country? – a loose stool. Yes, diarrhea. We were scheduled for a 7-hour bus ride from Cochabamba to La Paz. I took my second testimonial 45-minutes later at the bus terminal, paying the equivalent of $0.13 for the privilege of crouching over a seat-less toilet and for a strip of toilet paper. I hoped all would be well and with my team I boarded the bus.
Around about an hour later, and I don’t want to get too graphic here, liquidy things in my midsection began to assert themselves. Now mind you, we were on a modern, double-decker Mercedes coach bus. So I wandered down the stairway and asked for the baño, only to be told that there wasn’t one (or that the one the bus had didn’t work). “How long to the rest stop?” “Tres horas.” Ho-my-gosh!
I returned to my seat to contemplate my fate. A Bruce Willis action film came on the monitors, the volume on high, dubbed and sub-titled both in Spanish. Now mind you, the movie system worked but the bathroom didn’t.
I tried to take in the scenery outside the window, which was spectacular, as the road climbed steadily further than I ever thought possible, gaining thousands of feet in elevation. The slight headache that often accompanies rapid movement towards high altitudes competed for my attention with the grumbling in my gut. Minutes passed like hours as I dreamed of clean restrooms back in the good old USA, with all the toilet paper anybody could ever use and actual toilet seats. I was as uncomfortable as I have been in a long, long time.
The movie mercifully ended and the road leveled out to the Altiplano, the high plain, which is characteristic of Bolivia. Finally, the bus turned into the dirt parking lot of a “rest area,” a restaurant flanked by men’s and women’s bathrooms in outbuildings, where I was never so happy to pay $0.13 again to relieve my pain.
As we continued on, we were treated to an even more violent movie (I didn’t know there was such a thing) but by now I was able to read a book and look out the window at the emerging snow-capped giant mountains. We hit the outskirts of La Paz 45-minutes before arriving at the bus terminal where we were met by Pedro Loza, the leader of the inbound team. It was a good sign that the happy times would renew.
I awoke with – How you say in your country? – a loose stool. Yes, diarrhea. We were scheduled for a 7-hour bus ride from Cochabamba to La Paz. I took my second testimonial 45-minutes later at the bus terminal, paying the equivalent of $0.13 for the privilege of crouching over a seat-less toilet and for a strip of toilet paper. I hoped all would be well and with my team I boarded the bus.
Around about an hour later, and I don’t want to get too graphic here, liquidy things in my midsection began to assert themselves. Now mind you, we were on a modern, double-decker Mercedes coach bus. So I wandered down the stairway and asked for the baño, only to be told that there wasn’t one (or that the one the bus had didn’t work). “How long to the rest stop?” “Tres horas.” Ho-my-gosh!
I returned to my seat to contemplate my fate. A Bruce Willis action film came on the monitors, the volume on high, dubbed and sub-titled both in Spanish. Now mind you, the movie system worked but the bathroom didn’t.
I tried to take in the scenery outside the window, which was spectacular, as the road climbed steadily further than I ever thought possible, gaining thousands of feet in elevation. The slight headache that often accompanies rapid movement towards high altitudes competed for my attention with the grumbling in my gut. Minutes passed like hours as I dreamed of clean restrooms back in the good old USA, with all the toilet paper anybody could ever use and actual toilet seats. I was as uncomfortable as I have been in a long, long time.
The movie mercifully ended and the road leveled out to the Altiplano, the high plain, which is characteristic of Bolivia. Finally, the bus turned into the dirt parking lot of a “rest area,” a restaurant flanked by men’s and women’s bathrooms in outbuildings, where I was never so happy to pay $0.13 again to relieve my pain.
As we continued on, we were treated to an even more violent movie (I didn’t know there was such a thing) but by now I was able to read a book and look out the window at the emerging snow-capped giant mountains. We hit the outskirts of La Paz 45-minutes before arriving at the bus terminal where we were met by Pedro Loza, the leader of the inbound team. It was a good sign that the happy times would renew.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Michael: Talking just a wee bit of poltics
At home night before last, I talked with Jaime on a variety of subjects, including the political turmoil that has always plagued his country. The cocaine trade is widespread and pernicious. The president of the country, Evo Morales, is also the head of the coca grower’s union, a clear conflict of interest. The tenure of most Bolivian presidents is ridiculously short and Morales’ popularity has plunged in recent months, perhaps portending his political end.
Yesterday, the talk turned political again. One of our hosts took us to a private day care center founded by her cousin. In conversation after the tour, the cousin said that the government of Bolivia frequently changes the rules with regards to regulations over schools, day care, and similar facilities. Worse than that, businesses are often “nationalized” by the government. What that means, as I understand it, is that the government confiscates “for the people” the assets of big bad corporations – and sometimes everyday people – the things they’ve invested in, such as the wells, pipelines, and refineries of major oil companies.
Morales espouses the rights of indigenous people who widely support him. He is an uneducated man, completing only 4th grade. Elected by a huge majority, the plunge in Morales’ popularity is a result of his handling of things like fuel cost policies and worker strikes. People here have said he is a pawn to Venezuela’s Hugo Chavez, who has been a constant thorn in the side of the United States. On a more positive note, Morales has become a hero to the worldwide environmental movement in placing into the Bolivian constitution laws that recognize the inherent rights of natural things. (See: http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2011/apr/10/bolivia-enshrines-natural-worlds-rights) This all seems well and good, but how it plays out in the potential transition of this country into the modern world remains to be seen. Jaime, who worked lived for more than half his life in the United States, admitted ruefully that his native country was 100 years behind the US.
Obviously, it is a huge disincentive to any corporation or entrepreneur to invest in anything with the constant threat that the government might step in and take it. I have made many personal investments in my business life and while I’m always at the mercy of the vicissitudes of the marketplace, at least I’m not worried about my government taking everything from me. Our host for the day said she owned a business with other family members that continued to invest in Bolivia, but admitted that sometimes it stretched their better judgment to do so.
The United States certainly has its share of political problems, but they seem to pale against Bolivia’s. I look up from my window and another beautiful day unfolds in Cochabamba. Parrots perch on the trees and sing about the new day. Oranges grow on the trees in the yard and flamboyant bird of paradise plants unfold their blossoms. What a paradise this country could be! Constant vigilance on the part of every citizenry is essential to the maintenance of a just and equitable political system.
Yesterday, the talk turned political again. One of our hosts took us to a private day care center founded by her cousin. In conversation after the tour, the cousin said that the government of Bolivia frequently changes the rules with regards to regulations over schools, day care, and similar facilities. Worse than that, businesses are often “nationalized” by the government. What that means, as I understand it, is that the government confiscates “for the people” the assets of big bad corporations – and sometimes everyday people – the things they’ve invested in, such as the wells, pipelines, and refineries of major oil companies.
Morales espouses the rights of indigenous people who widely support him. He is an uneducated man, completing only 4th grade. Elected by a huge majority, the plunge in Morales’ popularity is a result of his handling of things like fuel cost policies and worker strikes. People here have said he is a pawn to Venezuela’s Hugo Chavez, who has been a constant thorn in the side of the United States. On a more positive note, Morales has become a hero to the worldwide environmental movement in placing into the Bolivian constitution laws that recognize the inherent rights of natural things. (See: http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2011/apr/10/bolivia-enshrines-natural-worlds-rights) This all seems well and good, but how it plays out in the potential transition of this country into the modern world remains to be seen. Jaime, who worked lived for more than half his life in the United States, admitted ruefully that his native country was 100 years behind the US.
Obviously, it is a huge disincentive to any corporation or entrepreneur to invest in anything with the constant threat that the government might step in and take it. I have made many personal investments in my business life and while I’m always at the mercy of the vicissitudes of the marketplace, at least I’m not worried about my government taking everything from me. Our host for the day said she owned a business with other family members that continued to invest in Bolivia, but admitted that sometimes it stretched their better judgment to do so.
