Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Jungle! Happiness.
More to come! But I just wanted to use my speedy internet connection in Lima to post pictures.
Friday, February 24, 2012
National Water Fight
The past week of travel has thrown me into the crossfire of a national water fight, also known as Carnaval. Those ridiculous translucent plastic ponchos aren’t just for unprepared gringos. Bolivians, too, are decked out in full body plastic bags, nudged out of embarrassment by the threat of water guns, foam spray, and water balloons. A school aged boy with a bucket of water could be hiding out on any rooftop, and at this point I scamper like a scared dog when I hear a trickle of water falling from a pipe. In Cochabamba, I was proud to have never been hit by a balloon, but since I’ve started traveling I’m just one in an endless line of tourists with a target sign on my body.
But carnaval is more than just water fights. It’s a week long, all day, all night fiesta. No town is too small for fiesta, few people too mature to wrap streamers around their neck and toss confetti in the air. Taxis and busses are decked out in balloons and streamers. People gather around the plazas dancing until the middle of the night, older ladies bouncing around to traditional music until the early hours of the morning.
In the weeks leading up to carnaval, I took dance lessons at a plaza in Cochabamba, learning the Tinku style of dance with a team out practicing near the University. You could walk the blocks around the plaza and sample each style, and I loved spending the evenings out there making a fool of myself. The movements felt totally foreign, and I could follow along up until the turns left me spinning.
This also got me on local television. The novelty of foreigners floundering along to Tinku dance moves was apparently news worthy, and I was chased down for an interview. And I mean chased. I ran until a man with a microphone grabbed my arm and forced me in front of the camera. I managed to speak enough Spanish to talk my way out of dancing in front of the camera, though a shot of us all practicing together still got on the air. This makes time number two that I’ve been featured dancing on local TV. Maybe a shot of me dancing electric slide to an island remix is still airing every once in a while on Kosraean TV back in Micronesia.
For the real festivities, I landed in Oruru, which is apparently the place to be for carnaval in Bolivia. The parade started at 7 am and lasted until 4 in the morning, the sheer number of sparkly costuming, marching bands, and continuous flow of enthusiasm became more and more impressive as the night went on. I only saw 12 hours of the 48 hours of festivities, and that was enough parade to last me for the foreseeable future. Making it until the end of the first night, freezing and exhausted in the bleachers at 4 am felt like an accomplishment- though what exactly I accomplished still eludes me.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Stalled Along the Dinosaur Tracks
Google is now available in Quechua, in case you were waiting for it.
At 4 am this morning when our taxi finally began the descent from the mountains into Cochabamba, knowing that I'd be in my bed by 5:30 was a very pleasant surprise. At some point in our 13 hours of driving, stalling, and van pushing, I stopped expecting to make it back to Cochabamba that night. I had basically resigned myself to sleeping in a barn the night before.
That was the conclusion of my weekend trip, so I'll turn this back at the beginning. I went with a group of friends to Toro Toro, a national park and tiny town known for its dinosaur tracks. It's these tracks that inspire signs proclaiming, "Toro Toro...the land of the dinosaurs!" hundreds of km away. They also inspire what seemed to be every other house within a 50k radius to paint dinosaurs on the side, and the municipality plopped a big dinosaur statue in the middle of the plaza. It doesn't make for a traditional colonial plaza, but it was a fun change of pace from the usual fountain and flower patch center piece.
The first day we set out on a hike down a canyon to some waterfalls. It is amazing to walk from barren mountains into a green encalve in a ravine where we could partake in some waterfall frolicking.
This is already my favorite part about being in Bolivia: the ability to reach an entirley different landscape in a matter of hours. You could see snow capped mountains in the morning and be in the jungle by nightfall.
The next day we set out for Toro Toro's main event (for me, anyways); caving! I was excited about having a completely new experience. The last time that I was in an underground cave, I was on an elementary school trip and completely terrified just to stand in the elevator that would take down us into total darkness. This time the trip would involve some crawling and squeezing through infamously small crevices. I didn't end up feeling claustrophic. I much prefer crawling and climbing to activities that involve jumping and sliding. I feel much more in control, and it's easier to keep my clumsiness in check. Of course, just when I feel that I've crawled my way deep into the earth, we find ourselves in a space with a graffiti covered wall.
