So, we had fun in La Paz. It`s a big city... insane, dirty, chaotic, and culturally very mixed. Cholitas mingle with business men on cell phones, men run around in funny colored hats not giving people like me a second look. I didn`t get altitude sickness, but was super duper tired. We saw the monoliths at Tiawanaku...aMAZing. Unreal the kind of precise angles and designs these ancient people could make with only the simplest instruments.
We went to Copachabana (totally a hippie town) on Lake Titicaca... the lake is an unreal blue color (not at all like the murky green I was expecting) and we went to Isla del Sol. A long, hot hike, but definitely worth the gorgeous views of the lake. We then returned home. I felt like I spent a lot of that weekend in a vehicle of some sorts, but I guess you have to enjoy the ride as well, right? It can`t all be waterfalls and dinosaurs.
After a whirlwind last week in Cochabamba, seeing all those I wanted to say goodbye to, visiting all the restaurants I couldn`t live without, saying goodbye to my John Brian and other children, seeing one last futbol game, and having a great big goodbye weekend, (oh yah, and writing some final papers.. haha), we`re in Samaipata, Bolivia (Santa Cruz - the beach without the sea) chilling for a week. I`ll try to update when I can!
Oh, and, by the way, I somehow completely lost my voice and now sound like an old man.
That`s what Bolivia will do to ya, I guess. :)
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Insurance, rheumatic fever, and things like Jonah.
So, although I have no exciting travels to update you on from this current weekend (I didn´t want the title to lead you astray), I have many other exciting insights and cultural experiences to present, so sit back and relax.
I almost died of rheumatic fever.
Ok, so that´s an exaggeration. I only felt like having someone remove my throat from my body, because my tonsils were inflamed when I awoke with a fever Thursday morning. (I was supposed to go play horn for the kids at Ceoli. THAT didn´t happen. I took a shower and then a 4 hour nap). After sleeping away the whole day and drinking more cups of tea than ever before in all my life combined, I decided on Friday when I could still see more of my tonsils than my tongue and when I couldn´t speak Spanish in class (not because of lack of knowledge, but lack of motor skills) that I would go to the doctor.
This was a serious decision because of some warnings I recieved before I came down here. But since I´ve been here, I´ve decided anything that is good enough for the Bolivians I live with here is more than good enough to suffice for me. That and the fact that I decided it was either go to the doctor or never eat or swallow or speak again. The decision was really not that hard. :)
Friday afternoon i got my first insight into the a world of non-American health care. Let me tell you, it was just as shiney and clean, and, if I knew Spanish better, it would have been less intimidating. I went to my coordinator´s personal doctor at his job in a big insurance hospital for some huge bank thing. I didn´t understand, but it was large and clean and didn´t smell like a hospital. The doctor was very kind and listened patiently as I struggled to explain in Spanish what was going on. But my motions and the translation of Jean Carla (coordinator) got it across clearly. Then, the examination went exactly as every other strep throat exam has gone in my life. Minus the super long cotton swab and all the nurses taking my pulse. It was just me, Jean Carla and the doc, he took a look down my throat and said, ¨Dios Mio!¨ (which means ¨my God!¨, never a great thing to hear from an experienced health worker when you´re on the table). He told me how strong I was for withstanding the pain and how glad he was that I had come when I did because people can develop rheumatic fever later on in life from what I had.
Gee.
He gave me a prescription, and we headed out the door, no nurses or reception ladies involved. In the States I think it would have taken 2 hours longer and employed at least 7 more people. But I think what we did would have been illegal in the states, me, a private (out of country) patient visiting him during a time he was supposed to be working for a private company. In that private company´s facilities. Oh well, T.I.B.
We took the prescription to a drive through pharmacy, and Jean Carla told the lady how many of this strong antibiotic I wanted. Wow. And no cool Kroger bottle with my name and address on it. Just the box the pills originally come in. Ok. :) A strong antibiotic, anti-inflammatory, and a visit to the doc all cost less than 40 bucks. woo hoo.
Since my visit, I did a little Wikipedia exploration on my possibly tragic future with rheumatic fever. I knew that the Bolivians exaggerate when it comes to how delicious food is or how cold the weather is, but not that they would tell me I might get a disease that almost entirely effects children and that only has a 2% chance of causing me serious harm anyways. Oh, and this whole time I´ve had the strep throught I always thought it was. I know my strep throats.
At any rate, according to my Bolivian family, I simply must have my tonsils out when I return to the states. Yay for ice cream. :)
The pills worked lovely, and by Friday evening, as I lie in bed watching Friends, I already felt better. But I was still sick of tea.
That was my experience with Bolivian health system. Quite lovely, I have a check up scheduled for Monday. Now for my experience with Bolivian vehicle and health insurance.
When I did a search for ¨big fish¨ this was one of the first pics. Haha. I love kids and their brand of pride.
Now, you, too, can be Just Like Jonah!!! (please wait for only 3 hours while we inflate your miracle)
I almost died of rheumatic fever.
Ok, so that´s an exaggeration. I only felt like having someone remove my throat from my body, because my tonsils were inflamed when I awoke with a fever Thursday morning. (I was supposed to go play horn for the kids at Ceoli. THAT didn´t happen. I took a shower and then a 4 hour nap). After sleeping away the whole day and drinking more cups of tea than ever before in all my life combined, I decided on Friday when I could still see more of my tonsils than my tongue and when I couldn´t speak Spanish in class (not because of lack of knowledge, but lack of motor skills) that I would go to the doctor.
This was a serious decision because of some warnings I recieved before I came down here. But since I´ve been here, I´ve decided anything that is good enough for the Bolivians I live with here is more than good enough to suffice for me. That and the fact that I decided it was either go to the doctor or never eat or swallow or speak again. The decision was really not that hard. :)
Friday afternoon i got my first insight into the a world of non-American health care. Let me tell you, it was just as shiney and clean, and, if I knew Spanish better, it would have been less intimidating. I went to my coordinator´s personal doctor at his job in a big insurance hospital for some huge bank thing. I didn´t understand, but it was large and clean and didn´t smell like a hospital. The doctor was very kind and listened patiently as I struggled to explain in Spanish what was going on. But my motions and the translation of Jean Carla (coordinator) got it across clearly. Then, the examination went exactly as every other strep throat exam has gone in my life. Minus the super long cotton swab and all the nurses taking my pulse. It was just me, Jean Carla and the doc, he took a look down my throat and said, ¨Dios Mio!¨ (which means ¨my God!¨, never a great thing to hear from an experienced health worker when you´re on the table). He told me how strong I was for withstanding the pain and how glad he was that I had come when I did because people can develop rheumatic fever later on in life from what I had.
Gee.
He gave me a prescription, and we headed out the door, no nurses or reception ladies involved. In the States I think it would have taken 2 hours longer and employed at least 7 more people. But I think what we did would have been illegal in the states, me, a private (out of country) patient visiting him during a time he was supposed to be working for a private company. In that private company´s facilities. Oh well, T.I.B.
We took the prescription to a drive through pharmacy, and Jean Carla told the lady how many of this strong antibiotic I wanted. Wow. And no cool Kroger bottle with my name and address on it. Just the box the pills originally come in. Ok. :) A strong antibiotic, anti-inflammatory, and a visit to the doc all cost less than 40 bucks. woo hoo.
Since my visit, I did a little Wikipedia exploration on my possibly tragic future with rheumatic fever. I knew that the Bolivians exaggerate when it comes to how delicious food is or how cold the weather is, but not that they would tell me I might get a disease that almost entirely effects children and that only has a 2% chance of causing me serious harm anyways. Oh, and this whole time I´ve had the strep throught I always thought it was. I know my strep throats.
At any rate, according to my Bolivian family, I simply must have my tonsils out when I return to the states. Yay for ice cream. :)
The pills worked lovely, and by Friday evening, as I lie in bed watching Friends, I already felt better. But I was still sick of tea.
That was my experience with Bolivian health system. Quite lovely, I have a check up scheduled for Monday. Now for my experience with Bolivian vehicle and health insurance.
Saturday, I thought, was going to be a lovely day. I lie in bed for the first morning I could remember in a very long time without a thing to do when I woke up. I listened to some music, watched a little TV and finally got dressed to go to my Bolivian sister´s house for lunch. I grabbed a plate of salad and my other sister´s boyfriend grabbed a tray of soups and we got in the car. We discussed coca growing in Bolivia and the jungle, and my trip to La Paz next weekend on the way over. It was the Day of the Children in Bolivia, so we picked up a present for Alexia, my niece here. As we were pulling onto the street where my sister lives, a van passed on the side we were turning. With a few choice Spanish words exchanged, my sister went to continue her turn, when all the sudden a motocyclist was on the hood of our car.
no lie.
Because the van had passed at such an inopportune moment, we could neither see the cyclists nor he see us, and we had a collision. Thankfully, the first I saw of the cyclist was him hopping around, in one piece while his bike lie vertically against the front of our car, back wheel still going strong.
Next thing I know, my sister´s boyfriend next to me is cursing and waving his hands around. I thought he was somehow hurt, even though we weren´t moving. Nope. Just the very very hot soup (which I later found out was all for me, since I wasn´t to have solids yet) that was now all over his lap. Ouch. There was mass confusion, trying to catch the cyclist and make sure he was not in shock, trying to right the cycle and stop it from spinning, and I was busy trying to clean up the soup in the car (futile effort, let me tell you). I was dropped at the other sister´s house with the car and my mom and sister went with the man to the hospital to see he was taken care of to take care of his bill, since they were at fault. The boyfriend went to see what the damage was done to the bike, and to see how much that would be.
I was left standing at the door of the house, amazed at how smoothly an odd kind of justice had taken place without the aid of Geico or All-State.
Bolivians take care of each other. Even though my sister could not have seen him coming because of the van, they made sure that this cyclist was taken care of, because they´re all grown adults, and someone has to pay. Amazing to see this and compare it to the headbutting episode that took place with the coke dealers (see my trip to Uyuni).