The United States certainly has its share of political problems, but they seem to pale against Bolivia’s. I look up from my window and another beautiful day unfolds in Cochabamba. Parrots perch on the trees and sing about the new day. Oranges grow on the trees in the yard and flamboyant bird of paradise plants unfold their blossoms. What a paradise this country could be! Constant vigilance on the part of every citizenry is essential to the maintenance of a just and equitable political system.
Anne: Having a voice
Today has been an interesting day particulary because I spent a lot of time hearing about a freedom fighter from the 50s and 60s. He spent most of his teenage years and twenties fighting against a government that he did not agree with. He spent numerous times in prisons and could have died fighting for a Bolivia that he believed in. So, to make a long story short, I started thinking about speaking up for myself like he did. One thing I´ve learned here is that if you don´t speak the language you don´t have a voice. Either you don´t speak at all or what you try to say gets lost in translation. This trip has taught me that knowing one language is not adequate for the world I want to live in. I enjoy speaking and sharing my ideas. I enjoy making connections with the new friends I´ve made. I want to learn more Spanish to be a better communicator.
Also, the other way I want to share finding a voice is through speaking up for what you or I believe in. It doesn´t have to be through freedom fighting, but can be from simply knowing what you want and going for it. I´ve spent too much time sitting back and observing. I want to take charge and do something for my community and/or society. That is how I want to find my voice. I know it´s random, but I felt that today was profound for me. =)
Also, the other way I want to share finding a voice is through speaking up for what you or I believe in. It doesn´t have to be through freedom fighting, but can be from simply knowing what you want and going for it. I´ve spent too much time sitting back and observing. I want to take charge and do something for my community and/or society. That is how I want to find my voice. I know it´s random, but I felt that today was profound for me. =)
Monday, April 18, 2011
Tamsen: Bolivian Culture
For the past three weeks we have had the opportunity to experience Bolivian customs and culture. There are parts of the culture that I really love and were easy to adjust to while other parts have been more difficult for me.
One part of the Bolivian culture that I really enjoy is that everytime somebody enters a group of people each person in the group is greeted individually. Women greet men or other women with a kiss on one cheek or two. Men greet each other with a handshake. As a part of the greeting each person says in Spanish, ¨Hello, how are you?¨ or ¨Nice to meet you¨. In our culture when we walk up to a group of people one ¨Hello¨ is a sufficient way to greet a room full of people. The Bolivian way is much more personal. The custom validates the importance of each relationship. The same rituals are repeated when it is time to leave. Along with the kiss or handshake each person says ¨Goodbye¨ or ¨See you later¨ to each person individually.
Becoming accustomed to Bolivian food has been the hardest part of the culture for me. Bolvians eat a lot of meat, potatoes, bread, rice and soup. Everything is freshly prepared and full of flavor. At home I do not take the time to prepare such delicious meals. Unfortunately, my stomach is not used to the quantity of meat that I am served here and I find myself wishing I could give up the elegant meals for some of the simple foods that I am accustomed to. I find myself longing for a day of eating yogurt, fruit and pizza along with a glass of skim milk.
One part of the Bolivian culture that I really enjoy is that everytime somebody enters a group of people each person in the group is greeted individually. Women greet men or other women with a kiss on one cheek or two. Men greet each other with a handshake. As a part of the greeting each person says in Spanish, ¨Hello, how are you?¨ or ¨Nice to meet you¨. In our culture when we walk up to a group of people one ¨Hello¨ is a sufficient way to greet a room full of people. The Bolivian way is much more personal. The custom validates the importance of each relationship. The same rituals are repeated when it is time to leave. Along with the kiss or handshake each person says ¨Goodbye¨ or ¨See you later¨ to each person individually.
Becoming accustomed to Bolivian food has been the hardest part of the culture for me. Bolvians eat a lot of meat, potatoes, bread, rice and soup. Everything is freshly prepared and full of flavor. At home I do not take the time to prepare such delicious meals. Unfortunately, my stomach is not used to the quantity of meat that I am served here and I find myself wishing I could give up the elegant meals for some of the simple foods that I am accustomed to. I find myself longing for a day of eating yogurt, fruit and pizza along with a glass of skim milk.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Michael: Settling in Cochabamba
We are now settled in our new city, Cochabamba. All of us love it here, for a variety of reasons The city has a beautiful natural setting, in a V shaped valley surrounded by mountains large and small. Thee are many trees and much greenery, both convential and exotic. At the airport when we met our new host families, we could quickly see that they were organized, and fluent in English. They made us feel right at thome and helped us forget the unpleasantness of the prior day's episode at the roadblock. My hosts are Jaime and Patricial Portugal. They live in one of the most stupendous houses I've ever entered. The exterior is a tasteful yellow stucco with multiple roof-lines of adobe tile. There are multiple storeys and each has an outdoor patio or sitting area. The rooms and hallways have magnificient artwork and many of the windows have custom stained glass panels. My bathroom and bedroom are lit by chandeliers. Like many guys, Jaime's prized possession sits in the garage: a 1951 Chevrolet Pickup truck, in mint condition. Jaime was born in La Paz, but educated in the USA where he spent most of his career in veterinary nutrition, helping farmers obtain the maximum yield from pork, beef, and chicken production. He is a kidney transplant recipient, and like many people who have faced pre-matrue death but given a new lease on life, has devoted his considerable energies towards people in need. He worked tirelessly to deliver potable water to a nearby peasant village where the groundwater was polluted. He is working now to provide restorative services to children with clef lips and clef palates. In the morning yesterday, Jaime took me to a nearby outdoor stadium to watch the finals of a professional beach volleyball tournament. The American women won with a vicctory of the host Bolivian team. The American men lost to the Brazilian team. It was exciting! Quite coincidentally, we seated oruselves in front of some fans waving a large American Flag and word has it that we were on international ESPN TV. I learned that Anne was also there as one of the Bolivian playwers was the daughter of her hosts! After lunch, I joined the team for a tour of the town. Our hosts, a tourism professor at the college in town and Judah's host Ferdinand, took us first to a hilltop on the east of the city where a 400-meter statue of Jesus stands. From there, we were treated to a magnificient view of the city and the surrounding mountains. We descended the hill into the downtown where we strolled the traditional town square. Our hosts bought a selection of nuts from one of the indigenous women vendors selling from a cart. We finished the afternoon at an outdoor ice cream parlor where we all feasted on homemade ice cream in exotic flavors. Across the roundabout, there is one of the city's major cathedrals. At one point, a parade of worshippers walked the street towards the cathedral, carrying and waving palm fronds. Several men carried a platform atop which was a figure of a white mule, atop which was a figure of Jesus, covered with a long purple robe. A Brass band took up the rear, playing a Simon and Garfunkel tune. Fire crackers went off in the street. Gotta run!
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Doug: A Night We Will Never Forget
There are times in your life that you never forget. Last night our team experienced one of those "life" moments. A memory that will stay with us forever.
The blokades in Potosi had begun to let up around seven in the evening so we ate a quick meal and hopped into two taxis. The plan was to go from Potosi to Sucre and in the morning to catch a plane from Sucre to Cochabamba. Two hours later we were at the outskirts of Sucre. Cars and Trucks lined the sides of the road and traffic was stopped. We had run into a blockade. It took us a few minutes to unload our gear and pay the drivers.
A constant stream of people made their way towards Sucre. It reminded me of some mass immigration you would see on television after some disaster had occured. We walked, luggage and all, for about a kilometer or so. The blockades we had seen before had been people blocking the streets. This time, in addition to people, there were rocks, branches from trees, and burning tires in the streets. We had some difficulty getting our luggage through it all but, we made it!
