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
Monday, April 11, 2011
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)