Anyways, I was eating the little bit of soup that survived the wreck with my Bolivian grandfather, brother in law, and the boyfriend, waiting for the women to return from the hospital (the guy was fine, just a scrape on his knee, wow.). At this moment another tradgedy struck, before anyone had time to recover from the first. Cobu, Alexia´s dog was missing. Oh man. Tears started streaming, and immediately the men left their steak and beer at the table (as well as a large hunk of meat cooking on the grill, which I had to attempt to save later on) to man the search. They all disappeared in different directions in the neighborhood, determined to be the hero to this little 5 year old and bring back a bundle of joy to her. However, I watched sadly as each man returned emptied handed, over an hour later, with a look of defeat as if their army had just lost the war. It´s amazing how men love the women in their lives, including the 5 year olds. :)
So, in case Cobu decides to run north for the winter, here´s a picture that looks something like him. Minus, of course, the ridiculous orange polo shirt. Cobu would never wear something like that. (by the way, there´s a 400 bs reward!!)
Today I ate pizza with corn on it, and it was good. for real. I hope I can find a way to get that back in the states.
And, just an update on my personal life.
I saw a gorgeous shooting star last night at 3 am. It was one of those that you feel like God put out there just for you because you took the time to give his stars a good glance.
And I´ve been reading the book of Jonah lately. And thinking about how I think I would have liked Jonah. He seems like a kind of hard head with a good heart. I´m sure Tarsus was not his first screw up. And I wonder what he was thinking when he told the pirates (sure, the word is ¨sailors¨but is so much better to think of Johnny Depp in the book of Jonah) that it was his fault, throw him overboard. I´m pretty sure he didn´t think God was going to bail him out of this one in his great mercy. And he´s met with a big fish. Ponder on that with me for a while, then tell me your opinion of the humor of God. :)
When I did a search for ¨big fish¨ this was one of the first pics. Haha. I love kids and their brand of pride. Now, you, too, can be Just Like Jonah!!! (please wait for only 3 hours while we inflate your miracle)This guy looks like he wishes he was Jonah. I think he´s just weird. I hope you don´t think I´m too weird for putting pictures of strangers (and their dogs) on my blog. I felt guilty about the lack of pics this post around. :)
Until next post!
(Btw, if you´re looking for a specific Bolivian story or trinket, now´s the time to let me know!)
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
updates on the not so normal (and, by the way, I almost died)
So I`m going to update you on my trip to Toro Toro this weekend, but first, some updates on day to day stuff.
Volunteering: I`m still working with the orphans at Millenium. And I`m in love. I think I might bring a couple back. My favorite is John Brian. He`s 2 and something and reminds me either of a little samuri or monk, depending on what he`s wearing at the time. But he`s the smallest of the older kids, and he`s got this raspy voice that is so unlike any two year old I`ve ever heard before. And he`s one tough cookie. And he always smiles back at me when I smile at him, and, let me tell you, it`s a smile that will melt your heart quicker than an 18 wheeler will run a redlight here (which is really fast).
happiness is pushing a bundle of pure joy in a red swing.
Last week on we had an exciting trip with the kids to Globos, which is a great ice cream wonderland for children (and people like me as well). Some of the co-founders of Millenium who now live in the US paid for us to take all the kids out for Salchipapa (fries and sausages) and ice cream. It was quite an adventure. We piled 14 people into a SUV (remember, most of them were half sized) and off we went. Once we arrived, we created quite a scene, walking into the restaurant with 9 screaming children between the age of 2 and 6. We then took them to the play section of the restaurant. It was better than any McDonald´s I ever got to play in as a kid. I had to resist the urge to jump in and join them. It was really strange to see the orphans mixing in with kids whose parents were watching their move, were at the bottom of every slide. But it was so encouraging to see how ¨normal¨ they were nontheless, how happy they are with life. Maybe if there was something equivalent to a ball pit for adults the world would be a happier place. After the play place and almost losing John Brian 3 times, we sat down to eat. Everyone (including me and Matt) recieved ice cream... yum! John Brian had to sit in my lap because there we couldn`t fit enough large chairs for little people around the table. I think he got more ice cream on me than in his mouth, (partly because he insisted upon me eating the gummy bears in his oso cremoso) but everyone left there in the jolliest mood.
Last week was my first week of working at Ceoli. I go there on Wednesday and Thursday morning. Ceoli is a school and center for physically and mentally disabled children and persons from the ages of 5 to 28 or so. It was very interesting to tour the facility the first day. There is a classroom for high functioning children where they learn about colors and practice walking in a straight line or practice writing their numbers. I work here, and so far I`ve made giant drawings of avocados and grapes and things like that for flashcards. There is also a room for those who are lower functioning where they learn to make a bed and other day to day things like that. There`s a class for learning how to deal with agressive emotions. There`s an aqua therapy room, and the most impressive to me, there`s a physical therapy room which is very nice. In fact, in the afternoon after most of the children are gone, community members pay to come here for treatment. And, my favorite place, is the art room, where mostly older persons create crafts. It was really surprising to see the beautiful necklaces and bracelets that a man made, when he couldn`t even tell me his name was Leo. It`s so interesting to see the creativity present in the mind which is hindered in so many ways by his disability. In the art room there`s this teacher who looks like a pirate/biker/gang member who has a cane and a limp. And is the one of the nicest people ever. I hope to get to know him somewhat.
Now, for my trip to Toro Toro.
This is a small community in what looks like Jurassic Park. For real, it looks like the mountains there just sprang up last week, they lie at all kinds of crazy angles. And there are dinosaur footprints conserved marvelously.
Here I am pretending I`m a brontasaurus. But I think it ended up looking like I was falling into a very shallow pond. Maybe if I had a longer neck...
Our first day there we went on a hike to waterfalls. But this wasn`t your everyday hike. We hiked for a while through fields with dino footprints in them following our super cool guide Mario. Then we descended 850 stairs into a canyon 1/8 the size of the Grand Canyon. From there, we jumped from rock to rock, crossed rivers, and scaled walls with the help of a rope and Mario until we arrived at a waterfall, in which we ravished in the cool waters.
When I say ravished, I mean, I jumped in and it was all I could do to keep my head above water and breathe, it was so cold. Almost shock cold. It was quite glorious.
Here I am jumping into the cool waters. Please note my awesome outfit of bathing suit and tennis shoes. And Zareen`s cheering warrior pose in the background. :)
The hike ended up being 6 intense hours. We arrived to lunch at 4:30, famished. This is one of the few times in my life I can say I have truly been exhausted. Almost too tired to sit upright in a chair or eat.
The next day we awoke at 5 to go to cave number one of the day. We were supposed to do this cave the night before (after the hike!), but through an act of God, it rained and it was too wet to enter that night. So, after trying to get to sleep through the drunken serenades of the hotel owner´s birthday party, we arose not so bright and early at 5 Sunday and were on our way. Caving has always been pretty interesting, to me, mainly because of the lack of life yet the prescence of very interesting formations and such in them. In this cave, we did a lot of walking, rock jumping, and one scootch through a small space. We returned for lunch and then were off on an hour hike to our second cave. I was a little worried about this one because the level of intensity was supposed to be quite a bit higher, and a girl from last year`s group ended up crying. Gee. Well, the beginning of it was a bit difficult as I had to scoot through a space that my head almost got stuck in and then had to shimmy 8 meters down a rope (almost died #1). Throughout the cave, I barely had time to think as I was just trying to follow Mario`s every move as we twisted our way and contorted our bodies through all kinds of tight spaces. Some of the most fun parts were seeing Mario`s personal ¨treasure den¨with some very interestingly shaped stalagtites and mites. Apparently, less than 100 human eyes have seen these. I feel honored. 
This, one of mario`s treasures, kind of looks like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.. or some Roman structure combined with Salvador Dali`s touch. haha. Another very interesting part of the cave was what I like to call ¨Dr. Suess`s Hell¨. It was very smooth black rocks in all kinds of funny structures in which we had to try our darndest not to fall through to either water or more rocks (almost died #2 and 3). But the most rewarding part of all was the exit of the cave. We came out through a waterfall, (almost died #4) no lie. :) What victory.
We returned home by bumpy jeep ride, and as soon as I hit the bed, I was out. Never have I ever slept a better 11 hours in my life. Never mind the fact I couldn`t move for soreness Monday morning. :)
Bolivia: Life a mile (or kilometer) a minute.
Friday, April 4, 2008
the Jungle
This might be a quick post, because I´ve got to head to IC Norte (grocery store) and grab some lunch and snacks for the trip to Toro Toro this weekend.
Crazy, 2 weeks ago I was in a desert, last weekend I was in the Amazonian jungle, and this weekend I´m going to walk where the dinosaurs walked and do some extreme caving. :) How fantastic. I hope you can tell I´m loving it here.
So, last weekend, just the six students (without any ¨adults¨ or people who know how Bolivia really works) headed into the jungle. It´s a portion of the Cochabamba department, but is much lower in altitude and much more humid than the city. Honestly, it felt like being at home. :) Quite lovely. It was startling the difference the altitude made: when we were doing some walking in the jungle, we could all actually breathe without struggling for oxygen.
Our first day there, we went rafting on the Holy Spirit River. :) I thought what an appropriate name for a powerful, wild and slightly dangerous river whose views inspired awe in us all. It was much fun, because our guide really enjoyed it too, he was our age. And it was some of my fellows first time, so they were really enjoying their first rafting experience. I think this might have been my first rafting trip where I didn´t fall out. Props to me.
After a return to the hotel (Los Tucarnes - the toucans) which, by the way, was quite luxiurious, with a pool and great food, for only 15 bucks a night, we headed out to Parque Machia. It is a wildlife sanctuary with volunteers from all over the world. The first place we headed was to the monkey sanctuary. This is where I met my friend, Zaru.
We met when she jumped off the roof onto my shoulder to steal my hair tie right out of my hair. :) Quite a sweetie, and almost hauntingly like a human. It was fantastic to see her work at opening Carolyn´s water bottle. I asked some of the volunteers if they could open the bottle, and they said of course, they have opposable thumbs too. Haha.
That night we went out on the town for a little while that night, but decided to come back to the easy comfort of the hotel with its poolside hammocks and quite jungle sounds to hang out. The next day we went to Parque Carasco. 8 of us (2 Bolivian friends from Cochabamba had joined us) rode in one taxi the 25 minutes out there. Zareen, Andreas, and I bonded in the back of the taxi, as our feet hung out the back of the open trunk and the odd spectacle drew curious stares from every Chaparian we passed. :) Quite a study in human reaction to a gringo-packed taxi.
At this park we had a guide take us over a river, and through the jungle to see the wonders located there. We saw ants almost as big as my thumb and bats about the same size. We also got a glimpse of blind birds that live in a cave there. It was eerie when we turned a corner and could hear their upset cries at being disturbed during the day. It kind of made me think of a sound effect from Jurassic Park. By the time we got out of the park, everyone was as soaked as we had been after rafting, but this time thanks to the humidity.