It was a sureal experience but, I want to stress that we never felt in danger. It was a bit scary but, it was also exciting to see this unique cultural form of democratic expression.
We decided to take a cab to our hotel. We packed all five of us, the driver, and all of our luggage into this tiny taxi. I had the joy of sitting on the emergency brake and having intimate contact with the stick shift everytime the driver switched gears. Soon we were at the hotel and had a chance to relax.
All in all, we made it safely to the hotel and we have a memory we will never forget.
The blokades in Potosi had begun to let up around seven in the evening so we ate a quick meal and hopped into two taxis. The plan was to go from Potosi to Sucre and in the morning to catch a plane from Sucre to Cochabamba. Two hours later we were at the outskirts of Sucre. Cars and Trucks lined the sides of the road and traffic was stopped. We had run into a blockade. It took us a few minutes to unload our gear and pay the drivers.
A constant stream of people made their way towards Sucre. It reminded me of some mass immigration you would see on television after some disaster had occured. We walked, luggage and all, for about a kilometer or so. The blockades we had seen before had been people blocking the streets. This time, in addition to people, there were rocks, branches from trees, and burning tires in the streets. We had some difficulty getting our luggage through it all but, we made it!
It was a sureal experience but, I want to stress that we never felt in danger. It was a bit scary but, it was also exciting to see this unique cultural form of democratic expression.
We decided to take a cab to our hotel. We packed all five of us, the driver, and all of our luggage into this tiny taxi. I had the joy of sitting on the emergency brake and having intimate contact with the stick shift everytime the driver switched gears. Soon we were at the hotel and had a chance to relax.
All in all, we made it safely to the hotel and we have a memory we will never forget.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Anne:Oh, Potosi, Potosi
Well, we have been in Potosi since Monday. We have been treated well and have seen some beautiful things. For example, we went to the Salar (salt flats) in the country. It took about 3 hours to get there. It was a long journey, especially for Judah and Doug who were cramped in the converted trunk made for children. We bonded as a team by playing cards and silly car games. When we got to the Salar, we ate lunch at a salt hotel. It was very primitive, mainly for camping types. There wasn't any toilet paper or showers and people had to bring their own food. Yes, it was like camping. =) Anyway, some of the photos were like looking at the Carribbean, except it was water on top of salt. The water made the horizon look like a giant mirror.
It was an interesting day. All of our toilet were awful. I guess we've been spoiled with nice homes with all the aminities. I had to scoop water from a large buck in 3 bathrooms to pore into the toilet to make it flush. Wow! The floors were a mixture of urine and water splashed from the large buckets. I'm throwing my shoes away as soon as I get home. As many of you know, I'm a trooper with roughing it. I'm just making light of the situation. =)
The picture of the march is why we are still in Potosi. Teachers are protesting and creating blockades out of major cities to inconvenience the government. This is so they can get more money. I think they want a 30% increase. Doug thinks we should try this in Virginia. HaHa!
Judah: Las Primeras Dos Semanas
As I had hoped, Bolivia is new, exciting, and challenging. If I had to summarize, I would call it a country of extremes: extremely high mountains, extremely friendly people, extremely delicious foods, and extremely beautiful landscape. All of our hosts have been most welcoming, treating us like royalty. Here are a few images that stand out in my mind- Santa Cruz: A tropical city at reminds me much of Miami in terms of lifestyle, nightlife, excitement. Our hosts were most gracious, wining and dining us, and showing us their most impressive projects to help burn victims (Cerniquem) and help educate kids in poor neighborhoods in the outskirts of this booming metropolis. Sucre: A beautiful colonial and university city where our group felt a bit more at home. It has a small town feel, and many gringos come here to learn Spanish. I was fortunate to visit the language academy where my host oversaw the operations. Their program was developed to teach students of all ages to be communicative in Spanish in as little as one to two weeks. Quite impressive, and I came away with some ideas for my own students. The highlight was our trip to the small town of Chaco, where Rotary Club de los Charcas was providing much needed healthcare and educational materials for free to all those in need (over 200 people). We spent the day helping sort medications and passing our clothes, books, and toys to most grateful recipients. 9 year old Wilbur who was wearing a Mexican soccer jersey became my best friend for the day and took me on a tour of his town and we ending up climbing up trees to pick guayabas, avocadoes, passion fruits and other unknown treats. Then we topped it all off with a cookout, great food, soccer, volleyball, music and dance… Potosi: A mining town once the economic center of the world due to its Cerro Rico, which continues to be one of the richest mines for silver, zinc, lead, tin…they continue to mine with pickaxes, dynamite, shovels, and wheelbarrows, walking miles into the small tunnels and spending the day (or the night) in dangerous working conditions (to say the least). But they pay a tribute to their Tio, sharing liquor, cigarettes, and coca with him so that he will keep them safe. The highlight of Potosi for me was joining two of Bolivia`s top cyclists on a training ride from Potosi to Miraflores, only 25km, but a vertical drop of over 2500 feet, where we enjoyed a bath in the hot springs. Then the ride back we had some serious climbing and it took all I had to keep up with these two 120 lb climbers. Now, we get to spend an extra day in Potosi since there are blockades preventing us from leaving. The public employees are demanding a raise in wages to keep up with inflation, and the president has not yet agreed. So, as is common in Bolivia, the people unite in protest. Not to worry, these have been nonviolent protests, and our hosts assure us that we will be able to leave this evening headed to Sucre and then fly to Cochabamba tomorrow morning.
Michael: Visiting the Salar de Uyuni
Yesterday’s excursion was one we all had been anticipating since we arrived. We were to visit the Salar de Uyuni. The Salar is an immense salt flat, 5 times larger than Bonneville. It is so vast, so reflective, and so consistent in elevation that it is used in the calibration of earth observation satellites.
Our original plan was to travel there by bus and stay for two nights in a hotel literally built of blocks of salt and located on the salt. Our hosts changed our plan and decided that one of the members of the Potosi Rotary Club would take us in his personal vehicle and bring us back the same day. We were told that the salt had some water on it, which would limit our mobility and make a full day there unnecessary. At least that’s what I think I heard from the mostly Spanish conversations.
So we all awoke at 4:00 a.m. It was around 5:00 a.m. when we rolled out of the city. Our host and his driver sat up front, Tamsen, Anne and I sat in the middle, and Doug and Judah sat in the far back in a late-model Acura SUV.
All of us would have been happiest to find whatever comfortable position we could and get a couple of hours of additional sleep. But our host put bass-heavy local music on the stereo at a volume that had me scurrying for my earplugs. When I could see that other team members were similarly uncomfortable, I finally asked our host to reduce the volume, which he cut by around 80%. The music, at this blissfully reduced volume, was our companion for the entire trip.
As the sunrise approached, I could see that we were in an area of large, scrub-covered mountains. The road wound through them like a ribbon, constantly attempting to moderate the elevation gains and losses. Most of the trip was between 12,000 and 13,000 feet elevation. The area was sparsely populated and there were few other vehicles on the road. In places, the road had two nicely paved lanes. But there were continual interruptions with dirt sections, particularly work-arounds where new bridges were being constructed. The area reminded me of the red-rock country of northern Arizona. It was stunning countryside!
We made a brief stop at an old mining town, where several locomotives (made in America) sat rusting in the abandoned yard. Our host said a Japanese company was coming into the area to reopen some of the mines. It was the first railroad I could remember seeing in the entire country. I tried to imagine the enormous engineering task of getting trains from here to the ocean ports.
Finally we crested a pass and descended into the Uyuni valley where the great salt flat spread out before us. We stopped at a cheap hotel in town where we had breakfast (eggs and toast – I declined to drink the hot chocolate made with local water) and used the bathroom (where the toilets had neither seats nor toilet paper). Later, we waited in the car while our host entered the market and bought makings for a picnic lunch.
