Posts Tagged ‘Bolivia’
• Bolivia
Several people started asking me about the end of the world after I got back from Bolivia.
I guess living in South America made me a better source on the ancient Mayans, who predicted “the end of days” would come in December 2012, when their calendar stops.
Bolivians don’t seem too worried about the apocalypse though. In the Andean worldview, December 2012 doesn’t represent the end of the world; instead it’s the end of one age and the beginning of another. It might be an age of climate change and robots, who knows?
I started picturing this new age while working on a documentary film about bottled water. Southern Cochabamba has a serious water shortage and if nothing happens to change that, water access will keep bubbling up as a big issue. Many of the Cochabambinos I talked to were concerned about who would control resources like water in the future.
Two of the last Bolivians I spoke with before leaving Cochabamba had nothing to say about the city’s water supply or what’s in store for us this December. They were spunky parrots who spent most of their time repeating the word hola (hello) and trying to call attention to themselves. Their loud belly-laughter rang out far beyond their outdoor cage. It was almost like they were mocking drunken people who wandered past them at night. One of the times I stopped by to say hola, the bolder of the pair cawed a word that sounded like “loser.” I thought I imagined it until the parrot squawked it again. That unexpected American word seemed like a good send-off for flying home to the States.
Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.
The voices of two laughing, chattering parrots.
One of my reoccurring anxieties before studying abroad went something like this: I hope I don’t get altitude sickness and have to leave Cochabamba. It sounds like a ridiculous thing to be worried about considering everything that can happen when you’re far away from home. As it turned out, moving from the U.S. to Bolivia was easier than when I moved from Illinois to Michigan. I think my host family was the reason that my transition went so well. They accepted me, protected me, dyed my hair red and blue, and patiently waited for the punch lines of my jokes. Now I think I have Midwest sickness and want be near mountains again.
This week I’ve begun to notice that my Bolivian gummy candy tastes less delicious than I remember. The fruity flavors must complement a summer day in Cochabamba better than a winter day in Chicago.
This parrot's eyes bare the colors of the Bolivian flag: red, yellow and green.
A week and a half ago—less than 20 hours after finishing up my finals—I was en route to the airport to start a new week-long adventure in Bolivia. Two family friends of mine work at the U.S. embassy in La Paz, so I couldn’t help but jump at the opportunity to visit the city with some actual residents there to help me out. After experiencing a small panic when a flight delay convinced me that I would miss my connection and have to search for a hotel room in the Bolivian jungle, I arrived in La Paz still brimming with excitement. The minute I stepped outside the airport, I immediately felt the effects of its dizzying high altitude—which was only the first indication that La Paz would be unlike anywhere else I’d ever been.
To make the easiest South American comparison, Buenos Aires and La Paz are worlds apart. While Buenos Aires has a flat, urban landscape, La Paz winds its way up hills with elevations between 3,000 and 4,100 meters above sea level. Where Buenos Aires is filled with skyscrapers and corporate structures, the simple brick buildings of La Paz remain largely modest. The vast majority of porteños are of white European descent, but the roots of the La Paz population are decidedly more indigenous. Every corner in the city is buzzing with “Cholitas,” the native women who typically wear traditional shawls, multilayered skirts and small black bowler hats.
Fortunately, I had considerable assistance in navigating this unfamiliar terrain. My hosts arranged a city tour, an exploration of indigenous ruins, and a trip to Lake Titicaca for me in the first weekend. For the rest of the week, the teenage daughter of a Bolivian diplomat served as my guide and showed me around all the key city attractions, including Iglesia San Francisco and La Calle de las Brujas. I think I was successful in my goal to use every waking second of my short trip to discover more of the city, and my camera never left my side as I tried to absorb as much as possible.
Although I was in La Paz only briefly, it certainly left a lasting impression. Bolivia is probably the poorest country I’ve ever visited, but it is also one of the most colorful and memorable. The vibrant Cholita fashions, winding streets, and breathtaking mountains of La Paz produce a unique aesthetic—and a unique identity—that stands in stark contrast to any other city I’ve seen. Moreover, I couldn’t have asked for more generous or helpful hosts, and the entire experience proved to be the perfect follow-up to the previous week of exhausting final exams and hurried paper writing. I was able to head back to Buenos Aires for my last few days feeling rejuvenated and confident that I’d seen a whole different side of South America.