This is a tree that puts out more roots as it grows taller, so that it can sway in the wind, but still be stable. Neato, huh?
Over the river and through the jungle. :) This was just a steel and bamboo cage that was suspended on cables and hand-pushed over the water.
After another dip in the pool, we packed up to head home the same way we came.. by surubi. Surubi is a fish native to the Chapare, but also a name used for vans that go straight from Cochabamba to Chapare, and reverse. You buy a ticket or just pay the driver straight, and once he has 7 people in his van, he heads off. So we had 5 of our group and a woman with oversized bags and a man with a lot of bananas. :)
I forgot to mention that passing on mountain curves is an expected traffic maneuver here. We almost got in trouble with that one the way home, as at one point on a curve there were 3 cars wide and a mountain dropoff on the right side. But we were in the middle, calm down Mom. :)
Off to see the dinosaurs!!! (only one month until I head back to the states)
p.s. Our postal service is on ¨indefinite strike¨. So, please feel free to continue sending mail. Just know that no one knows when I might get it. :) T.I.B. This is Bolivia.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
salt flats (new photos added 4/4)
I just got back from the Salar de Uyuni (Salt Flats of Uyuni).
I feel like I just returned from Mars. Being in a desert of salt is literally like being on an unreal world. I also found out that the conditions here are the closest to Mars as anywhere on earth, so NASA does research there. Haha.
If there is any water on the surface of the salt flats, the horizon blurs, and the ground reflects anything above it. gorgeous.
So here`s the shakedown of how it all happened. This was our mid-term trip, so everyone went, including Prof. Nick and David (Bolivian Amizade co-coordinator). We met at J`s house at 5:30 in the morning. ugh. The girls stayed the night there just to make it easier (which, of course, made sleep harder). But from there we hopped on a 4.5 hour bus to Oruro (where they have the BIGGEST Carnival in Bolivia). There we caught a 8 hour train ride to Uyuni. All the travel wasn`t too bad, since I slept a lot of it. But getting off the bus in Uyuni was a little chillier than I was expecting. I had been told that it could get down to 15 degrees F here. When I heard that, I informed my professor that I had never, ever, been in that kind of weather. He found that hard to believe, but better understood the reason I kept asking if I needed to buy a large Eskimo-like fur coat before we went. I ended up just layering. :)
We spent the night in Uyuni and then were off on our adventure the next morning at 10:30. We piled into 2 different jeeps, the other group that joined us were 3 British girls who were all 27, had known each other since they were 11, and all decided to quit their jobs and sell their flats and travel the world for 6 months. Awesome girls.
The next 3 days we spent in these Jeeps with our drivers (mine was named Juan, 24 years old, and had been doing this for 4 years!). The ride was most definitely unlike any I had experienced before. At times, we were in a litteral desert of salt, with nothing for miles but flat salt, with mountains in the distance. At other times we were in sandy desert terrain with the most primitive of roads which meant plenty of bouncing for me in the short-leggers backseat.
Day 1:
Just one of the fantastic pictures we took on the salt flats. I`m a giant about to crush Zareen the bug. :) hehe.
We started out in a village where they process all the salt, and I bought some salt llamas. (no lie). Then, we entered into the actual solar, which was fantastic. Blinding whiteness for miles around, and a great place to take perspective pictures. We visited the Salt Hotel (made entirely out of salt... walls, beds, chairs.... entirely. But it is now illegal to stay there because it was illegal for them to build on the flats in the first place... oops) where it costs over a dollar to use the john. Then we visited the Isla Incahuasi, which has ginormous cacti over 1000 years old. In case you`re wondering how cacti could possibly grow in salt, the islands were not made of salt. They were the normal sand, rock, etc. that you would expect to find. We spent the night at Bella Vista (a very exciting Jeep ride there), all in one room. It did indeed have a beautiful view, enhanced by the wandering llamas and the guys all playing futball with the drivers.
Day 2:
The next day we arose at 7:30, breakfasted, and were on our way again. (Happy Easter). It was odd not celebrating in the usual way with my family back home, and without a church in sight. However, we first visited the pueblo of San Juan with not a lot of anything. However, they did have a museum with a 3000 year old mummy and some info on how the ancient peoples of that village lived. Also, we visited the nearby graveyard of their ancient peoples, where the mummies still lie in tombs above ground, and you can view and take pictures of them. This seemed very appropriate for an Easter Sunday activity, seeing many graves, none of which were empty. It made it more understandable, the shock of Mary and the disciples when there wasn´t a body there.
This day we spent most of the day viewing gorgeous lakes with flamingos and crazy trippy rock structures and fixing flat tires. By the end of the trip my Jeep had had 3, the third of which I actually watched fly completely off the Jeep. This is intense stuff, I tell you.
We ended the day at Laguna Colorado (Red Lake). It really was red as red can get. We climbed a small hill beside the lake from which we got a glorious view, and met 60 mph winds. That´s one of those moments that you can´t help but feel so alive.
We stayed next to the lake, in a kind of national park deal. I paid 10bs for a shower, which, though it was only a drizzle and swung from burning hot to ice cold, was one of the best I´d ever had, because it washed away the dust of the road of the last two days. After a delcious dinner, painting nails with the girls (yes, in the middle of the desert), and playing some strange card game where you pretend like you´re a drug dealer with some guys from the US, London, Holland, and Canada, I decided it was time for bed. Especially considering I had to get up at FOUR THIRTY the following morning.
Day 3:
When I was awoken at 4:30, I was not convinced that seeing the Sol de Mañana (sun of the morning), aka, some geysers, was going to be worth it. I wasn´t convinced until about an hour later, when, with the sky warming behind a geyser unlike any I had seen in my life, I touched warm air that was shooting out of the earth´s surface from the magma-filled depths below. Unreal. The sunrise that morning was unlike any I have seen in my life. (I PROMISE more pictures will soon follow). Then, to probably my favorite part of the entire trip. We stopped for breakfast at a hot springs. It was like a very shallow, very wide natural hot tub. Ahhh. It was so hard peeling off layers of alpaca sweaters, mittens, warm shirts, pants, down to my baithing suit in colder weather than I usually face back home. But it was all more than worth it when I felt the sting of the warm water of the springs.
(yes, I kept my hat on. You lose most of your heat through your head, silly)
Getting out was hard, as well. But one of the most invigorating experiences of my life. I swear, I´m 18 again. :)
After this we visited the desert of Salvador Dali with more crazy rocks. But I saw no melting clocks. :( Then, it was time to turn the Jeep and head for home. This trip was long and perilous, and made me appreciate life. It wouldn´t have been perilous but for the flying tires and the time we were side-swiped by cocaine dealers on their way back from Chile.
No lie. They were not in their right mind, and lost control and sideswiped us before running off the road and recieving a flat tire. Thankfully, our driver quickly recovered control, and, since there is no insurance here, solved the issue by stopping the car and headbutting the guy.
Things are so raw here.
I love it. :)
Heading off to the rainforest for a few days. Can´t wait to update you on that when I return!
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
photos. score. :)
So there has been a lot going on.And I can´t catch you up right now, because I should be writing a mid-term essay and trying to register and email my parents (btw, mom, dad, your emails aren´t working).
But, to make up for it, here, finally, are pictures. :) yay.
The view of the Andes near La Paz. Not the lack of anything growing on them, and the way the fog is in the valleys. I´ve never seen anything like this.
Here we are the first weekend at Carnival. Amazing. :) And wet. It´s like Mardi Gras (I´m told) except instead of throwing beads everywhere people throw water balloons (¨globos¨).
This is me and Zareen (from Pennsylvania, goes to Pitt State) up at El Cristo looking back on the town of Cochabamba.
Here we are at the school where I became a Bolivian brick mason.´[The Bolivians in the picture are the real masons who made sure we didn´t screw anything up. :)] Note my super awesome, obviously genuine Puma shirt, which I bought in La Cancha for less than 3 bucks.
This is Carolyn (from the Outerbanks, NC), Matt (from Pittsburg) and I in front of a riverbed that could, at any point, flash flood (oh my!). Again, another one of my highly fashionable 3 dollar shirts. This one bled that pretty blue color all over the rest of it when it was washed. :) Free tie-dye.
This is me and J (from Florida) eating massive hot dogs. (Yes, they have hot dogs in Bolivia... surprise!)
This is after a hard day´s trek through the silver mine in Potosi, where I contracted the black lung. (Just kidding, but I did get a cold)... Please no comments on how I look like a village person. Thank you.
This is the inside of the mine, and the leftovers of a celebration to honor Pachmama (Mother Earth). Apparently, the presence of me there (a woman) upset her and could have caused bad luck for the miners. But it was a miner that took us in, so I didn´t feel so bad. Plus, I found some silver in there and brought it out. So, technically, I´m a miner too.
Friday, March 7, 2008
i have the black lung. and i ate llama. and bach´s in bolivia
It´s been a while, eh? I apologize. Let me catch you up on all the excitement.
This past weekend was quite a journey. The group went to Sucre and Potosi, both cities in Bolivia. Thursday after class we walked to the bus station and hopped on a semi-coma overnight to Sucre. Now, don´t be fooled. ¨semi coma¨does just about anything but put you in a semi-coma. However, the seats do go back farther than normal. :) After a 11 hour ride (it´s not that far, the roads are just that bad. Cobblestone at parts, on the main highway) during which I slept maybe 4 hours, we arrived in Sucre at 7 am and got some breakfast to start our day. After that we had a brief tour of a museum during which I saw many portraits of Bolivian presidents and met some very kind gringos. The tour was interesting, not so much because of what the guy was saying in broken english, but because as he was talking about some revolution of the Bolivian people in the 50s, there was dynomite going of in the street outside as part of a protest of the new constitution that was illegally drafted. I tell you what, the politics here are much more exciting than any ¨nail biter¨over Texas primaries. After the tour, we grabbed lunch and a brief siesta. Then we went to a monastary that is now a Catholic church. After giving the headmistress 10 Bolivianos, she gave us the key to the roof and we were allowed to stay there as long as we wished. I tell you, the view that those monks had to meditate on was astounding. The whole of the city of Sucre laid out before them. And for us, it seemed as though God had placed the clouds there just to make our pictures perfect. :)
The next day we took taxis to Potosi, which was 3.5 hours by bus and supposed to be shorter by taxi. I´m sure it would have been if Nick had not needed to nudge our driver quite frequently to keep him awake in the curvy mountian roads... But regardless, we got there safely, 3.5 hours later. Potosi is one of the highest cities in the world, and the altitude makes you feel like you´re on some kind of drug. And super out of shape. I was panting after caring my bookbag on the stroll to the hostel (¨companero de Jesus¨ - friend of Jesus). I had llama that day. It´s like a tender steak. Yummy.