We got back into the SUV and drove 5 more miles to the edge of the salt. It was clear that there was a considerable amount of water on it. We drove directly into the water and another couple of miles to the hotel of salt. Salty water splashed all over the car. Workers shoveled salt into piles for drying and eventual harvesting.
We arrived at the hotel and hung out for awhile, listening to all the foreign voices at this tourist attraction. There was a raised area of hardened salt where flags of many nations flew in the constant breeze. Everyone tip-toed around the large puddles of water and took lots of pictures, mostly of the surrounding mountains -- some snow-capped -- and the amazing reflectivity of the salt flat.
We entered the hotel where we had our picnic while sitting on salt chairs and before a salt table (with plastic table cloth, of course). Our meal was of an unidentifiable meat sliced from a large tube, served on white bread with mayonnaise and ketchup, watered down with Coca Cola.
We discussed options for further exploration. I was interested in seeing the flamingos that are at a nearby lake, but was told that was another 16 hours away. We finally decided to depart. We stopped in Uyuni again, where we walked the market while our driver had the car washed, which seemed to take two hours. Finally, we were on board again for the next four hour trip back to Potosi. The highlight was when the car was stopped so the guys could pee (When you’re a guy, the whole world is a urnal.) and a young llama came by to investigate. Cute guy!
We arrived back in Potosi in the dark around 8:00 p.m., exhausted.
Today is a travel day. We will take a bus or taxi for three hours back to Sucre, then fly down to Santa Cruz, then fly back up to Cochabamba.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Michael: trying a photo
I haven't sent any photos yet, so let's give this a try.
Potosi was once the richest city in the Americas due to the enormous quantities of minerals, primarily silver, extracted from a mountain that forms the backdrop of the city. Mining has been in continuous operation for 500 years.
There is a museum of mining on the mountain. The surprising thing is that the museum is INSIDE the mountain, with visitors using the same access portal as the working miners. Here's the team and our hosts, suited up for entry.
Michael
Michael: Moving up in the world
Yesterday, we departed Sucre for our next GSE adventure. This was a bitter-sweet moment for me because I liked Sucre and I adored my hostess, Patricia Rosales, and her family.
We boarded a bus in Sucre for a 3-hour ride to Potosi. I awoke with a headache, likely a result of my missing taking my blood pressure medication the previous day. I took some pain medication which made me drowsy for the trip, which likely was a good thing.
The first hour of the route was alongside a dry riverbed. The bus crossed the riverbed on a long bridge and began ascending the slope on the far side. It took 45 minutes to gain nearly 3000 feet elevation. Tall mountains, mostly of scrub plants, loomed all around. It resembled the mountains of Arizona. Eventually, we reached the Altiplano, or high plain. There were sparse settlements and farms where peasants worked gardens by hand, bent from the waste to pick potatoes and other crops. I saw only one piece of mechanized farm equipment: a tractor.
We were met by two Rotarians, Sady and Miguel. We had a nice lunch at Sady’s house and then visited a school for students with special needs. We entered a classroom where an expressive teacher used our presence to teach her children additional words in American Sign Language.
Last evening, we were invited to attend a concert featuring a pianist, a guitarist, and a musician playing sort of a miniature guitar, the name of which I’ve forgotten. My headache forced me to abandon my team and head “home” to bed. I’m eager to ask my team about it this morning.
Potosi is not as attractive a city as Sucre, pasted on the slope of a mountain devoid of trees and greenery. However, it may be the most historically interesting city in all of the Americas. There’s far too much to recount here, but the silver in the mountain that forms the backdrop of the city made Potosi one of the largest and richest cities in the world 500 years ago. Potosi was bustling before Jamestown was even formed. This morning, we are scheduled to attend a museum of the mining industry.
Hasta luego!
Michael
We boarded a bus in Sucre for a 3-hour ride to Potosi. I awoke with a headache, likely a result of my missing taking my blood pressure medication the previous day. I took some pain medication which made me drowsy for the trip, which likely was a good thing.
The first hour of the route was alongside a dry riverbed. The bus crossed the riverbed on a long bridge and began ascending the slope on the far side. It took 45 minutes to gain nearly 3000 feet elevation. Tall mountains, mostly of scrub plants, loomed all around. It resembled the mountains of Arizona. Eventually, we reached the Altiplano, or high plain. There were sparse settlements and farms where peasants worked gardens by hand, bent from the waste to pick potatoes and other crops. I saw only one piece of mechanized farm equipment: a tractor.
We were met by two Rotarians, Sady and Miguel. We had a nice lunch at Sady’s house and then visited a school for students with special needs. We entered a classroom where an expressive teacher used our presence to teach her children additional words in American Sign Language.
Last evening, we were invited to attend a concert featuring a pianist, a guitarist, and a musician playing sort of a miniature guitar, the name of which I’ve forgotten. My headache forced me to abandon my team and head “home” to bed. I’m eager to ask my team about it this morning.
Potosi is not as attractive a city as Sucre, pasted on the slope of a mountain devoid of trees and greenery. However, it may be the most historically interesting city in all of the Americas. There’s far too much to recount here, but the silver in the mountain that forms the backdrop of the city made Potosi one of the largest and richest cities in the world 500 years ago. Potosi was bustling before Jamestown was even formed. This morning, we are scheduled to attend a museum of the mining industry.
Hasta luego!
Michael
Monday, April 11, 2011
Michael: Treating those in need
We had a most extraordinary day yesterday.
Our team accompanied the Rotary Club De Los Charcas to a day of volunteer medical work in the town of Chico. The drive from Sucre took about an hour. It was almost completely downhill, losing 3000 feet of elevation. We were met in the village by throngs of indigenous people and a colorful, cheerful sign over the road.
Anne and I were driven there by Dr. Ishmael Soriano and his wife and daughter. He and his daughter, who was an exchange student in Arizona, spoke excellent English. Ishmael is a physician in internal medicine. He set up his station in one of the rooms of the village’s clinic, while other doctors in dentistry and dermatology set up in other rooms.
Ishmael treated a stream of people. His patients were Quechuan indigenous (Indian) people. He saw both men and women and in ages ranging from childhood to elderly. The men were dressed in pants and either button-down or pull-over shirts. The women wore skirts and blouses, always covered by maid’s aprons. Many had masculine hats, some like the type worn by Charlie Chaplin. The women all had two long braids for their hair. Almost all the men were trim and the women were plump. Everyone wore sandals over dirty feet. They were all tranquil and they seemed to trust and revere Dr. Ismael. He examined many people using his portable ultrasound machine, and was helpful and patient in showing me what the screen revealed. I learned much about internal medicine!
They had a variety of problems, from gall stones to enlarged hearts to parasitosis. Many would need additional treatment or surgery at Dr. Ismail’s hospital in the city (Sucre). Most received a handful of medications. Everything was provided for free.
The motto of Rotary International is Service Above Self. This type of activity is exemplary.
Afterwards, everyone gathered at the weekend cabana of one of the club’s members for a party and feast. We were guests of honor. I counted almost 50 people in attendance.
I awoke with a headache this morning. My suitcase is packed and we will soon depart for our third city, Potosi, which is two hours away by bus. All of us like Sucre and I love my host family. It is difficult to leave here, but constant movement is the theme of the GSE experience.
Potosi’s history is one of the most interesting in all of the America’s. If I have time and Internet service at my next guest home, I’ll try to write about it.
Michael
Our team accompanied the Rotary Club De Los Charcas to a day of volunteer medical work in the town of Chico. The drive from Sucre took about an hour. It was almost completely downhill, losing 3000 feet of elevation. We were met in the village by throngs of indigenous people and a colorful, cheerful sign over the road.