So things have been kind of hectic the last two months. My program basically traveled all of October, and I’ve spent November creating a documentary film. It’s about the precarious situation surrounding water in Cochabamba and the water bottle companies that make money from it. One thing I’ve learned is that many people in the Southern part of the city still live like they did out in the country before they migrated to Cochabamba. So here’s a little bit of what I know about life in the country, from when I stayed with an indigenous family back in mid-October:
Out in the countryside, there really are "mountains beyond mountains." I always thought the tree on top of this hill was a llama.
My stay with the indigenous family in the country was one of those experiences that you can’t walk away from without feeling different. I guess it’s a mix of good and bad. I saw a lot of things that I never thought I’d see with my own eyes. I only spent three full days living without electricity, bathrooms, and tables; but after I got done adjusting to this life, I wasn’t ready to go back to the city.
So here´s how it went: After taking an incredibly shaky five-hour bus ride out of Cochabamba along a rocky road through the mountains, then being crammed into a pick-up truck with a bag full of bread and crossing a bunch of rivers, I was one of the last two people to be dropped off with a country family.
There wasn’t a bunch of people waiting out front to greet their gringita (white girl) like I’d seen families do earlier. There were just a bunch of scraggly trees, spiny bushes, and litter scattered in the front yard. The program assistant Patti called my name and I climbed out of the truck. An 11-year-old girl wearing what looked like mismatched 80´s clothing came up and took my backpack. I looked behind me at Patti and she said she’d be back the next day to check up on me and drop off water. Then the pick-up left.
I felt awkward because I was wearing clean jeans and a dress as a shirt. And because I had a big backpack and a purse with two cameras in it. The girl put my stuff down in a room with a dirt floor and dirt walls and some sacks lying by the door. Through my lame attempts at striking up conversation, I found out her name was Isabel and the three-year-old boy following us was her brother Willie. He only spoke the indigenous language Quechua so I never understood what he said, except for when he screamed misk’i (candy) at me. After we put my stuff down, Isabel and I left her family’s compound so she could show me the family’s fields.
The family´s home was more like a compound than a straight-up house.
The room with my stuff ended up being the room I slept in. It had a table where Isabel did her homework and a mud bench lining one of the walls. There wasn’t anything over the windows or a door so the room was open to the elements. Isabel and her family slept in the room behind it. Next to this mud building was an open area covered by a roof of sticks with sheep skins and knitting stuff. Across from the bedrooms was a mud building with potatoes on the floor and small amounts of vegetables in plastic baggies. To the right of that was another mud building with sheep skins and things hanging from a rope. The whole compound was walled in and there was an open space in the middle where you could sometimes find meat hanging from a line. You had to walk through a wooden gate to get to the kitchen, which is a small mud building on its own. Also, there was absolutely no electricity or a bathroom. You just had to pick a spot and squat.
Before dinner, Isabel took one of the candles that I brought and did some of her homework by candlelight. That’s when the reality of where I was really began to hit me. At dinner, the family sat on low stools on the kitchen’s dirt floor and ate off of plates resting on the ground. Isabel’s mom groped around for the meal with only a flashlight and a dim fire in the corner. I think I found a chicken liver with my food, which was mainly rice and potatoes, but luckily it was too dark to see for sure. I remember how Isabel’s dad categorized me as “one of THOSE people” who eat at tables, and then the family tried to send me to eat by myself at the table in the bedroom building. I tried to convince them that I didn’t need a table, but Isabel went and found me a bucket to put my plate on.
I went to bed at around 8 p.m. that night because I didn’t know what else to do. I got into the sleeping bag that I borrowed from my host family, which was meant for a child and only came up to my chest. I slept on top of a metal bed frame with goat skins and a blanket under my sleeping bag. After I went to bed, Isabel stood over me for a few seconds and then threw one of her family’s homemade blankets over me. I didn’t sleep with my program recommended bug net and I ended up being fine, but I dreamed about bugs biting me.
Isabel and the other kids usually try to balance on this pipeline on their way home from school. The pipeline also makes a good seat.
Every morning I helped Isabel make fry bread. We rolled out dough into circles with our hands and she cooked them in a pan of oil over the fire. We also drank tea out of thin wooden bowls and I never saw anyone use cups.
The first morning I woke up before Isabel around the time the sun came up (6 a.m.) because I thought I’d be working in the fields, helping to cook and doing chores during my time in the country. Except…Isabel’s mom, who only knows a few words of Spanish, didn’t want me to help her with anything. So I never ended up doing any work, which was kind of silly because I was happy to help with whatever I could.