The next day we went on a tour of the Minting Museum they have in Potosi (La Casa de Moneda) which used to mint most of the world´s money. It was informative, although you could tell that the guide had simply memorized the tour in English, so questions were out of the script. But later that day, I did one of the neatest things in my life thus far. We hired an ex-miner, suited up like a village person (dont worry, pictures to come), and headed into the Cerro Rico, or Rich Hill, of Potosi, out of which came 80% of the silver from the Western Hemisphere. This mine was discovered by a lllama herder, and became the curse of the people of Potosi, as the Spanish arrived and forced work in terrible conditions while sending all the silver back to Europe. But people still mine here, mostly tin and zinc. We spent 3 hours in the mine, and learned of the lives of miners. It´s tough man, let me tell you. They spend usually 12 hours, but up to 48 if they strike a good vein, in the dark. And while they are in there, they only drink beer and chew coca leaves, which supress hunger, thirst, and sleep. It was quite astounding, and I regret that I cannot give you a better idea of what it was like. But this tour was quite physically demanding, as the simple act of walking in the mine, which was not well-ventillated, at an altitude that is already tough on these South Carolina lungs, raised my heart to aerobic levels.
After this great weekend, we hop on a bus again, Sunday night, complete exhausted. This semi-coma was less coma like. In fact, I had 3 children next to me, one a baby. Yah, that was a fun 11 hour bus ride. :) But as we stumbled out of the station at 6:30 Monday morning, realizing I had class at 10 and still had homework for that afternoon, I knew it was more than worth it. What a great weekend.
Our empleyada (spelling is wrong, but i´m pretty sure you don´t know how to spell it either) left. She´s the one who did all the things my mom said I needed to remember to do. Clean up after myself, fold my clothes, iron my underwear (mom didn´t tell me to do that, but Ofe did it), make my bed, wash my dishes. Haha, sorry mom. But I guess now I get to prove my self-sufficiency, perhaps. But it is truly intriguing at how dependent the families here are on such services. My family was truly distressed at how we would get through the week. I volunteered my help in what ways I could. But I´m glad mom taught me how to fold my own underwear. :)
I must head off to lunch, soon, but let me tell you about yesterday. Just a view of one of mycrazy-busy days, and perhaps an acceptable excuse as to why I haven´t been writing more. I go to class, as usual. Thursdays, I only have 1 2 hour class in the afternoon, rather than 2. But during class yesterday, there was a protest going on downtown. So we took a ¨field trip¨of sorts to the city square to watch men and women bang on pots, carry signs I could somewhat understand, and march in protest to the sudden inflation of food prices. The women were banging on pots to symbolize their emptiness because they could not afford food. It is so fascinating that we can truly read about a problem facing Bolivians in a book on Wednesday night, then go to class Thursday and have a demonstration of the reactions of the Bolivians to that problem (that was not planned by our teacher.) It´s so alive here.
Then, after ¨class¨(there was some discussion) we grabbed a drink and went to a Bach concert. I was quite stoked about classical music in Latin America. It was a free concert in the Palace of a rich man (the guy who owned the mine in Potosi, in fact). It was small chamber music, and the players were quite decent, but what astounded me was the audience. There were hundreds of people there, and not nearly enough room, so these Bolivians, from the old man in his suit from work to the native woman to the punk high school kid were willing to stand for over an hour and half to hear this music from some gringo years ago. Music is so powerful. :)
After the concert, I went to the birthday party of the ¨brother¨ of Matteo, one of my fellow students here. I tell you what, the Bolivians know how to throw a party. All they need are good friends, large quantities of alcohol (consumed mainly by 3 or so men at the party), good music (that all sounds quite similar), and a large open space for dancing. It was fun, and I didn´t get home until an appropriate Bolivian time. :) Let´s just say that the birds were singing as I went to bed this morning.
I hope you´re enjoying my blog. I appreciate the readership, and that (I assume) you´re curious about what´s happening with me down here. I miss home, but know I am thoroughly enjoying myself here, and learning quite a few things as well. :)
Until later...
This past weekend was quite a journey. The group went to Sucre and Potosi, both cities in Bolivia. Thursday after class we walked to the bus station and hopped on a semi-coma overnight to Sucre. Now, don´t be fooled. ¨semi coma¨does just about anything but put you in a semi-coma. However, the seats do go back farther than normal. :) After a 11 hour ride (it´s not that far, the roads are just that bad. Cobblestone at parts, on the main highway) during which I slept maybe 4 hours, we arrived in Sucre at 7 am and got some breakfast to start our day. After that we had a brief tour of a museum during which I saw many portraits of Bolivian presidents and met some very kind gringos. The tour was interesting, not so much because of what the guy was saying in broken english, but because as he was talking about some revolution of the Bolivian people in the 50s, there was dynomite going of in the street outside as part of a protest of the new constitution that was illegally drafted. I tell you what, the politics here are much more exciting than any ¨nail biter¨over Texas primaries. After the tour, we grabbed lunch and a brief siesta. Then we went to a monastary that is now a Catholic church. After giving the headmistress 10 Bolivianos, she gave us the key to the roof and we were allowed to stay there as long as we wished. I tell you, the view that those monks had to meditate on was astounding. The whole of the city of Sucre laid out before them. And for us, it seemed as though God had placed the clouds there just to make our pictures perfect. :)
The next day we took taxis to Potosi, which was 3.5 hours by bus and supposed to be shorter by taxi. I´m sure it would have been if Nick had not needed to nudge our driver quite frequently to keep him awake in the curvy mountian roads... But regardless, we got there safely, 3.5 hours later. Potosi is one of the highest cities in the world, and the altitude makes you feel like you´re on some kind of drug. And super out of shape. I was panting after caring my bookbag on the stroll to the hostel (¨companero de Jesus¨ - friend of Jesus). I had llama that day. It´s like a tender steak. Yummy.
The next day we went on a tour of the Minting Museum they have in Potosi (La Casa de Moneda) which used to mint most of the world´s money. It was informative, although you could tell that the guide had simply memorized the tour in English, so questions were out of the script. But later that day, I did one of the neatest things in my life thus far. We hired an ex-miner, suited up like a village person (dont worry, pictures to come), and headed into the Cerro Rico, or Rich Hill, of Potosi, out of which came 80% of the silver from the Western Hemisphere. This mine was discovered by a lllama herder, and became the curse of the people of Potosi, as the Spanish arrived and forced work in terrible conditions while sending all the silver back to Europe. But people still mine here, mostly tin and zinc. We spent 3 hours in the mine, and learned of the lives of miners. It´s tough man, let me tell you. They spend usually 12 hours, but up to 48 if they strike a good vein, in the dark. And while they are in there, they only drink beer and chew coca leaves, which supress hunger, thirst, and sleep. It was quite astounding, and I regret that I cannot give you a better idea of what it was like. But this tour was quite physically demanding, as the simple act of walking in the mine, which was not well-ventillated, at an altitude that is already tough on these South Carolina lungs, raised my heart to aerobic levels.
After this great weekend, we hop on a bus again, Sunday night, complete exhausted. This semi-coma was less coma like. In fact, I had 3 children next to me, one a baby. Yah, that was a fun 11 hour bus ride. :) But as we stumbled out of the station at 6:30 Monday morning, realizing I had class at 10 and still had homework for that afternoon, I knew it was more than worth it. What a great weekend.
Our empleyada (spelling is wrong, but i´m pretty sure you don´t know how to spell it either) left. She´s the one who did all the things my mom said I needed to remember to do. Clean up after myself, fold my clothes, iron my underwear (mom didn´t tell me to do that, but Ofe did it), make my bed, wash my dishes. Haha, sorry mom. But I guess now I get to prove my self-sufficiency, perhaps. But it is truly intriguing at how dependent the families here are on such services. My family was truly distressed at how we would get through the week. I volunteered my help in what ways I could. But I´m glad mom taught me how to fold my own underwear. :)
I must head off to lunch, soon, but let me tell you about yesterday. Just a view of one of mycrazy-busy days, and perhaps an acceptable excuse as to why I haven´t been writing more. I go to class, as usual. Thursdays, I only have 1 2 hour class in the afternoon, rather than 2. But during class yesterday, there was a protest going on downtown. So we took a ¨field trip¨of sorts to the city square to watch men and women bang on pots, carry signs I could somewhat understand, and march in protest to the sudden inflation of food prices. The women were banging on pots to symbolize their emptiness because they could not afford food. It is so fascinating that we can truly read about a problem facing Bolivians in a book on Wednesday night, then go to class Thursday and have a demonstration of the reactions of the Bolivians to that problem (that was not planned by our teacher.) It´s so alive here.
Then, after ¨class¨(there was some discussion) we grabbed a drink and went to a Bach concert. I was quite stoked about classical music in Latin America. It was a free concert in the Palace of a rich man (the guy who owned the mine in Potosi, in fact). It was small chamber music, and the players were quite decent, but what astounded me was the audience. There were hundreds of people there, and not nearly enough room, so these Bolivians, from the old man in his suit from work to the native woman to the punk high school kid were willing to stand for over an hour and half to hear this music from some gringo years ago. Music is so powerful. :)
After the concert, I went to the birthday party of the ¨brother¨ of Matteo, one of my fellow students here. I tell you what, the Bolivians know how to throw a party. All they need are good friends, large quantities of alcohol (consumed mainly by 3 or so men at the party), good music (that all sounds quite similar), and a large open space for dancing. It was fun, and I didn´t get home until an appropriate Bolivian time. :) Let´s just say that the birds were singing as I went to bed this morning.
I hope you´re enjoying my blog. I appreciate the readership, and that (I assume) you´re curious about what´s happening with me down here. I miss home, but know I am thoroughly enjoying myself here, and learning quite a few things as well. :)
Until later...
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Address and Adventures (yes i can wear shorts)
So sorry it´s been so long. Exciting things have happened, and for me, not many exciting things happen with an internet-ready computer nearby. Therefore, this posting will be like the Reader´s Digest of the last week and a half.