Anne and I were driven there by Dr. Ishmael Soriano and his wife and daughter. He and his daughter, who was an exchange student in Arizona, spoke excellent English. Ishmael is a physician in internal medicine. He set up his station in one of the rooms of the village’s clinic, while other doctors in dentistry and dermatology set up in other rooms.
Ishmael treated a stream of people. His patients were Quechuan indigenous (Indian) people. He saw both men and women and in ages ranging from childhood to elderly. The men were dressed in pants and either button-down or pull-over shirts. The women wore skirts and blouses, always covered by maid’s aprons. Many had masculine hats, some like the type worn by Charlie Chaplin. The women all had two long braids for their hair. Almost all the men were trim and the women were plump. Everyone wore sandals over dirty feet. They were all tranquil and they seemed to trust and revere Dr. Ismael. He examined many people using his portable ultrasound machine, and was helpful and patient in showing me what the screen revealed. I learned much about internal medicine!
They had a variety of problems, from gall stones to enlarged hearts to parasitosis. Many would need additional treatment or surgery at Dr. Ismail’s hospital in the city (Sucre). Most received a handful of medications. Everything was provided for free.
The motto of Rotary International is Service Above Self. This type of activity is exemplary.
Afterwards, everyone gathered at the weekend cabana of one of the club’s members for a party and feast. We were guests of honor. I counted almost 50 people in attendance.
I awoke with a headache this morning. My suitcase is packed and we will soon depart for our third city, Potosi, which is two hours away by bus. All of us like Sucre and I love my host family. It is difficult to leave here, but constant movement is the theme of the GSE experience.
Potosi’s history is one of the most interesting in all of the America’s. If I have time and Internet service at my next guest home, I’ll try to write about it.
Michael
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Michael: Bolivia's history
(This was written yesterday. Sorry for the late post.)
Three events stick in my mind from yesterday.
In the morning, we visited the place where Bolivia was born. Revolutionaries in South America had become inspired by the American Revolution and the French Revolution and began efforts to free the countries of South America from Spain. In 1825, the nation of Bolivia was born, but the impact of the Spaniards was already long and brutal by that time. Potosi, the city we will visit next, was founded in the mid-1500s. Shortly after it was founded, it produced as much silver each year as the rest of the world combined. For two centuries, the treasury of Spain was bankrolled by Potosi silver. Indigenous and later African slaves worked 12-hour shifts in the underground mines and stayed underground for months at a time, returning to a blinding sky.
Our guide was a short man who appeared to be about my age, but with a head full of thick, dark hair. Standing in front of a map perhaps two meters square and drawn with incredible detail in the 1700s, he explained in excellent English the history of the colonization of South American, focusing on the Inca Empire that stretched from Peru through Bolivia and into Chile and Argentina. He was surprisingly candid about the tragic history of his country. The nation had been involved in several wars – and lost them all. The nation has had far too many presidents, with 20% of them dying violent deaths. One president served 4 days before being assassinated.
The remainder of the day was pleasant, including a visit to a small market and a nice evening walk.
Patricia and I walked to Anne’s host home on our way to the evening Rotary meeting. Outside the house were perhaps 15 men, not looking too happy. When I asked Patricia what they were doing there, she said they worked for Anne’s host and were looking to be paid.
At the Rotary meeting, a woman approached me and said her nephew was eagerly trying to become an exchange student to the USA and she asked my help. I told her I would do what I could, but my guess was that finding an American who was willing to give up the typical life of American teenagery to live in Bolivia would likely be difficult. But I said if she would send me a paper describing her efforts and goals, I would do what I could.
Michael
Three events stick in my mind from yesterday.
In the morning, we visited the place where Bolivia was born. Revolutionaries in South America had become inspired by the American Revolution and the French Revolution and began efforts to free the countries of South America from Spain. In 1825, the nation of Bolivia was born, but the impact of the Spaniards was already long and brutal by that time. Potosi, the city we will visit next, was founded in the mid-1500s. Shortly after it was founded, it produced as much silver each year as the rest of the world combined. For two centuries, the treasury of Spain was bankrolled by Potosi silver. Indigenous and later African slaves worked 12-hour shifts in the underground mines and stayed underground for months at a time, returning to a blinding sky.
Our guide was a short man who appeared to be about my age, but with a head full of thick, dark hair. Standing in front of a map perhaps two meters square and drawn with incredible detail in the 1700s, he explained in excellent English the history of the colonization of South American, focusing on the Inca Empire that stretched from Peru through Bolivia and into Chile and Argentina. He was surprisingly candid about the tragic history of his country. The nation had been involved in several wars – and lost them all. The nation has had far too many presidents, with 20% of them dying violent deaths. One president served 4 days before being assassinated.
The remainder of the day was pleasant, including a visit to a small market and a nice evening walk.
Patricia and I walked to Anne’s host home on our way to the evening Rotary meeting. Outside the house were perhaps 15 men, not looking too happy. When I asked Patricia what they were doing there, she said they worked for Anne’s host and were looking to be paid.
At the Rotary meeting, a woman approached me and said her nephew was eagerly trying to become an exchange student to the USA and she asked my help. I told her I would do what I could, but my guess was that finding an American who was willing to give up the typical life of American teenagery to live in Bolivia would likely be difficult. But I said if she would send me a paper describing her efforts and goals, I would do what I could.
Michael
Friday, April 8, 2011
Michael: Watching sombreros being made
It is early Friday morning and soon, I will walk into the city of Sucre with Patricia, my hostess, for our next day’s activities.
Yesterday afternoon, we had what I consider to be the quintessential Bolivian experience. We toured a sombrero factory. We were met by a round-faced man who appeared to be in his seventies in his nice, second-floor office. He had samples of his hats resting on pins on one wall. He had a large-screen television monitor where the picture was split in quarters, each showing the view from a surveillance camera at locations around the plant. He offered us beverages (Everyone offers us beverages everywhere we go.) and then we strolled downstairs and across a paved driveway where deliveries were made, and then into the plant.
The hats are made of wool, and the first room we visited was a massive storehouse of wool. There was wool on the floor, wool in piles, wool on tables, and wool cob-webs hanging from the rafters. Some workers wore breathing protection, others not. One worker piled wool into a vat where it was washed and then laid out in a 3” thick mat. In the next several rooms, workers coaxed the wool into thinner and more tightly pressed sheets, working with various styles of irons and presses. In some areas, the wool was hand-stretched over forms to give it a conical shape. There were vats of dye where hats could be impregnated with desired colors.
It was clear that the work was very strenuous and everyone worked at a steady but rapid pace. It was hot, loud, and dusty. Some workers wore ear protection, others not. Some of the machinery had open belts and gears, waiting to catch a loose sleeve or strap of passers-by. The OSHA representatives who often called on my printing plant when I owned it would have messed their trousers.
The last room we visited was the warehouse of finished products. My host motioned to me to try on some of them. When I found one I liked, a wide-brim, black, gentleman’s hat, I asked him how much it cost – “cuanto cuesta?” He indicated by hand-motions and Spanish words that it was his gift to me. He gave each team member the hat of his or her choice.
We then returned to his office where were – yes – offered more beverages. He opened a bottle of red wine and toasted our visit, “Salute!” We asked about his trade area, and he said his hats were exported around the world. We asked how he got into the business. He explained, and Judah translated, that the factory was once owned by the father of a friend. The friend took ownership and the current owner became a partner, and eventually sole owner. Surprisingly, the current owner was a former gynecologist. He said, “I used to work where other people go to play.” Then he gave us each a miniature sombrero and finally a nice bottle of red wine, topped by another of the miniature sombreros. We gave him several lapel pins we’ve been carrying, with the American and Bolivian flags flanking the Rotary International logo. Our gift was almost an embarrassment when compared to what he’d given us, but he seemed genuinely touched. We left amidst a flurry of words of thanks and friendship.