Instead, I went to school with Isabel. During our walk there we ran into her cousins and Joey, one of the guys from my group who was staying with their family. The kids told us that the school building is one of the few bastions of electricity in the area.
To our surprise, Joey and I wound up teaching the kids in Isabel’s class for an hour because the teacher said he had to go talk to community members. Joey and I both blanked on what to do (the class we were supposed to teach was natural science) so we tried talking about outer space and planets before we realized that the kids were actually studying the human body. Then Joey began teaching the kids how to say body parts in English.
After school (which only lasted a few hours) the kids wanted to go swimming. We walked a little ways and then hiked downwards off the road and swam in the river in our underwear. The funny thing was the rocks lining the river were covered in mud under the water, so if you sat down on one of them the mud got on your underwear and it looked like you crapped your pants. Isn’t that attractive? The kids liked to get out of the water and cover themselves in the rocky sand on the opposite river bank. They would lie on their chests with their heads sticking up, which made them look like seals.
Every evening, the goats made their way back to this pen made of sticks and bristles.
Later that afternoon we went exploring the mountains around Isabel’s house. Her family grows potatoes, onions, and corn and they also have lime trees. The kids usually ate big yellow limes, but I only managed to finish part of one even though I was really thirsty because it was too sour. Isabel’s family also has chickens, goats, cats, two dogs and a puppy. I also saw a lot of sheep on the nearby hills and the occasional cow roaming down the dirt road.
One of the gifts I gave Isabel was a bunch of noise-making balloons. She really loved inflating them and watching them shoot into the air. The animals were terrified of them. Isabel started bringing the balloons with us during hikes so she could shoot them off and startle animals. She gave a couple balloons to her cousins and we could hear the balloons shrieking through the air on the hill across from us.
That night after dinner I followed Isabel and her mom to the goat pen. One of the females had injured her leg and was resting away from the others with her calf. Isabel and her mom giggled and peed into a bucket, and then her mom rubbed the urine on the goat’s leg. I just kept thinking about the Dual Durvival episode where the hippy guy says, “Are you sure you don’t want me to piss on your hat? I’m doing you a favor!”
Our secluded swimming spot.
The following afternoon Isabel and I left Willie at home and we hiked up the mountain right behind the house. It was really prickly and rocky and I slipped a bunch of times when we began climbing down the other side. We followed a set of railroad tracks for a while and walked through a cave, where Isabel threw rocks at bats, before we started scaling down a really steep part of the mountain. It was probably the riskiest thing we did out in the country. Sometimes we walked on a very narrow path–only big enough for one foot at a time–while we held on to the rocks and bushes we passed by and tried to avoid prickles.
Eventually we got down to the rocky ledge of the river and walked along the shore for a while until we got to a place deep enough to swim. Along the way we passed a cave where a pair of eagles lived. The rocks burned our feet when we took off our shoes. Isabel ran to the river and jumped right in, but I put my feet in first. The water was turquoise and uncomfortably chilly. Eventually I slid/jumped into the water. It felt so refreshing and the current wasn’t too swift. Isabel and I slid down a few mini waterfalls and tried to swim up-current. She found a really big piece of bark from a tree and we used it as a boat. It didn’t work very well with both of us, but it was kind of fun. I really enjoyed floating on my back and looking up at the cliffs surrounding us. We were the only ones in that great big space.
After we finished swimming we climbed up one of the big cliffs to get back to Isabel’s home. I had to take a bunch of breaks but the view was really neat. I lost the lens cap for my camera when Isabel and I were walking along the ledge of a waterfall that emptied into the river below. I was thinking about falling and keeping my balance when I spooked myself, which made the lens cap fall out of my hand and roll down into the waterfall. I felt bad about leaving gringo evidence in that beautiful landscape.
My camera also ran out of batteries at that point and we saw some really neat things. For instance, the sunset was hauntingly beautiful that night. I want to paint the image—it was amazing! Blue hills in the distance, pink sky, a single star, and Isabel’s dad below in his potato field burning tree stumps. It was great.
After beating their clothes against river rocks until they were perfectly clean, the family hung their clothes up to dry on these spiny bushes.