The Address
First things first: my address (for mail or packages, money is welcome too. :))
Aimee West
c/o Silvia Sinabria
P.O. Box 1073
Cochabamba, Bolivia
Then, at the bottom, if you can, put my home phone number here. If you don´t know it, shoot me an email. I´d rather not have some internet creeper call my host family here, but if they want to send money or gifts, I´m ok with that. ;)
Oh, the 35
So, last time I posted, I spoke of a worrisome public transportation experience. Well, the very next day, Valentine´s I had an even more exciting experience. I blame it on the Best Friend Express, the only public transport I truly knew before my time here.
It was the 35 microbus. I catch it at the corner and get off 4 blocks from my classes downtown. And this particular day, I was feeling brave and had decided to catch it back home as well (versus taking a taxi). So, I figured I´d catch it where I left it. Buses just go on routes that are circles, right? I figured I´d eventually get home, even if it took a bit longer than it needed too. The ride would be nice.
Well, 3.5 hours later, I did get home.
Let me explain.
The 35 happens to run all the way through La Cancha, the largest outdoor market and mass of human bodies in Cochabamba (during which the bus simply turned his engine off at times b/c there was no hope of moving any time soon). Then, we went down to the South side of Cochabamba, which I was told to stay away from in general. I guess it could be compared to the ghetto. But I was safe as long as I was on the bus, and at this point I figuered it´d take me about an hour to get home, as long as the bus turned around soon.
No such luck. Instead, we leave paved road and journey onto cobble-stoned road. At this point, there are only me and Cholitos on the bus. (Cholitos are the natives, they wear the traditional outfits, and are, in general, poorer than most of the population.) I thought, this is neat, but it defintely means we´re going out of the city.
We did. We, in fact, entered the foothills. I finally, for the first time here in Bolivia, saw poverty. But these people were the poor, but happy kind. The cows sustained their families, and they lived off the land. Not rich by my standards, but defintely having a good life. At this point I put up my 15 dollar sunglasses that could have provided food for most of my fellow bus riders for the week. However, we then passed the poor, but happy, and got to the just plain poor section, farther up in the foothills. And, as I looked from behind my plexiglass tour on the bus, I pitied them, and thought, someone should do something for these people, no human should have to live like this. The Cholitos left one by one, and, after a while, it was only me and the bus driver. It was at this point that I was allowed the opportunity to act out on my thoughts. The bus driver parked the bus, and motioned for me to get off. It was as if someone had said, okay, so you pity them, and someone should do something? Well, what are you going to do?
I´ll tell you what I did. I nearly panicked. I pulled out my map and asked the bus driver ´donde estamos?´(where are we?). He mumbled and waved me off and went to pee on the wall.
Ok, so the night before I had been alone and lost while it was dark, but then I was downtown.
Now, I was alone, lost, far away from any kind of transportation, and knew that no one here spoke a lick of english. AND it was getting dark. Hah, God has a funny way of showing us not to worry about the small things.
So, mercifully, I had obtained a cell phone 2 days before, and I called Jean Carla, our program coordinator and explained my little situation to her. I handed the cell over to a very kind nearby Cholito (the woman looked like she had never held a cell phone before) who had a conversation in Spanish with Jean Carla, and then Jean Carla told me that the buses simply stop for a bit there. They would be returning to town soon.
*whew*
So, I had a very awkward 10 minutes during which the woman spoke a mix of Spanish and Quechua to me, even after I made it quite obvious that I only understood the most simple form of Spanish. And finally, a 35 was headed back our way, my old buddy, the bus driver. We hail him, but he just waives us off, signalling as if, no I don´t want that freerider on my bus again.
well, crap.
Thankfully, the next 35 driver (3 minutes later) was much kinder, and had a good laugh with the Cholito about the adventures of this gringa, and kindly said , yes, he was headed my direction.
Well, I had a nice long time (1.5 hours) on my way home to think about the way I had reacted. Pity without the willingness of action is worthless and degrading. If I truly believe that all men are created equal, I would not have thought desparately only of my own safety when I was placed in their world. Yes, I know that it was a normal reaction to worry about my safety at that point, but still, the lesson remains.
And that is why I am very grateful I took the bus the wrong way home.
This was defintely a trip worth 3.5 hours and about 20 cents.
The Weekend
Last weekend was the first free weekend we had, and we took advantage of it. We went out Friday night, and I met some Germans who dance in very odd ways as well as a Swedish guy. It is funny how much a common language (english, in case you were wondering) can bond strangers. Here, the people party late. Bolivians don´t start until about 2 am stay out until about 6 am. (no, mom, I did not stay out that late, dont worry. :)) Saturday, I ventured into La Cancha. I couldn´t even buy anything, the mass of bodies and goods was so overwhelming. But it was a thrilling experience and a great piece of the culture. Saturday night I met up with some complete strangers, friends of Anna (a missionary kid who grew up here) and went to their youth group. It was great to have some Christian community, and it was fun to have people practice their English on me while I practiced my Spanish on them, but long prayers in other languages are very hard to pay attention too. :) Regardless, I´m glad I went and met those people. I hope to join them again sometime soon.
Sunday, I had another trip to the country-side. This was for lunch. Lunch on Sunday took 5 hours. Yes, five hours. But it was great. We went out on the road to Santa Cruz and stopped for some Empanadas, the best in the region. We then went and ate these by a nearby Lagoon (lake) that was packed with people and their parked cars. When I asked why there were so many there, my host mom informed me that they were all there to see if the lake was really as high as the news said. Apparently, if it rained 5 more centimeters, the lake would overflow the dam and all of the low-lying farmland below would be flooded, and the price for food would shoot through the roof. Just another example of how amazing it is how inter-connected these people are, because they are so dependent on one another.
I had some fried fish for lunch, and tried a fried sardine, head, eye, tail, and all. ugh. The things you do to be polite. :)
The Orphanage
Tuesday was my first day volunteering at the baby orphanage, millinium. The simple name, "baby orphanage" is heartbreaking, and I prayed that I would not burst into tears when I first got there. I did not, in fact. There are 25 kids there from the age of 2 months to 5 years. And, I was doing fine until snacktime. All the workers and my fellow volunteers were downstairs feeding the kids, and I walked upstairs to check on the babies. And the 2 month old was lying on a bed, crying alone. I went to comfort her, and I picked her up saying, "it´s okay, precious" but I chocked on "precious". The idea that this being I held in my arms was more precious than any other thing I can think of, and yet that her mother, who had bore her not 2 months before, was perfectly fine with giving her up, not caring about this precious thing I held in my arms, was heartbreaking. That something that precious had to cry alone, was so unjust, I broke. And I cried for the first time with a baby in my arms, and had a talk with God. But he told me, yes, Aimee, she is precious, but I want you to know that I love her, and my love is enough for this precious thing. And my love is more than enough for you, as well.
A great lesson, but still heartbreaking. But, the good news, is that the toddlers at Millinium were more full of life than many I have seen before, and that was so comforting. To see that, even when one spends some of their most formative years in an environment where they sometimes cry unheard, they can still keep that resilient spirit.
Ah, I´m so glad I´m getting this chance.
Fullbright and the CIA
I hope that title doesn´t attract the government to my blog. But anyways, Wednesday, we got to meet the Fullbright scholar that got the US Embassy here in trouble. Well, let me explain.
Fullbright scholars are students who recieve a grant to go to another country and study there, not like study abroad, but to do their own research, as far as I understand. The idea of the Fullbright program is to foster international realtions with the US and participants are requried to be politically neutral while in the program. Well. When this particular scholar arrived, the US Embassy gave him a safety briefing. During the briefing they asked him to report back to them any Cuban or .... Indian, I believe... doctors he encountered while he was in the field, because they needed to keep track of them. Well, this is essentially asking him to spy for the US government, which is against international laws as well as the concept of the Fullbright program, and this guy, Alex, was not going to let that go on. So, after that meeting, he talked with a journalist from La Paz, who, with him, discovered that the Peace Corps here have also wrongly been asked to do some of the same things. So he and the journalist published this article, and he got on abc news.com, and all kinds of exciting things like that. The US Embassy is currently dealing with the problem, and the guy that asked him to do this has been sent back to the US. And we had this guy, Alex, come and chat with our class of 6 people, just because our professor happened to run into him at an anti-facist art showing.
Crazy how real life and the news actually run together sometimes here.
I´m a brick mason
yes I am.
This weekend we went into the foothills of Cochabamba (again, for me, but a different place, and this time, with a guide) and stayed in a community called Mallco Rancho. We stayed with some families there and helped to build rooms for a school there. To tell you the truth, the houses here are more like what I expected all of Bolivia to be like. There are cows in the backyard, and running water is relatively new. The grandma only speaks Quechua, and as I walk down the street, people talk to me and stare, because they´ve never seen me before. The old man across the street knows that his neighbors happen to be having a drink down the street at the moment, and all the children play freely with one another in the streets.
This was an awesome experience, and I so enjoyed being able to work for this community and give the children much nicer classrooms than the ridiculous conditions they had to deal with before.
But, just so you know, I suck at throwing the mixed concrete (mesa) with the trowel. It definitely is an art, and I´m still drawing stick figures.
Well, I hope you´ve enjoyed this reader´s digest version of my week. I´ll try to stay a little more in touch. And don´t forget to send those letters my way!
btw, I guess reader´s digest always has those nice little jokes and puzzles in the back. Here´s a riddle I was told this weekend, and I´m still working on it myself:
If you have a bee in your hand, what´s in your eye? (note that it was spoken, not written, so spellings can be changed, I presume)
The Address
First things first: my address (for mail or packages, money is welcome too. :))
Aimee West
c/o Silvia Sinabria
P.O. Box 1073
Cochabamba, Bolivia
Then, at the bottom, if you can, put my home phone number here. If you don´t know it, shoot me an email. I´d rather not have some internet creeper call my host family here, but if they want to send money or gifts, I´m ok with that. ;)
Oh, the 35
So, last time I posted, I spoke of a worrisome public transportation experience. Well, the very next day, Valentine´s I had an even more exciting experience. I blame it on the Best Friend Express, the only public transport I truly knew before my time here.
It was the 35 microbus. I catch it at the corner and get off 4 blocks from my classes downtown. And this particular day, I was feeling brave and had decided to catch it back home as well (versus taking a taxi). So, I figured I´d catch it where I left it. Buses just go on routes that are circles, right? I figured I´d eventually get home, even if it took a bit longer than it needed too. The ride would be nice.
Well, 3.5 hours later, I did get home.