Michael
Yesterday afternoon, we had what I consider to be the quintessential Bolivian experience. We toured a sombrero factory. We were met by a round-faced man who appeared to be in his seventies in his nice, second-floor office. He had samples of his hats resting on pins on one wall. He had a large-screen television monitor where the picture was split in quarters, each showing the view from a surveillance camera at locations around the plant. He offered us beverages (Everyone offers us beverages everywhere we go.) and then we strolled downstairs and across a paved driveway where deliveries were made, and then into the plant.
The hats are made of wool, and the first room we visited was a massive storehouse of wool. There was wool on the floor, wool in piles, wool on tables, and wool cob-webs hanging from the rafters. Some workers wore breathing protection, others not. One worker piled wool into a vat where it was washed and then laid out in a 3” thick mat. In the next several rooms, workers coaxed the wool into thinner and more tightly pressed sheets, working with various styles of irons and presses. In some areas, the wool was hand-stretched over forms to give it a conical shape. There were vats of dye where hats could be impregnated with desired colors.
It was clear that the work was very strenuous and everyone worked at a steady but rapid pace. It was hot, loud, and dusty. Some workers wore ear protection, others not. Some of the machinery had open belts and gears, waiting to catch a loose sleeve or strap of passers-by. The OSHA representatives who often called on my printing plant when I owned it would have messed their trousers.
The last room we visited was the warehouse of finished products. My host motioned to me to try on some of them. When I found one I liked, a wide-brim, black, gentleman’s hat, I asked him how much it cost – “cuanto cuesta?” He indicated by hand-motions and Spanish words that it was his gift to me. He gave each team member the hat of his or her choice.
We then returned to his office where were – yes – offered more beverages. He opened a bottle of red wine and toasted our visit, “Salute!” We asked about his trade area, and he said his hats were exported around the world. We asked how he got into the business. He explained, and Judah translated, that the factory was once owned by the father of a friend. The friend took ownership and the current owner became a partner, and eventually sole owner. Surprisingly, the current owner was a former gynecologist. He said, “I used to work where other people go to play.” Then he gave us each a miniature sombrero and finally a nice bottle of red wine, topped by another of the miniature sombreros. We gave him several lapel pins we’ve been carrying, with the American and Bolivian flags flanking the Rotary International logo. Our gift was almost an embarrassment when compared to what he’d given us, but he seemed genuinely touched. We left amidst a flurry of words of thanks and friendship.
Michael
Thursday, April 7, 2011
We have arrived in Sucre, city #2
Yesterday afternoon we flew to Sucre. Our procession through the Santa Cruz airport was as effortless as any imaginable. We showed our passport and were given tickets, paid for by our hosts. We paid a modest “airport fee” and went through security, where there were no lines. We sat for only a few minutes, then walked across a scorching tarmac and boarded our 737 jet.
The flight lasted only 25 minutes, but I was told it would have taken 12 hours to drive it, due to the difficult topography and poor quality roads. We took off to the south, then banked west and quickly were over rugged, lightly forested mountains. The further we went, the more rugged and dry the mountains became. At one point, there was a valley with a dry river in it, with the soil of the river basin a brick red. Another valley joined it, also with a dry river, but this basin was a slate grey. The two colors mixed at the junction, but downstream returned quickly to red.
Our airplane made a series of banking maneuvers to reach the Sucre airport, which was nothing more than a single strip. After the airplane landed, it retraced its path to the terminal on the same strip, as there was no taxi-way.
We were met by a smiling group of Rotarians, perhaps numbering around 8 people, with whom we quickly met. The standard greeting is a handshake between men and a handshake and a light kiss on the right cheek between men and women and between women. We seem to be greeted not as strangers but as old friends. Last time we forgot to do so, but with this new arrival we wrote the names and addresses of our hosts for each other, so we’d be able to contact one another should we need to. My hostess is Patricia, an attractive woman who would look at home in any town in America. She looks to be around 30 and has a husband and two children, 6 and 2. She and her husband are both civil engineers and they work on aqueducts for municipal water systems. As of now (the next morning) I am yet to meet him.
Sucre’s location is in a high depression between small peaks. The largest peak has a huge cross above it, which I later found was lit at night. Sucre is generally accepted as Bolivia’s most beautiful city and is rich in history and culture, which we will learn about in due course. The air is blissfully cool. We are at 9000 feet elevation. In my country, we don’t put cities that far into the sky.
My sense is that most American cities are strategically located for some commercial function. For example, Pittsburgh is at the junction of two navigable rivers. Atlanta is at the base of the Appalachians where many railroads met. In Bolivia, the landscape is overwhelming and unyielding. Santa Cruz has a river nearby, but it isn’t navigable and is thus useless for commerce. As far as I know, there are few if any railroads here in the Antiplano, the high country. So cities like Sucre seem to have little reason for being where they are. When I learn more, I’ll report.
We took a drive through the city, Patricia carrying her friend Carla along with Ann and me to our guest houses. Patricia’s house is on a slope (as are many in this hilly place), with several floors connected by short stairways. The room interiors are painted in bright oranges and yellows. The guest room I’ve been given is generally undecorated but comfortable.
Our team met again at a downtown hotel from where we did a walking tour of the center square, which was beautifully decorated by rows of manicured flowers. The square has its ubiquitous chapel, which is not as grand as was Santa Cruz’ but is intricate and beautiful. I hope we can tour the inside during our visit. On the down-side, there is much graffiti here and stray dogs roam the streets rooting through trash for food. Nevertheless, I could feel myself falling in love with Sucre.
We were told that we should all take it easy the first few days as we acclimate to the altitude. So our hosts took us dancing. I’m not making this up. Salsa. Tamsen was my partner. She’s a better dancer than me. “You need to lead, Michael.” Yikes.
We went to dinner in a crowded restaurant where we ate food mostly like what we would have eaten at Appleby’s at home: salads, French fries, steak, chicken. I had pesto spaghetti which was excellent. We quickly became acquainted with our new friends. Everyone had fun.
I’m soon to be whisked off somewhere for the day’s activities.
Michael
The flight lasted only 25 minutes, but I was told it would have taken 12 hours to drive it, due to the difficult topography and poor quality roads. We took off to the south, then banked west and quickly were over rugged, lightly forested mountains. The further we went, the more rugged and dry the mountains became. At one point, there was a valley with a dry river in it, with the soil of the river basin a brick red. Another valley joined it, also with a dry river, but this basin was a slate grey. The two colors mixed at the junction, but downstream returned quickly to red.
Our airplane made a series of banking maneuvers to reach the Sucre airport, which was nothing more than a single strip. After the airplane landed, it retraced its path to the terminal on the same strip, as there was no taxi-way.
We were met by a smiling group of Rotarians, perhaps numbering around 8 people, with whom we quickly met. The standard greeting is a handshake between men and a handshake and a light kiss on the right cheek between men and women and between women. We seem to be greeted not as strangers but as old friends. Last time we forgot to do so, but with this new arrival we wrote the names and addresses of our hosts for each other, so we’d be able to contact one another should we need to. My hostess is Patricia, an attractive woman who would look at home in any town in America. She looks to be around 30 and has a husband and two children, 6 and 2. She and her husband are both civil engineers and they work on aqueducts for municipal water systems. As of now (the next morning) I am yet to meet him.
Sucre’s location is in a high depression between small peaks. The largest peak has a huge cross above it, which I later found was lit at night. Sucre is generally accepted as Bolivia’s most beautiful city and is rich in history and culture, which we will learn about in due course. The air is blissfully cool. We are at 9000 feet elevation. In my country, we don’t put cities that far into the sky.