Aside from the river that Isabel and I swam in, there was a brook next to her house where the family gets their water and a large stone riverbed with a trickle of water. I helped Isabel’s mom and her aunt wash clothes in the riverbed one afternoon. They used a turquoise bar of soap with finger grips to lather up the clothes. Then they rubbed out the stains and beat the clothes against the smooth slabs of rocks next to the water. While we washed the clothes, Willie bathed in one of the pools of soapy water. Eventually he ran to the road and played with a bicycle tire while wearing his floppy hat. Isabel’s aunt asked me about the machines we use in my country to wash our clothes. Afterward we hung up the laundry to dry on spiny bushes. The clothes smelled deliciously of baking soda.
On my last day, Isabel and I tried to go on our afternoon adventure but Willie followed us. We stopped to rest under the shade of a lone tree and let him catch up. He had a blow pop in his mouth and lay his head down on Isabel’s lap. He kept almost falling asleep, which made red pools of saliva trickle from his mouth onto Isabel’s pants. Isabel didn’t notice at first because she was busy running her fingers through his short hair and pulling out little black bugs, just like the ones I’d seen on the underside of their puppy earlier that day. I felt pretty bad because it looked like Willie had fleas.
I finally saw the stars that night. (Usually the skies were overcast.) Isabel and I climbed on top of the family’s round, clay oven and looked at the heavens. Even though my head was wedged underneath the corner of the family’s low roof and my back was arched at a weird angle–at this point the country finally felt like home.
When the truck came to pick me up the next day, Isabel partially hid behind her mom, pretending to be shy.
Isabel and I looked at the stars while sitting on top of the family's oven.
In south America
On the western side
East of the ocean
Under the equator
Near Peru
Over Argentina
Beneath Brazil
Far from Venezuela
In the Andes range
Above sea level
By the border of Bolivia
…Is lake Titicaca
I first discovered Lake Titicaca back in sixth grade when I had to write a poem using prepositions. I pulled open a map, saw the name Lake Titicaca, giggled, and then wrote a poem much like the one above.
It was a very important moment in my life when I had the chance to visit the lake. As I sat on a ferryboat on the way to the town of Copacabana, I couldn’t shake off the urge to yell out, “Life goal accomplished!” I never thought I’d actually see the lake with my own eyes.
That night I was still in awe of the lake as I settled into a hotel in Copacabana. A giant moon rested just above the dark mountains and cast a brilliant reflection over the water. You could see it even with the window blinds closed.
The next morning my group took a two-hour ride on a slow passenger boat to La Isla del Sol (the Island of the Sun). Most of us rode on the roof of the boat in the chilly, open air. Some people wrapped towels around their bodies for warmth or covered their faces with scarves and sunglasses. It felt a lot warmer when we disembarked and explored La Isla del Sol.
For lunch we had trout (most local restaurants appealing to English-speaking tourists call it “trouts”) and small fried fish that looked like the bait minnows used by fishermen. I popped one of the little fish into my mouth and winced when I heard the crunch of tiny bones. We also ate potatoes and corn that were lying on a blanket in the middle of the table.
We hopped back onto the boat after lunch and headed over to a small island across the bay so we could swim. The boat pulled up to the rocky shore and dropped anchor. It seemed like a very precarious spot to go swimming because the water was pretty deep and getting back onto shore didn’t look easy.
All the same, we waited on the sides of the boat wearing only our swimsuits in the chilly air, half of us facing the shore and the other half facing the open lake. The director of the program began the countdown to jump in and I started gathering my nerve.
Suddenly, the boat swung too close to the shore so our director stopped counting, but the people on the other half of the boat jumped in anyway. They came up to the surface screaming at the top of their lungs because of the cold. Some of them clung to the side of the boat like shipwreck survivors and tried to pull themselves up. Others swam toward the island, climbed up on the big boulders lining the shore and waited in line to get back in the boat.
After watching that scene unfold, swimming in the lake was absolutely the last thing in the world that I wanted to do. But I clung to the edge of the boat anyway and forced myself to jump in at the count of three.
“Hayaya!” Splash.
I dove about ten feet under the water until the shock of the cold propelled me upwards. I remember the water changed from clear green to sparkling blue as my head broke the surface of the lake and I gasped for breath. It was so cold that my lungs panicked and I almost couldn’t breathe. I screamed a little obnoxiously to release stress while I made my way over to the rocks.
As I stood foot deep in water and waited to climb back onto the boat, I realized the cold wasn’t so bad after all. Once I got in the boat and wrapped myself in a towel, I kept thinking about the colors of the lake under the water and I had an intense desire to jump back in. I went to the side of the boat and dove into the lake just for fun with a few other people.
“Hayaya!”