Let me explain.
The 35 happens to run all the way through La Cancha, the largest outdoor market and mass of human bodies in Cochabamba (during which the bus simply turned his engine off at times b/c there was no hope of moving any time soon). Then, we went down to the South side of Cochabamba, which I was told to stay away from in general. I guess it could be compared to the ghetto. But I was safe as long as I was on the bus, and at this point I figuered it´d take me about an hour to get home, as long as the bus turned around soon.
No such luck. Instead, we leave paved road and journey onto cobble-stoned road. At this point, there are only me and Cholitos on the bus. (Cholitos are the natives, they wear the traditional outfits, and are, in general, poorer than most of the population.) I thought, this is neat, but it defintely means we´re going out of the city.
We did. We, in fact, entered the foothills. I finally, for the first time here in Bolivia, saw poverty. But these people were the poor, but happy kind. The cows sustained their families, and they lived off the land. Not rich by my standards, but defintely having a good life. At this point I put up my 15 dollar sunglasses that could have provided food for most of my fellow bus riders for the week. However, we then passed the poor, but happy, and got to the just plain poor section, farther up in the foothills. And, as I looked from behind my plexiglass tour on the bus, I pitied them, and thought, someone should do something for these people, no human should have to live like this. The Cholitos left one by one, and, after a while, it was only me and the bus driver. It was at this point that I was allowed the opportunity to act out on my thoughts. The bus driver parked the bus, and motioned for me to get off. It was as if someone had said, okay, so you pity them, and someone should do something? Well, what are you going to do?
I´ll tell you what I did. I nearly panicked. I pulled out my map and asked the bus driver ´donde estamos?´(where are we?). He mumbled and waved me off and went to pee on the wall.
Ok, so the night before I had been alone and lost while it was dark, but then I was downtown.
Now, I was alone, lost, far away from any kind of transportation, and knew that no one here spoke a lick of english. AND it was getting dark. Hah, God has a funny way of showing us not to worry about the small things.
So, mercifully, I had obtained a cell phone 2 days before, and I called Jean Carla, our program coordinator and explained my little situation to her. I handed the cell over to a very kind nearby Cholito (the woman looked like she had never held a cell phone before) who had a conversation in Spanish with Jean Carla, and then Jean Carla told me that the buses simply stop for a bit there. They would be returning to town soon.
*whew*
So, I had a very awkward 10 minutes during which the woman spoke a mix of Spanish and Quechua to me, even after I made it quite obvious that I only understood the most simple form of Spanish. And finally, a 35 was headed back our way, my old buddy, the bus driver. We hail him, but he just waives us off, signalling as if, no I don´t want that freerider on my bus again.
well, crap.
Thankfully, the next 35 driver (3 minutes later) was much kinder, and had a good laugh with the Cholito about the adventures of this gringa, and kindly said , yes, he was headed my direction.
Well, I had a nice long time (1.5 hours) on my way home to think about the way I had reacted. Pity without the willingness of action is worthless and degrading. If I truly believe that all men are created equal, I would not have thought desparately only of my own safety when I was placed in their world. Yes, I know that it was a normal reaction to worry about my safety at that point, but still, the lesson remains.
And that is why I am very grateful I took the bus the wrong way home.
This was defintely a trip worth 3.5 hours and about 20 cents.
The Weekend
Last weekend was the first free weekend we had, and we took advantage of it. We went out Friday night, and I met some Germans who dance in very odd ways as well as a Swedish guy. It is funny how much a common language (english, in case you were wondering) can bond strangers. Here, the people party late. Bolivians don´t start until about 2 am stay out until about 6 am. (no, mom, I did not stay out that late, dont worry. :)) Saturday, I ventured into La Cancha. I couldn´t even buy anything, the mass of bodies and goods was so overwhelming. But it was a thrilling experience and a great piece of the culture. Saturday night I met up with some complete strangers, friends of Anna (a missionary kid who grew up here) and went to their youth group. It was great to have some Christian community, and it was fun to have people practice their English on me while I practiced my Spanish on them, but long prayers in other languages are very hard to pay attention too. :) Regardless, I´m glad I went and met those people. I hope to join them again sometime soon.
Sunday, I had another trip to the country-side. This was for lunch. Lunch on Sunday took 5 hours. Yes, five hours. But it was great. We went out on the road to Santa Cruz and stopped for some Empanadas, the best in the region. We then went and ate these by a nearby Lagoon (lake) that was packed with people and their parked cars. When I asked why there were so many there, my host mom informed me that they were all there to see if the lake was really as high as the news said. Apparently, if it rained 5 more centimeters, the lake would overflow the dam and all of the low-lying farmland below would be flooded, and the price for food would shoot through the roof. Just another example of how amazing it is how inter-connected these people are, because they are so dependent on one another.
I had some fried fish for lunch, and tried a fried sardine, head, eye, tail, and all. ugh. The things you do to be polite. :)
The Orphanage
Tuesday was my first day volunteering at the baby orphanage, millinium. The simple name, "baby orphanage" is heartbreaking, and I prayed that I would not burst into tears when I first got there. I did not, in fact. There are 25 kids there from the age of 2 months to 5 years. And, I was doing fine until snacktime. All the workers and my fellow volunteers were downstairs feeding the kids, and I walked upstairs to check on the babies. And the 2 month old was lying on a bed, crying alone. I went to comfort her, and I picked her up saying, "it´s okay, precious" but I chocked on "precious". The idea that this being I held in my arms was more precious than any other thing I can think of, and yet that her mother, who had bore her not 2 months before, was perfectly fine with giving her up, not caring about this precious thing I held in my arms, was heartbreaking. That something that precious had to cry alone, was so unjust, I broke. And I cried for the first time with a baby in my arms, and had a talk with God. But he told me, yes, Aimee, she is precious, but I want you to know that I love her, and my love is enough for this precious thing. And my love is more than enough for you, as well.
A great lesson, but still heartbreaking. But, the good news, is that the toddlers at Millinium were more full of life than many I have seen before, and that was so comforting. To see that, even when one spends some of their most formative years in an environment where they sometimes cry unheard, they can still keep that resilient spirit.
Ah, I´m so glad I´m getting this chance.
Fullbright and the CIA
I hope that title doesn´t attract the government to my blog. But anyways, Wednesday, we got to meet the Fullbright scholar that got the US Embassy here in trouble. Well, let me explain.
Fullbright scholars are students who recieve a grant to go to another country and study there, not like study abroad, but to do their own research, as far as I understand. The idea of the Fullbright program is to foster international realtions with the US and participants are requried to be politically neutral while in the program. Well. When this particular scholar arrived, the US Embassy gave him a safety briefing. During the briefing they asked him to report back to them any Cuban or .... Indian, I believe... doctors he encountered while he was in the field, because they needed to keep track of them. Well, this is essentially asking him to spy for the US government, which is against international laws as well as the concept of the Fullbright program, and this guy, Alex, was not going to let that go on. So, after that meeting, he talked with a journalist from La Paz, who, with him, discovered that the Peace Corps here have also wrongly been asked to do some of the same things. So he and the journalist published this article, and he got on abc news.com, and all kinds of exciting things like that. The US Embassy is currently dealing with the problem, and the guy that asked him to do this has been sent back to the US. And we had this guy, Alex, come and chat with our class of 6 people, just because our professor happened to run into him at an anti-facist art showing.
Crazy how real life and the news actually run together sometimes here.
I´m a brick mason
yes I am.
This weekend we went into the foothills of Cochabamba (again, for me, but a different place, and this time, with a guide) and stayed in a community called Mallco Rancho. We stayed with some families there and helped to build rooms for a school there. To tell you the truth, the houses here are more like what I expected all of Bolivia to be like. There are cows in the backyard, and running water is relatively new. The grandma only speaks Quechua, and as I walk down the street, people talk to me and stare, because they´ve never seen me before. The old man across the street knows that his neighbors happen to be having a drink down the street at the moment, and all the children play freely with one another in the streets.
This was an awesome experience, and I so enjoyed being able to work for this community and give the children much nicer classrooms than the ridiculous conditions they had to deal with before.
But, just so you know, I suck at throwing the mixed concrete (mesa) with the trowel. It definitely is an art, and I´m still drawing stick figures.
Well, I hope you´ve enjoyed this reader´s digest version of my week. I´ll try to stay a little more in touch. And don´t forget to send those letters my way!
btw, I guess reader´s digest always has those nice little jokes and puzzles in the back. Here´s a riddle I was told this weekend, and I´m still working on it myself:
If you have a bee in your hand, what´s in your eye? (note that it was spoken, not written, so spellings can be changed, I presume)
Thursday, February 14, 2008
I blame it on the altitude
So, last night was very eventful.
After an unsuccessful venture for a Yarn Store (there is one here and people here do, in fact, knit) I decided to try to take a bus home rather than a taxi. (Zareen, with whom I usually ride home with and rely upon to communicate with the driver had opted out of the yarn store).
I asked Prof. Nick where the nearest place to catch MicroBus G or 35 was.
"go straight down here, and it´ll open up into this big space. Go in the far right hand corner and go 5ish blocks down that street. Then you´ll turn right and go 1.5 blocks and it will open up into that big plaza. Then you go on the right hand side of the street and you should be able to catch the bus there."
hah. hah.
Needless to say, I ended up on the side (was it the right hand side? sure, of the direction I was looking...) of some large street with lots of buses on it. After I saw the A and 3v go by twice with no G or 35, I decided that I was perhaps not exactly 6.5ish blocks in the right-ish direction from where I was just a little before. Plus, now, it was dark.
Alone, dark, and in a country that does not speak my language. Bueno.
And, for you practical ones, now is not the time for me to whip out a map and figure out where I am. No. The Gringita on the side of the road with blonde hair and a map is like a flashing neon sign for "please take advantage of me. I don´t know where I am. and I´m not from here." So, in a whacky kind of answered prayer the woman who was standing next to me, presumably waiting for a bus as well, mumbled a question to me in spanish. I´m glad people at least assume I know some spanish. But in a whacky kind of Spanglish (which I watched on tv last night) we communicated that I was not, in fact, where I thought I was and she suggested I take a taxi at this point.
Ok. sure. So, finding a taxi is not the hard part. In fact, my neon sign seems to be on always, though not always flashing. Taxi drivers here honk at pedestrians whom they think might possibly want a taxi. I get a lot of honks. At first I thought it was a tacky pick-up attempt. In fact, it is a practical pick-up (but in a much different way) attempt.