My sense is that most American cities are strategically located for some commercial function. For example, Pittsburgh is at the junction of two navigable rivers. Atlanta is at the base of the Appalachians where many railroads met. In Bolivia, the landscape is overwhelming and unyielding. Santa Cruz has a river nearby, but it isn’t navigable and is thus useless for commerce. As far as I know, there are few if any railroads here in the Antiplano, the high country. So cities like Sucre seem to have little reason for being where they are. When I learn more, I’ll report.
We took a drive through the city, Patricia carrying her friend Carla along with Ann and me to our guest houses. Patricia’s house is on a slope (as are many in this hilly place), with several floors connected by short stairways. The room interiors are painted in bright oranges and yellows. The guest room I’ve been given is generally undecorated but comfortable.
Our team met again at a downtown hotel from where we did a walking tour of the center square, which was beautifully decorated by rows of manicured flowers. The square has its ubiquitous chapel, which is not as grand as was Santa Cruz’ but is intricate and beautiful. I hope we can tour the inside during our visit. On the down-side, there is much graffiti here and stray dogs roam the streets rooting through trash for food. Nevertheless, I could feel myself falling in love with Sucre.
We were told that we should all take it easy the first few days as we acclimate to the altitude. So our hosts took us dancing. I’m not making this up. Salsa. Tamsen was my partner. She’s a better dancer than me. “You need to lead, Michael.” Yikes.
We went to dinner in a crowded restaurant where we ate food mostly like what we would have eaten at Appleby’s at home: salads, French fries, steak, chicken. I had pesto spaghetti which was excellent. We quickly became acquainted with our new friends. Everyone had fun.
I’m soon to be whisked off somewhere for the day’s activities.
Michael
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Doug: My first week
My time in Santa Cruz has been great. As Michael mentioned, we have visited many great projects and met many great people. The people here are everything I expected and more. Every person I have met, whether rotarian, waiter or taxi driver, has been friendly and willing to go above and beyond to help me out. That has really helped to make the adjustment to life here comfortable.
As a teacher, I have found the vocational visits very interesting. Most of the schools for poorer children are not even comparable to the worst schools I have seen in the States. Things I take for granted like, computers and books are rare or absent in most cases. Paint is peeling off the walls and in some places the windows were broken or absent. There is also the problem of finding and keeping qualified professionals. People who can help and are willing to take low salaries....ok, really low salaries.
I wish I could post pictures but, I forgot my cable! I promise to borrow someone elses camera to upload some very soon. As they say a picture is worth a million words and I don´t want to encourage Michael to try and match that!
As a teacher, I have found the vocational visits very interesting. Most of the schools for poorer children are not even comparable to the worst schools I have seen in the States. Things I take for granted like, computers and books are rare or absent in most cases. Paint is peeling off the walls and in some places the windows were broken or absent. There is also the problem of finding and keeping qualified professionals. People who can help and are willing to take low salaries....ok, really low salaries.
I wish I could post pictures but, I forgot my cable! I promise to borrow someone elses camera to upload some very soon. As they say a picture is worth a million words and I don´t want to encourage Michael to try and match that!
Today we depart
Yesterday, we had a light schedule. We toured a day-care center for children with disabilities. Ann was particularly interested in it because she teaches special education. It was a nice, well-equipped facility. We were told there is a waiting list of 100 to get in.
We had lunch at a beautiful resort hotel. I asked about rooms and was told they cost around $100 American per night – half, I think, what they would have cost in the states. I sat with Javier Aguilera, a handsome, soft-spoken man who told me he ran a company he founded that rents construction equipment. He said business was good because Santa Cruz is growing rapidly. But there are always problems. Sometimes he will invest in training his employees only to see them leave for better jobs. The companies that are his customers are often slow to implement better equipment because the workers learn by watching others rather than in schools and are unwilling to learn new techniques. I asked him if we could tour his facility after lunch and he was happy to take us. He had cement mixers, industrial drills, jackhammers, soil compactors, and all manner of heavy equipment, all in good repair. His office was in the second storey of a nice, modern building.
Marlene, my hostess, took us shopping in the city center, where I found some things for my family at a craft store. Many items such as wind chimes, wall hangings, and jewelry boxes, are boldly colored with bright images of animals of the Amazon: birds, reptiles, and flowers.
Doug, Judah, and I came back to Marlene’s house to have some beers and a chat. Her boys were home and we played chess and juggled with them. Fernando and Maely came over and we exchanged gifts, me giving them a copy of my book and them giving me a copy of a book by a friend of theirs about a cello teacher here in Eastern Bolivia.
Fernando and I spoke about the GSE experience and the value of international travel. He said that he was an exchange student to New York State in the 1960s. There was considerable anti-American sentiment in South America. “Yankee go home!” He expected people from the United States to be bad people. But when he arrived, he was pleasantly surprised to find them warm and friendly. Are people like this everywhere? When we go see them and live with them and share their lives, dreams, inspirations, and aspirations, we can find out.
We attended the meeting of Marlene’s Rotary Club. There were around 25 members and it was evident they were good friends with one another. Three teenagers from the United States attended, being exchange students sponsored by her club. I sat with a girl from western New York and the others were a boy from northern Idaho and a girl from Anchorage, Alaska. All had quickly learned Spanish and loved the experience, although they were ready to go home.
After the meeting, Marlene took Judah and I to a casino that looked like it could have been in Las Vegas. Judah and Marlene played black-jack, but I simply watched. I find casinos to be dreadful places, where people fret away their time and money amidst swirling cigarette smoke. Nobody looks happy. I took a taxi home when Judah said, “We might be here for awhile!” I assumed the barking of Marlene’s dogs that awoke me in the middle of the night was her arrival home.
Today is our last day in Santa Cruz. I just said goodbye to Marlene’s boys as they left for school. Soon I will pack my things and we will be underway to the airport for the short flight to Sucre, the white city. Everyone speaks highly of Sucre. The city has a population of around ¼ million and lies at over 9000 feet elevation. (Note, we don’t have cities at 9000 feet where I come from.) The air is crisp and cool. It will be another new world for us.
Fernando and many other people have asked me how I have liked Santa Cruz. To those I knew wouldn’t be offended, I said, “To be honest, it’s not my kind of place.” It is hot, flat and crowded. I like cool, mountainous, and sparse. But the people have made all the difference. They have been warm, open, and generous beyond my grandest expectation.
Michael
We had lunch at a beautiful resort hotel. I asked about rooms and was told they cost around $100 American per night – half, I think, what they would have cost in the states. I sat with Javier Aguilera, a handsome, soft-spoken man who told me he ran a company he founded that rents construction equipment. He said business was good because Santa Cruz is growing rapidly. But there are always problems. Sometimes he will invest in training his employees only to see them leave for better jobs. The companies that are his customers are often slow to implement better equipment because the workers learn by watching others rather than in schools and are unwilling to learn new techniques. I asked him if we could tour his facility after lunch and he was happy to take us. He had cement mixers, industrial drills, jackhammers, soil compactors, and all manner of heavy equipment, all in good repair. His office was in the second storey of a nice, modern building.
Marlene, my hostess, took us shopping in the city center, where I found some things for my family at a craft store. Many items such as wind chimes, wall hangings, and jewelry boxes, are boldly colored with bright images of animals of the Amazon: birds, reptiles, and flowers.
Doug, Judah, and I came back to Marlene’s house to have some beers and a chat. Her boys were home and we played chess and juggled with them. Fernando and Maely came over and we exchanged gifts, me giving them a copy of my book and them giving me a copy of a book by a friend of theirs about a cello teacher here in Eastern Bolivia.
Fernando and I spoke about the GSE experience and the value of international travel. He said that he was an exchange student to New York State in the 1960s. There was considerable anti-American sentiment in South America. “Yankee go home!” He expected people from the United States to be bad people. But when he arrived, he was pleasantly surprised to find them warm and friendly. Are people like this everywhere? When we go see them and live with them and share their lives, dreams, inspirations, and aspirations, we can find out.