Once again the colors of the water blew me away as I swam to the surface. A few people started splashing me when I came up, but my lungs were still in panic mode so I started floundering in the water while choking for air. I floated on my back and made my way to the rocks. Once I had a foothold, I put my hands on my chest and slowly relaxed my breathing.
After that, swimming in the lake was fun again and I didn’t want to get out. When I finally did, I sat on the roof at the front of the boat and shiveringly took in the scenery. The lake looked like una maravilla.
Sure–I had already swum in the cold waters of Lake Michigan during the Spring, but this experience was different. I’d finally reached the sacred lake.
This SlideShowPro photo gallery requires the Flash Player plugin and a web browser with JavaScript enabled.
The first llama fetus I glimpsed in Bolivia was lying at the feet of a mud devil deep in one of the mines of Potosí.
As I peered around a corner in the mine, I saw a tour guide scoop up the bones of a small animal from a bed of coca leaves at the boots of the devil Tio and inform her group, “Aquí está un fetos de llama.” (Here is a llama fetus.)
My program had left Cochabamba for five days on an excursion to the cities of Sucre and Potosí. While Sucre is known as Bolivia’s official capital—and for its hats and chocolate—Potosí is famous for the silver mines that indigenous people have worked in since colonial times.
On our second day in Potosí we put on jumpsuits, helmets and rubber boots and went into the mines. Potosí feels a lot colder than Cochabamba because it’s said to be the highest city in the world (13420 feet above sea level), so at first I felt happy to put on the extra clothing. It wasn’t until we got to the mines that I realized some areas were as warm as 100 degrees Fahrenheit.
We piled onto a bus and took the winding road up to Cerro Rico, the mountain with the all the mines. Plastic trash covered the sides of the road and I saw a few donkeys and pigs walking by themselves in the opposite direction.
Cerro Rico is often called The Mountain That Eats Men because an estimated 8 million people have died working in the mines since the 1500s.
After climbing on top of a hill of rocks to look at the city, we walked past a group of single-room stone houses and followed two young miners with a cart into one of the mine entrances. Water filled the passage floor and smooth stone bricks formed the ceiling. Most of the other passages we encountered looked more like cave tunnels and had wooden ceiling braces to keep stones from falling. As we pressed deeper into the mine, the passage floors became dry and dusty. The dust made it hard to breathe so I tried covering my mouth with my waterproof coat. Soon I started feeling like I was suffocating so I gave up and breathed in the dust.
Most of the people in my group carried gifts that our tour guide had given us for the miners. We had green plastic bags bursting with coca leaves and five or six liters of pop. You’re supposed to tuck the gifts out of sight, otherwise passing miners will swipe them right out of your jumpsuit.
Shortly after entering the mine we stopped in a chamber and talked with the two young miners we followed into the mountain. One of them said he began working in the mines three years ago because there weren’t any other jobs in Potosí. Afterwards the pair hoisted their empty cart back onto the track running through passage and disappeared ahead of us into the mine.
Usually pairs of miners run briskly through the passages while pushing their carts at full speed. We pressed our bodies flat against the passage wall whenever a cart full of minerals came by so we wouldn’t lose a toe. We also called out ¡Guarda! (look out!) whenever the ceiling stooped low and we couldn’t walk upright and ¡Guarda izquerida! or ¡Guarda derecha! (watch your left or right) when we passed a gaping hole in the ground.
Sometimes we left the metal track running through the main passages and crawled on beds of rocks to get to the next part of the mine. Other times we passed through large caverns or climbed ladders. Occasionally the passages got so low that I had to crouch over flat like a table and place my hands behind my back for balance. Toward the end I started putting my hands on my knees and bending my legs as I tried to move swiftly through the low passages and keep up with the group.
We usually stopped and talked to the miners we passed. At one point we were waiting for a cart to come through a passage when a man called out through a partially boarded up doorway, “Entra! Entra!” (come in!). I ducked under the boards blocking the top of the doorway and entered a small den where a group of six or seven miners sat on the ground chewing coca leaves, which wards off fatigue and hunger and gives the miners more strength to work.
The oldest miner of the group welcomed us to sit down and told us about working in the mine. He said he makes enough money to support his family, but he often stays in the mines with his group of men for 48 hours at a time. The miners don’t have a fixed salary, so the amount of money they make depends on what they’re able to find in the mines.