So I wave at the next one, who, just by chance has "CHRISTIAN" plastered on the side of his cab. While tacky, I had to smile at the way God answers desperate prayers that need not be desperate.
With much effort, I got the taxi driver headed in the right direction. As the ride was kind of long, I became brave and decided to practice some spanish on this unsuspecting Maestro. (yes, they call taxi drivers maestros here. kinda cool)
In a butchering of the Spanish language, I told him I didn´t speak much but was studying Spanihsh, history, and politics here until the 5 of May. I asked him if he was a Christian (or false advertising, eh?) and he said, yes, catholic, "more or less".
Now, I´m no catholic, but I´m pretty sure it´s against a lot of what Catholics stand for to be ¨more or less¨a catholic. But at any rate, the only other thing I could get across was that I was a Christian too, but not Catholic. And, in an attempt to continue the conversation, I said the only other thing pertaining to religion that I could think of.
After an unsuccessful venture for a Yarn Store (there is one here and people here do, in fact, knit) I decided to try to take a bus home rather than a taxi. (Zareen, with whom I usually ride home with and rely upon to communicate with the driver had opted out of the yarn store).
I asked Prof. Nick where the nearest place to catch MicroBus G or 35 was.
"go straight down here, and it´ll open up into this big space. Go in the far right hand corner and go 5ish blocks down that street. Then you´ll turn right and go 1.5 blocks and it will open up into that big plaza. Then you go on the right hand side of the street and you should be able to catch the bus there."
hah. hah.
Needless to say, I ended up on the side (was it the right hand side? sure, of the direction I was looking...) of some large street with lots of buses on it. After I saw the A and 3v go by twice with no G or 35, I decided that I was perhaps not exactly 6.5ish blocks in the right-ish direction from where I was just a little before. Plus, now, it was dark.
Alone, dark, and in a country that does not speak my language. Bueno.
And, for you practical ones, now is not the time for me to whip out a map and figure out where I am. No. The Gringita on the side of the road with blonde hair and a map is like a flashing neon sign for "please take advantage of me. I don´t know where I am. and I´m not from here." So, in a whacky kind of answered prayer the woman who was standing next to me, presumably waiting for a bus as well, mumbled a question to me in spanish. I´m glad people at least assume I know some spanish. But in a whacky kind of Spanglish (which I watched on tv last night) we communicated that I was not, in fact, where I thought I was and she suggested I take a taxi at this point.
Ok. sure. So, finding a taxi is not the hard part. In fact, my neon sign seems to be on always, though not always flashing. Taxi drivers here honk at pedestrians whom they think might possibly want a taxi. I get a lot of honks. At first I thought it was a tacky pick-up attempt. In fact, it is a practical pick-up (but in a much different way) attempt.
So I wave at the next one, who, just by chance has "CHRISTIAN" plastered on the side of his cab. While tacky, I had to smile at the way God answers desperate prayers that need not be desperate.
With much effort, I got the taxi driver headed in the right direction. As the ride was kind of long, I became brave and decided to practice some spanish on this unsuspecting Maestro. (yes, they call taxi drivers maestros here. kinda cool)
In a butchering of the Spanish language, I told him I didn´t speak much but was studying Spanihsh, history, and politics here until the 5 of May. I asked him if he was a Christian (or false advertising, eh?) and he said, yes, catholic, "more or less".
Now, I´m no catholic, but I´m pretty sure it´s against a lot of what Catholics stand for to be ¨more or less¨a catholic. But at any rate, the only other thing I could get across was that I was a Christian too, but not Catholic. And, in an attempt to continue the conversation, I said the only other thing pertaining to religion that I could think of.
El Christo es grande, no?
Well I am so very glad I proved to him that I had great knowledge of both the Spanish language and common sense.
To top my night off, I popped open a can of Queso Pringles I bought yesterday afternoon. (fyi, American brands are very expensive here, as I mentioned about Burger King before. Pringles are quite an event to eat. They cost about 15 bolivianos, a little more than 2 dollars. And Pop Tarts? Shoot, they cost more than my steak dinner. I´ll wait until I get home to eat those again. ) And when I say popped them open, I mean popped. The lid was buldging with air pressure. I think I got a little cheese powder in my DNA now.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
cherry coke and taxi soccer and German music
As I sit in an internet cafe (4.60 bolivianos for an hour... that´s like 50 cents) off of Circumvalacion next to a teenager (shouldn´t he be in school?) listening to a little Red Hot Chili Pepper stuff, but mostly German racket (the only thing I´ve understood is "we all live in america... America is wunderbar!!!!!") I´m struck by how very similar Bolivia, and, presumably, the rest of the world, is to my world. Perhaps because humans are fundamentally very similar. Created by the same God, entering the world the same way, requiring the same basic needs, and finding enjoyment in very similar activities.
Globalization has aided in much of this. For example, my very first day here, hearing Stairway to Heaven as well as You Got it Bad and watchin Friends with Spanish subtitles. Bolivians want to be like Americans because of the entertainment industry... What do you think of this? Personally, I´m slightly worried. I mean, Joey, ross, chandler, rachel, monica, and phoebe are alright, I guess. As far as sitcom characters go. But not real people to aspire to.
Anyways, after telling you how very similar Bolivia is to home, allow me to list a few differences I have observed as of yet.
I realized while at the game how much we truly take for granted in our common language. For example, introducing yourself to the person sitting next to you, or eavesdropping on the exciting-sounding conversation taking place just behind you. (yes, I miss eavesdropping). I imagine that when I return to the US many previously awkward situations will come much easier because, at least we´ll have a language in common. (Forgive me, if, when I return, I use over-exaggerated hand gestures.)
I finally had a cherry coke last night. I had to ask for a shirley temple, without sprite, with coke. This order took about 5 minutes. Again, something that will be much easier with a common native language.
We started classes yesterday. Spanish in the morning (during which I learned gringita is a term of endearment, not a condescending insult). Lunch and siesta. History (during which I learned I cannot draw Bolivia and have it not look like a potato [they have over 600 different kinds of potatoes here, btw. I ate a purple one yesterday. No lie.]) and Pol.Sci in the afternoon. We´ll start volunteering next week, which I´m very excited about. I´ll be working at a baby orphanage for the first half of the semster. I hope I don´t cry my first day there. I wouldn´t be able to explain in Spanish my reason. Perhaps I couldn´t in English either.
I´d like to write all about Carnaval from this past Saturday, but that will have to wait for another post with more time and pictures.
For now, I´ll just tell you that on the way back from Spanish this morning I got to watch a soccer game that, from the looks of the surrounding parked cars, consisted mainly of taxi drivers. :)
I like it here a lot.
Globalization has aided in much of this. For example, my very first day here, hearing Stairway to Heaven as well as You Got it Bad and watchin Friends with Spanish subtitles. Bolivians want to be like Americans because of the entertainment industry... What do you think of this? Personally, I´m slightly worried. I mean, Joey, ross, chandler, rachel, monica, and phoebe are alright, I guess. As far as sitcom characters go. But not real people to aspire to.
Anyways, after telling you how very similar Bolivia is to home, allow me to list a few differences I have observed as of yet.
- Men dancing with men is ok. Admirable, in fact.
- Faking injuries in soccer is part of the game, and a wise strategic move, I´m told.
- "littering" in America is recycling here. (My professor was explaining this to me as he crushed a can and threw it on the ground. He said, "watch". Honestly, not 3 seconds later a young boy picked it up and added it to his already large collection of cans. That could be considered a tax-deductable charitable donation in America.)
- Leaving a restaurant quickly after eating is not a favor to the waiter but an isult of the food.
- Toilet paper does not go in the toilet.
- Lunch is the big meal of the day. Work stops, children leave school, and everyone (including extended family) gathers for a grand meal, and, afterwards, a siesta. (my new favorite tradition)
- Burger King is truly expensive. Same prices as in US, so for a Bolivian it is similar to planning on going out to a big steak dinner for Americans.
- Red light means turn left.
- An 8-sided red sign screaming "alto" in fact, means yeild.
- Seat-belt wearing is strongly discouraged--there are none in the back at all.
- "meat" means beef, steak, cow, etc.
- climate control consists of open or closed windows. And works much better than our air conditioners.
- soccer players must be protected by police with shields when making a corner kick on the field of the home team. (otherwise, the 2liter bottles, firecrackers, and glass bottles being thrown at them might distract them... or hurt them)
I realized while at the game how much we truly take for granted in our common language. For example, introducing yourself to the person sitting next to you, or eavesdropping on the exciting-sounding conversation taking place just behind you. (yes, I miss eavesdropping). I imagine that when I return to the US many previously awkward situations will come much easier because, at least we´ll have a language in common. (Forgive me, if, when I return, I use over-exaggerated hand gestures.)
I finally had a cherry coke last night. I had to ask for a shirley temple, without sprite, with coke. This order took about 5 minutes. Again, something that will be much easier with a common native language.
We started classes yesterday. Spanish in the morning (during which I learned gringita is a term of endearment, not a condescending insult). Lunch and siesta. History (during which I learned I cannot draw Bolivia and have it not look like a potato [they have over 600 different kinds of potatoes here, btw. I ate a purple one yesterday. No lie.]) and Pol.Sci in the afternoon. We´ll start volunteering next week, which I´m very excited about. I´ll be working at a baby orphanage for the first half of the semster. I hope I don´t cry my first day there. I wouldn´t be able to explain in Spanish my reason. Perhaps I couldn´t in English either.
I´d like to write all about Carnaval from this past Saturday, but that will have to wait for another post with more time and pictures.
For now, I´ll just tell you that on the way back from Spanish this morning I got to watch a soccer game that, from the looks of the surrounding parked cars, consisted mainly of taxi drivers. :)
I like it here a lot.
Friday, February 8, 2008
So, here I am.
Bolivia, si?
*quick note: all the punctuation on their keyboards here are different, so please forgive any grammar mistakes I make. (especially you, Mrs. Walton. Please don´t let the commas stress you out.)
Let me sum up my experience so far in one phrase: I was wrong.
About just about everything. But before you get worried about me regretting my decision to come here, let me tell you that I have been so wonderfully surprised by just about everything here.
The people in my group are fantastic. I had a few preconcieved ideas about them as a result of email communication, however, all of my previous labels were wrong. There´s a group of 6 of us.
Zareen - from Penn., goes to Pitt. Very intelligent and curious, and speaks mucho Spanish. Down to earth and likes to laugh a lot.
