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!

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.

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...

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)

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.

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.

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.

• 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)

Speaking of which, I had the pleasure of attending a true South American futball game this past Sunday afternoon. It was super crowded because it was the semi-finals of the current National cup. I sat on some stairs and witnessed the full glory of a GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLL!!!!No recording could ever do it justice.

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.

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:

• 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. :)