After we talked for a bit the miner picked up an empty plastic bottle from the ground and passed it to one of the other men sitting across from him. The other guy mixed straight alcohol with water and then shook it up to make whiskey. The miners started passing around the whiskey, pouring the first sip on the ground for the Pachamama or mother earth. We gave the miners two liters of pop and a few bags of coca leaves before we left.
I learned later that miners usually die of silicosis by the time they reach 40, when the dust from the mines unites in their lungs and they burst. And while women don’t work in the mines, as many as 800 children do.
Miners also don´t believe that God can reach them under the mountain. Instead, the miners leave offerings for Tio, the devil, so he won’t kill them in the mines.
Our guide had us shut off our helmet lamps when we went to visit one of the Tios. We sat in the darkness listening to the guide tell us a story about how a greedy miner offered a virgin girl to Tio so he could get rich. The next day her body was gone, so the miners say that Tio ate her.
I wasn’t really afraid of the dark or of getting lost while I explored the mine. Most of the passages were pitch black and silent, but there were reminders of people everywhere. An empty plastic bottle. Drawings of Tio on the wall. Boarded up caverns with equipment.
The only scary part of the experience was when I climbed up a ladder out of a deep cavern. There was a precarious drop to my right, and when I reached the top of the ladder there was a dark passageway and the loud clang of machinery. I couldn’t see where my group went and I felt frozen to the spot with my feet still on the ladder. Finally someone yelled out for me to walk to the left and I reunited with the rest of the group. Those few moments were incredibly disorienting.
Toward the end of our three hours in the mine we climbed onto a pile of rocks and waited to hear the sound of an explosion. I turned off my light to let it recharge a little. Only a couple other people left theirs on, and as beams of light traveled around the passage with the movement of each head, I breathed slowly and thought about the next time I’d see the sunlight.
This might be what the miners think to themselves every day.
This SlideShowPro photo gallery requires the Flash Player plugin and a web browser with JavaScript enabled.
Last night my host sister gave me a double high five when we heard the verdict from our dad—we didn’t have to wake up early to go to the gym this morning!
All the colegios were closed today because Cochabambinos set up road blocks to protest the Bolivian government. At the last minute my classes were canceled too. Up until then, my host family kept teasing me by saying they’d have to take me to school in a helicopter or on the back of a donkey if I still had to go to class.
Today the roads of Cochabamba were shut down in protest of the government’s repression of the indigenous people who have been marching against the construction of a highway through an area of the Amazon forest known as the TIPNIS (El Territorio Indígena y Parque Nacional Isiboro Sécure). Protesters have been staging marches and road block demonstrations the entire time I’ve been in Bolivia, but things didn’t escalate until the government began using force to break up the protests on Sunday. Everyone in my program was reeling Monday afternoon when we learned that children may have been killed as a result of the tear gas used by the police on Sunday. By Monday night, young Cochabambinos were congregating in a few of the streets near my university before a 6 p.m. protest.
Semi-trucks parked on the normally-busy street in front of my house for more than an hour today in solidarity with the TIPNIS.
Cochabamba’s public taxis and buses were supposed to stop running after 8 this morning, and the news showed people hanging on the outside of crowded buses as they tried to get to work before the road blocks started.
Today’s city-wide road blocks also caused my host mom to walk to her dentist appointment. She told me she had to cross a bridge controlled by a group of miners who refused to let any cars pass.
Even though my family lives north of the center of the city, in a neighborhood that feels far away from all the action, the busy street in front of my house briefly came to a standstill just like the roads in the rest of Cochabamba. Semi-trucks parked in two lines on one side of the road, and only the occasional motorcycle or car tried to weave between the parked traffic.
The funny thing about all the whole TIPNIS situation is that I’ve heard Americans are also protesting the destruction of the environment. Bolivia’s president, Evo Morales, was elected on the same kind of platform of hope and change as President Obama. It makes me wonder if the environment stands a chance in the face of progress in any part of the world.
Many Bolivians are angry at President Evo Morales after police repression of indigenous activists on Sunday.
Although Cochabambinos designate the 14th of September as the city’s day of independence from Spain, festivities begin a day before the actual holiday.
Students marched in parades instead of having classes on the 13th of September, and that evening my host family took me to a parade.
Colegios (schools), marching bands and military personnel swamped El Prado, the city’s main boulevard. Plastic yard chairs lined the north-bound side of El Prado and went for 10 Bolivianos per person in the area near my family’s spot.