We attended the meeting of Marlene’s Rotary Club. There were around 25 members and it was evident they were good friends with one another. Three teenagers from the United States attended, being exchange students sponsored by her club. I sat with a girl from western New York and the others were a boy from northern Idaho and a girl from Anchorage, Alaska. All had quickly learned Spanish and loved the experience, although they were ready to go home.
After the meeting, Marlene took Judah and I to a casino that looked like it could have been in Las Vegas. Judah and Marlene played black-jack, but I simply watched. I find casinos to be dreadful places, where people fret away their time and money amidst swirling cigarette smoke. Nobody looks happy. I took a taxi home when Judah said, “We might be here for awhile!” I assumed the barking of Marlene’s dogs that awoke me in the middle of the night was her arrival home.
Today is our last day in Santa Cruz. I just said goodbye to Marlene’s boys as they left for school. Soon I will pack my things and we will be underway to the airport for the short flight to Sucre, the white city. Everyone speaks highly of Sucre. The city has a population of around ¼ million and lies at over 9000 feet elevation. (Note, we don’t have cities at 9000 feet where I come from.) The air is crisp and cool. It will be another new world for us.
Fernando and many other people have asked me how I have liked Santa Cruz. To those I knew wouldn’t be offended, I said, “To be honest, it’s not my kind of place.” It is hot, flat and crowded. I like cool, mountainous, and sparse. But the people have made all the difference. They have been warm, open, and generous beyond my grandest expectation.
Michael
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Snippets
Life is passing by in intense bursts here in Bolivia.
Yesterday I hopefully successfully negotiated with the national GSE coordinator our need for more rest. I told him that our typical schedule of leaving our hosts at 9:00 a.m. and not returning until midnight was making us weary, not to mention leaving us little time to share with our hosts. In spite of my best abilities to be gracious in this respect, the word seemingly arrived back to the club that coordinated our weekend excursion that they were somehow to blame and that we were unhappy with them. Hopefully, feathers weren’t too ruffled. Smiles seemed to return to all faces quickly.
Speaking of our hosts, mine is Marlene de Gionnotti. Marlene is a delightful single mom with two boys. She was educated at Southern Mississippi and is a successful businesswoman. Her house is gorgeous, twice as big as mine, with tasteful decorations throughout. Like many Latina women, she wears lots of jewelry and speaks in an exuberant, rapid-fire way. She is attentive to my every need and I like her very much. It will be difficult saying goodbye in a couple of days.
Every day, the sights and sounds of this exotic place flood the senses.
We were given a walk-through of a public market by a woman named Nina, whose German father settled in Bolivia. Outdoor markets are seemingly ubiquitous in Central and South America. It was a smorgasbord of colors and smells, with everything imaginable being sold. I envisioned many of the garment sellers obtained their merchandise from the black market, with endless racks of t-shirts, sandals, trousers, and linens. Food vendors sold fruits, many of which I’d never seen before, vegetables, grains from large burlap bags, and spices. Our guide bought a small plastic bag full of coca, gathered by hand from a large burlap bag. The entire area is overlain with an endless quilt of tarps and canopies. The meat vendors are nearby, situated indoors where the meats can be refrigerated, but regardless there are flies everywhere. Nina spoke with resignation about the fact that because these vendors were unregistered, they didn’t issue sales receipts and didn’t pay taxes. Her own business was a day-care and educational center for children 1 to 4 years old, and she lamented that legitimate businesses like hers were required to pay taxes, around 15%.
Coca is the plant from which cocaine is made. The people of Bolivia drink tea made from it, and it has a medicinal quality, curing intestinal problems. The peasants also place leaves between their cheek and gum, where it has a mild numbing effect. There is a huge black market in the harvesting and exportation of coca. The cocaine trade kills people and topples governments. I am trying to learn more about it.
At one point, Marlene, her kids, and her friend JuanPablo, and I were parked downtown. Nearby, someone had left their car in a spaced marked for no parking. The proprietress whose access had been blocked told JuanPablo that the last time someone left their car there, she slashed all the tires. He convinced her that that punishment was a bit harsh, so this time she agreed to slash only the front two. It was the most severe sign of hostility I'd seen where most people react to minor traffic indiscretions with resignation and nonchalance.
I went for a run/walk yesterday morning in Marlene’s neighborhood. This is a gated community that is surrounded by a concrete wall. The houses look like they would be right at home in an upscale neighborhood in Los Angeles. The sun was already hot as businessmen, carrying the daily newspaper, entered their cars for the morning commute. Maids swept sidewalks and watered outdoor flowers, many of which looked like familiar indoor plants back home. The weather is consistently warm throughout the year here, with the only seasonable variation being more rain in the summer from November until January. To me, this consistency is strange, given my life-long experience living where daily and seasonally variable weather is a fact of life. Here, today is pretty much the same as yesterday and pretty much the same as will be tomorrow, forever. Unnerving.
Almost every evening, we attend a Rotary Club meeting where we are featured speakers. We give much the same presentation each time, primarily about ourselves: our families, occupations, and interest. Our hosts seem genuinely pleased that we have chosen to visit with them in their country and we always receive a cordial environment. The one last evening seemed particularly informal and fun. Our team tries to split amongst the crowd so each of us can meet someone in the group. Invariably, I am able to find someone who speaks English, which helps in communicating more than just the most basic information. However, even when I don’t, I still do my best to make conversation. Every sentence I utter has mistakes. For example, yesterday I tried to ask a woman at lunch if she had children. Apparently my phrasing was such that I asked her if she made babies. I am generally undeterred and I would rather make a fool of myself than sit silently, as I don’t mind being laughed at. Embarrassment at my age is not an inhibiting factor. Rotary sent us her to interact with our hosts and I do so at every opportunity.
At the meeting last night, I sat between Ever (my host over the weekend on our trip to Samiapata) and a man with a Master’s degree in Business Administration from Vanderbilt who worked for a company that manages a 300-mile long natural gas feeding Bolivian energy to Brazil. We talked about what a benefit to our lives membership in Rotary has been, not only for the charitable work done locally and around the world but in the exchange of goodwill in situations like GSE. I told him that joining Rotary was one of the best things I’d ever done, and he concurred.
I was given a ride home after the meeting by another man, Alejandro, also a good English speaker, who told me that the government had murdered three people they said were terrorists a year earlier in the hotel where we had just met. This man was moved to Santa Cruz by his parents when he was young, leaving his hometown of Potosi. Potosi was once one of the richest towns in all of South America, being the heart of mining country, for tin, gold, and silver. It had electricity and other amenities before most of the country. Now, like many coal mining towns in Appalachia, Potosi was faced with diminishing population, poverty, and despair. Alejandro told me that the most intelligent and motivated people left the Potosi area long ago, seeking better opportunities. How similar was his story to what I’ve been told by the people of the coal regions of Appalachia!
Staying healthy and keeping my team healthy is a constant concern. Anne has had digestion problems and she skipped the meeting, so Judah made her presentation for her. I have diarrhea myself this morning and I have two huge insect bites on my side. Tamsen and Doug are sunburned from our walk on Sunday at the archeological site in Samiapata. Judah, who lived for a time in Mexico, seems right at home. We are told that staying healthy becomes an even greater concern as we leave cosmopolitan Santa Cruz and head into higher elevations, where cities are supplied with drinking water of questionable quality, where the sun is particularly intense, and where breathing is more difficult. We are told to eat light meals and limit our exercise for a few days as we acclimate. Light headaches are common for people as they reach high altitudes and I hope to not suffer from more serious migraines that I get sometimes.
Being here is enormously challenging but at least if we can stay healthy, it will be worth every minute.
Michael
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