J - from FL, goes to West Virginia University. Marine veteran (hurt in training). She likes to cave, a spelunker.
Matt - from Penn as well, and also goes to WVU. Did not, however, know J before we all met in Miami. I thought he was uptight from the emails, but in fact very amiable and funny. He no hablas Espanol.
Carolyn - she just got here yesterday from NC, goes to Tulane. She´s sweet and friendly, and really likes to talk.
Andreas - from Austria, goes to WVU. We met him today. Don´t know much about him except that he´s super friendly, speaks german and italian, and is currently married.
The land is beautiful. The thing that first caught me by surprise was the weather in Santa Cruz. I felt like I was at the beach. This was just after coming from La Paz (both in Bolivia) where it was 41 degrees. I completely forgot that it was summer down here. I mean, I knew the seasons flopped, but that didn´t translate to February being the end of summer break for the kids here.
The people are so friendly. I know everyone says this about different places they go, but you truly don´t realize the kindness of strangers until you approach them and strive to tell them your problem which has nothing to do with them in a language that isn´t their own. We met a guy named Mirko on the plane from Miami. He was on his way home to Cochabamba from a business trip in Japan. If not for him, my bags would not be together, we would have probably gotten sucked into a taxi in Santa Cruz, I would not have been able to order my ham and American cheese sandwich at the Subway in the airport, and the entire group would have missed the finally plane to Cochabamba. I hope the group gets to hang out with him again sometime soon. Plus, he has raquetball courts at his home.
My host family is amazing. My host mom has taken such good care of me and the daughter, Andrea, is so much fun. She´s 28 and took me out for a steak dinner last night. A huge freakin piece of steak, almost 2 inches thick, rice, yucca, and a coke, for, get this, less than $8.
Eat your hearts out. :)
Some firsts in Cochabamba:
Bolivia, si?
*quick note: all the punctuation on their keyboards here are different, so please forgive any grammar mistakes I make. (especially you, Mrs. Walton. Please don´t let the commas stress you out.)
Let me sum up my experience so far in one phrase: I was wrong.
About just about everything. But before you get worried about me regretting my decision to come here, let me tell you that I have been so wonderfully surprised by just about everything here.
The people in my group are fantastic. I had a few preconcieved ideas about them as a result of email communication, however, all of my previous labels were wrong. There´s a group of 6 of us.
Zareen - from Penn., goes to Pitt. Very intelligent and curious, and speaks mucho Spanish. Down to earth and likes to laugh a lot.
J - from FL, goes to West Virginia University. Marine veteran (hurt in training). She likes to cave, a spelunker.
Matt - from Penn as well, and also goes to WVU. Did not, however, know J before we all met in Miami. I thought he was uptight from the emails, but in fact very amiable and funny. He no hablas Espanol.
Carolyn - she just got here yesterday from NC, goes to Tulane. She´s sweet and friendly, and really likes to talk.
Andreas - from Austria, goes to WVU. We met him today. Don´t know much about him except that he´s super friendly, speaks german and italian, and is currently married.
The land is beautiful. The thing that first caught me by surprise was the weather in Santa Cruz. I felt like I was at the beach. This was just after coming from La Paz (both in Bolivia) where it was 41 degrees. I completely forgot that it was summer down here. I mean, I knew the seasons flopped, but that didn´t translate to February being the end of summer break for the kids here.
The people are so friendly. I know everyone says this about different places they go, but you truly don´t realize the kindness of strangers until you approach them and strive to tell them your problem which has nothing to do with them in a language that isn´t their own. We met a guy named Mirko on the plane from Miami. He was on his way home to Cochabamba from a business trip in Japan. If not for him, my bags would not be together, we would have probably gotten sucked into a taxi in Santa Cruz, I would not have been able to order my ham and American cheese sandwich at the Subway in the airport, and the entire group would have missed the finally plane to Cochabamba. I hope the group gets to hang out with him again sometime soon. Plus, he has raquetball courts at his home.
My host family is amazing. My host mom has taken such good care of me and the daughter, Andrea, is so much fun. She´s 28 and took me out for a steak dinner last night. A huge freakin piece of steak, almost 2 inches thick, rice, yucca, and a coke, for, get this, less than $8.
Eat your hearts out. :)
Some firsts in Cochabamba:
- first lie: (during first trip to grocery market) 'oh yes, I eat vegetables all the time'
- first injury: lost a big toe nail in lugging my overly-large suitcase into my host home.
- first meal: tacos. (haha)
- first surprise: security guards being the sketchy cat-callers
- first teacher: the 4 year old Alexia. 'no no no. perro...... dog.' [sigh of frustration]
- and, my personal favorite: first mistake: 'excited' in Spanish is NOT 'excitado'. Instead, you would say 'emocionado'. 'Excitado', in fact, means horny.
That´s all for now. More to come. Keep the prayers and good wishes coming. :)
Monday, February 4, 2008
selling out of the leading lame bandwagon
So, I must admit, when I first learned of the blogging world, I thought it was lame.
That's right, lame.
And here I am, several years later, jumping on the bandwagon. Or following the lead. Or selling-out. Take your pick of judgment on me. But you're the one reading it. :)
I decided to take this drastic step because I'm leaving the country. And I must admit that blogging appears to be the easiest way to keep in touch with people without bombarding their in-boxes with emails they really don't want read. Plus, two of my favorite people in the world are bloggers now. :) And since I've joined them, blogging is officially no longer lame.
Tomorrow I leave for Cochabamba, Bolivia. I'm studying abroad for Spring '08 semester. It's not quite like typical study abroad experiences where I'd attend a Bolivian university. Instead, the focus of this Amizade program is Global Service Learning. Me and 5 other Americans are going to learn about Bolivian history and politics and their role in the Global economy, while focusing mainly on helping serve in various organizations in the community.
Here's the itinerary.
10:00am. Leave the homestead.
12:30pm. Lunch in Rock Hill.
6:50 pm. Depart Charlotte bound for Miami.
11:10 pm. Depart Miami for La Paz, Bolivia. (6 hour flight)
--> La Paz (hopefully don't pass out b/c of the high altitude) to Santa Cruz to Cochabamba
2:05 pm. Arrive in Cochabamba.
I think by Wednesday afternoon I'll be wondering what in the world happened to Tuesday. And perhaps why the English language seems to have disappeared.
Some fears I have going down:
Well, this has been my first attempt at a blog. I hope perhaps I have changed your mind if you, too, were a skeptic of blogs. I at least hope that I have not made you finally realize how lame blogs really are. :)
If I did, here's my last effort. Pictures of Cochabamba from the internet and such. I promise following posts will hold my own pictures as well more thrilling stories of wanderlust. Please let me know what you think.
p.s. I've had this song stuck in my head since I watched The Holiday over Christmas break. And I still know less than 20% of the words. :)
----------------
Now playing: The Killers - Mr. Brightside
That's right, lame.
And here I am, several years later, jumping on the bandwagon. Or following the lead. Or selling-out. Take your pick of judgment on me. But you're the one reading it. :)
I decided to take this drastic step because I'm leaving the country. And I must admit that blogging appears to be the easiest way to keep in touch with people without bombarding their in-boxes with emails they really don't want read. Plus, two of my favorite people in the world are bloggers now. :) And since I've joined them, blogging is officially no longer lame.
Tomorrow I leave for Cochabamba, Bolivia. I'm studying abroad for Spring '08 semester. It's not quite like typical study abroad experiences where I'd attend a Bolivian university. Instead, the focus of this Amizade program is Global Service Learning. Me and 5 other Americans are going to learn about Bolivian history and politics and their role in the Global economy, while focusing mainly on helping serve in various organizations in the community.
Here's the itinerary.
10:00am. Leave the homestead.
12:30pm. Lunch in Rock Hill.
6:50 pm. Depart Charlotte bound for Miami.
11:10 pm. Depart Miami for La Paz, Bolivia. (6 hour flight)
--> La Paz (hopefully don't pass out b/c of the high altitude) to Santa Cruz to Cochabamba
2:05 pm. Arrive in Cochabamba.
I think by Wednesday afternoon I'll be wondering what in the world happened to Tuesday. And perhaps why the English language seems to have disappeared.
Some fears I have going down:
- I've taken too much luggage.
- I've not brought enough.
- I'll be the person to know the least Spanish these Bolivians have ever seen and will further their view of ignorant Americans.
- Forgetting I'm not supposed to drink the water.
- Not knowing much about my host family, my classmates, my professors, or what exactly I'll be doing down there. Or if it's socially okay for me to wear shorts.
- I'll lose my place in my life here.
- Not pack any more. I did one test run up and down the stairs with everything. And, although it's an aerobic workout (all my luggage together weighs over 70 lbs.), a little heart thumpin never hurt anyone.
- See bullet above. 70 lbs is more than enough. And besides, I can buy stuff there. I think. Perhaps some llama shirts. hmm. soft.
- Reviewing Spanish on the plane and having a humble and willing spirit. Hoping this will have a positive impact on the population and knowing it will have a profound impact on my character and pride.
- Bringing water bottles. And asking the Angel of the Lord to burn my lips with a coal if I go near tap water. :)
- Being flexible and wearing pants until research confirms or rejects my hypothesis.
- Knowing that my place right now is in Bolivia, not here. And that all the places I really care about in my life here won't be filled by anything but care for me.
- But most of all, I had a friend (one of the fellow-bloggers) remind me of what God told Joshua after their great leader Moses had died and he had to take over leading the Isrealites:
"This is my command—be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." [Josh. 1:9]
Well, this has been my first attempt at a blog. I hope perhaps I have changed your mind if you, too, were a skeptic of blogs. I at least hope that I have not made you finally realize how lame blogs really are. :)
If I did, here's my last effort. Pictures of Cochabamba from the internet and such. I promise following posts will hold my own pictures as well more thrilling stories of wanderlust. Please let me know what you think.
An overview of the city. (Not just a bunch of thatched huts.)
This is the flag of Cochabamba.
No lie.
At least it's a nice color of blue.
No lie.
At least it's a nice color of blue.
A main town square called September 14 Plaza.
And no, I do not yet know why that date is important. But I guarantee you I will.
And no, I do not yet know why that date is important. But I guarantee you I will.
Some rocks near the city. I guess they're old or something.
p.s. I've had this song stuck in my head since I watched The Holiday over Christmas break. And I still know less than 20% of the words. :)
----------------
Now playing: The Killers - Mr. Brightside
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)