Street venders sold balloons and cotton candy on poles that were often twice their height. Calls for papitas fritas (chips), pipoca (popcorn), chicle (gum) and refrescos (pop) competed with the voice of an announcer for the audience’s attention, which gave the parade the feel of a baseball game.
The night parade lasted four hours, during which time I probably watched every colegio in the city march by–and then some. A few colegios came from other cities like La Paz to get in on Cochabamba’s excitement. A bunch of the marching bands played “The Ants Go Marching On and On,” and the crowd got excited whenever one of the marchers flung their baton into the air and caught it. Two clowns in large sombreros tried enticing the crowd to buy bubble guns during the long stretches between marchers.
The army and navy cadets who brought up the rear of the parade carried toy helicopters, boats or submarines on top of their rifles. It may seem strange that a landlocked country like Bolivia would have a navy, but instead of voyaging on an ocean, the Bolivian navy patrols Lake Titicaca and large rivers leading into the Amazon.
My host family used the actual 14th of September as a day of rest rather than going to more parades, and I was right there with them. Even after a full night of sleep I couldn’t get “The Ants Go Marching On and On” out of my head.
Plaza 14 de septiembre is named in honor of the day that Cochabamba became the first Bolivian city to revolt against Spain 201 years ago.
The first day in Cochabamba, I felt really dizzy.
My body spent the first 24 hours here reliving the constant turbulence it experienced during the flight from Miami to Santa Cruz the night before. Something similar happens to me if I ride a lot of roller coasters or go boating on a really wavy day. I wasn’t the only one experiencing vertigo. A girl in my program told me she thought there was an earthquake when she felt the ground moving.
I also kept losing things the first few days. Maybe it had something to do with living out of my suitcase before I moved in with my host family. Whenever I went to my hotel room to find lip balm or a bobby pin, I’d find something else instead (like a cord for my computer) and forget what I wanted to look for in the first place.
Being immersed in a Spanish-speaking country wasn’t as much of a shock as I’d imagined. Lots of people were speaking Spanish while I waited for my flight at O’Hare and by the time I got to Miami, English did not come close to dominating the airport.
The humidity in Miami took me by surprise as I lugged my suitcase, backpack, and carry-on bag through an outdoor construction zone en route to the AeroSur terminal. As my glasses slipped down the end of my nose and I felt too warm in my sweater, I remember hoping Cochabamba wouldn’t feel so tropical.
And it doesn’t. Cochabambinos pride themselves on the climate of their city, which feels like an eternal spring. Cochabamba lies at an elevation of 2.6 kilometers (about 8,500 feet) in a valley of the Andes mountain range. It usually only gets chilly at night and hot during the midday sun, and I’ve never felt overheated while sitting in the shade.
During my first day of orientation I read a short story called “The Green Banana.” Aside from explaining how a green banana can fix a radiator, the story talked about how people think the places they live near represent the center of the whole world, not just their personal experience.
The story makes me think of the giant statue of Cristo in Cochabamba. I always heard the Cristo in Río de Janeiro, Brazil was the biggest on the earth, until I visited Cristo La Concordia on my second day in Bolivia. Cochabambinos say this one is actually the largest.
This SlideShowPro photo gallery requires the Flash Player plugin and a web browser with JavaScript enabled.
My front yard in Western Michigan changes all the time.
For a while either hay or corn grew in the field in front of my house. Then, this year, a green mystery crop sprouted out of the ground beside rows of feed corn. My brothers and I thought it was carrots for the longest time. Other family members called it baby asparagus. At any rate, migrant workers began coming out to the field every week or so to weed the new crop. We always knew the workers would be out there for a few days when a tractor dropped off a blue portable toilet at the far end of the field and cars with Texas plates began parking on the side of the road.
This year a new crop sprouted in the field.
I never thought I would spend much time in Western Michigan after I finished high school—until I realized it would be a great place to practice my Spanish before studying abroad in Bolivia. Western Michigan has a large community of Spanish-speaking migrant workers during the growing season. Many migrant families live in trailer camps while working for local farmers by picking fruit and tending crops.
So to prepare for Bolivia I went back to first grade for five weeks, volunteering at a summer school program for migrant children. The kids helped me to speak Spanish better and I helped to push them on the swings. We did fun things outside of class work too, like swapping silly bands and watching a couple of movies. The kids’ favorite parts of Toy Story 3 were when Mr. Potato Head became a tortilla and Buzz Lightyear started speaking in Spanish. I also remember how excitedly the kids crooned the word bilingüe whenever a teacher commended them for doing a good job on activities in English.
This is exactly why I’m heading to Bolivia for the next four months. I want to become bilingüe just like my first grade friends.
Telling someone that I’m going to Bolivia usually turns into a geography lesson. Many people aren’t even sure of the language spoken there. It reminds me of a Looney Tunes episode I saw while watching TV with my little brother. Halfway through the show Lola Bunny sang about being in love with Bugs Bunny. Sadly, Bugs felt differently about their relationship and he sang about trying to get away from her by moving to Bolivia. The song made me chuckle because it emphasized how far away I’ll soon be from the U.S.
Well…I guess it is true that I have to take four different flights over the course of 24 hours to get to Cochabamba, Bolivia. Still, I can’t wait to see what it’s like on the other side of the world.
An irrigation sprinkler near my home in Western Michigan also serves as a free carwash.
Now that I’ve been in the United States for a few days, I’ve had the chance to reflect on the experience a little bit. Thus, I thought it would be appropriate to make a tribute to all those minor characters who enriched my experience in Bolivia. Here’s a few of them.
Freddy from the Gym: After staring at me and Ashley for about 15 minutes while we were doing crunches, he finally greeted us “Ya’ll aren’t from here are ya?” I couldn’t figure out how this Texas-native found the only other Americans in the gym, but then I looked down to realize I was wearing my Shedd Aquarium shark shirt.
Karaoke Cab Driver: Somewhere around week 4 I took a cab by myself to meet a few people at a festival in the center of the city. I decided to chat it up with the cab driver (though he couldn’t understand the majority of what I was saying). This is an excerpt.
KCB: You should sing a song.
Me: I don’t know any Spanish songs.
KCB: Sing a song in English.
Me: No. You sing a song in Spanish.
KCB: No.
Silence
Me: Okay, we should sing a song together.
Silence
Me: You don’t want to?
KCB: I don’t know any songs in English.
This was a lie, because 30 seconds before I arrived at my destination, he pumped up the bass in the car and opened the windows to blast P.I.M.P. by 50 Cent.
The English Speaker: This is our ticket vender from the movie theater who told Jen to “just speak in English” after she stumbled over the word pirata.
Chapare Chauffeur: We hired a bus driver for our trip to Chapare and made friends with him. He had a video camera and was filming a lot throughout the trip. I’m really curious what he did with that footage.
Mop Dog: Ashley and my canine friend who we saw every day on our way to work. We dubbed him “Mop Dog” because we believe that he was once white, but after years of mopping up the dirt as he walks down the filthy streets of Cochabamba, he has adopted a grimy brownish-gray color.
Arlan, aka: “AirLand”: A very inebriated family member/friend/stranger at Anzaldo who really wanted Soad, Ross and me to remember his name. We will never forget that his name is like “Air” (as he points up) and “Land” (as he points down). He did this approximately 20 times, then finally decided to go home.
Oscar Siles: The kind man who didn’t lock his Wi Fi at Jen’s abuela’s house. He saved her from a lot of awkward host-family conversations.
Extranjero: Some English-speaking European in La Paz who didn’t know any Spanish, got really angry when he couldn’t find the bathroom at a restaurant, and cursed as he stumbled past Jen, tripping up a step. Made us feel a lot better about our minimal language abilities.
The Photographer: A lady from Sweden who was traveling South America to take pro bono photos for NGOs. She was set up with Warmi through FSD, but the only problem was that could not articulate ideas in Spanish more difficult than “Hola,” “¿Como estás?” and “Adios.” The looks of confusion the Warmi kids gave her when she decided just to speak to them in English regardless of their native-language were priceless.
Micro Lady: A random lady who changed seats on the micro so she could sit next to me and practice her English.
Laughing Man: The man in downtown Cochabamba who started laughing at Peironnet and me as we struggled to eat two massive, cream-filled donuts while simultaneously walking down the street.
Nightmare Truck Drivers: Our friends who drove the scariest fruit trucks in Cochabamba, who bothered us at all hours of the day with a nasally, amplified “MandarinaMandarinaMandarinaPapayaPapayaSandiaSandiaSandiaPlatanoPlatano.”
Micro Casualities: All my amigos who I have accidentally injured with my elbows, feet or over-sized backpack on overly crowded micros. Special apologies to broken-arm kid and dirty-look-giving grandpa.
Blog Readers: Thanks for humoring me and reading my blog all summer. This post concludes “Danielle’s Adventures in Bolivia.” You are all the best!
Great article!