When we emerged, two hours had passed in what felt like less that a half hour. Maneuvering around the rocks occupied my mind and body more than I had expected. Our guide had done overnight trips in the caves, and I heard about people that go in for days at a time without lights. I enjoyed my couple of hours, but I feel no urge to spend a night listening to potentially rabid bats flutter there wings and rain drops trickle into stagnant pools of water.
Post caving things stopped going so smoothly. Like any trip in Bolivia, the real adventure lies in the way to and from your destination. We ended up renting a van to take us back to Cochabamba, because in order to fit in all of our activities, we would miss the daily 6am bus. The van we rented was a mess, though a very well decorated mess (see picture that I'll post soon). Just after we left town we came across a motorcyle burning in the middle of the road. Clearly a bad omen. No one was seriously injured, and it was startling to our little crowd of foreigners that the two men involved in the accident didn't even call for help when we pulled over. They just sat along the roadside, quietly nursing their injuries. A truck full of teenage boys pulled over a few moments later and a small team assembled to smolder the burning motorcyle, and pull it out of the middle of the road.
Once that scene had cleared, we were on our way, for a little while. Within 30 minutes of our departure, we had stalled for the first time. By sunset, our driver was taking out the seats of the van to essentially take apart and put back together the mechanics of the vehicle. We weren't going to get very far. None of us had cell phone reception to call back into town when the van ceased to move at all. Our driver at one point received a call, and confirmed, to our horror, that he would be leaving Cochabamba for a return trip to ToroToro the next morning. It seemed unlikely that the van would make it to the next pueblo. Unfortunately, our driver didn't have enough credit on his phone to make an outgoing call for another taxi. I went with a few others to wander the road in search of reception. It's one of those things you do when you are fairly powerless in a situation, but want to take some sort of action.
By nightfall, we had all given up on the car making it back to Cochabamba. Our driver negotiated us a spot in a barn while two other attempted to ride into the next town. They didn't make it that far and ended up getting a ride with a truck full of goats the final stretch where they met a different driver who agreed to take us into town. At that point, wearing every article of clothing I brought with me to fend of the mountain chill, I couldn't help but drift off. Awakened by a different taxi honking its horn on the roadside, I jolted awake and ran toward the car.
7 people squeezed into a 5 seater, it was a comfort to know that we were back on the road again.
At 4 am this morning when our taxi finally began the descent from the mountains into Cochabamba, knowing that I'd be in my bed by 5:30 was a very pleasant surprise. At some point in our 13 hours of driving, stalling, and van pushing, I stopped expecting to make it back to Cochabamba that night. I had basically resigned myself to sleeping in a barn the night before.
That was the conclusion of my weekend trip, so I'll turn this back at the beginning. I went with a group of friends to Toro Toro, a national park and tiny town known for its dinosaur tracks. It's these tracks that inspire signs proclaiming, "Toro Toro...the land of the dinosaurs!" hundreds of km away. They also inspire what seemed to be every other house within a 50k radius to paint dinosaurs on the side, and the municipality plopped a big dinosaur statue in the middle of the plaza. It doesn't make for a traditional colonial plaza, but it was a fun change of pace from the usual fountain and flower patch center piece.
The first day we set out on a hike down a canyon to some waterfalls. It is amazing to walk from barren mountains into a green encalve in a ravine where we could partake in some waterfall frolicking.
This is already my favorite part about being in Bolivia: the ability to reach an entirley different landscape in a matter of hours. You could see snow capped mountains in the morning and be in the jungle by nightfall.
The next day we set out for Toro Toro's main event (for me, anyways); caving! I was excited about having a completely new experience. The last time that I was in an underground cave, I was on an elementary school trip and completely terrified just to stand in the elevator that would take down us into total darkness. This time the trip would involve some crawling and squeezing through infamously small crevices. I didn't end up feeling claustrophic. I much prefer crawling and climbing to activities that involve jumping and sliding. I feel much more in control, and it's easier to keep my clumsiness in check. Of course, just when I feel that I've crawled my way deep into the earth, we find ourselves in a space with a graffiti covered wall.
When we emerged, two hours had passed in what felt like less that a half hour. Maneuvering around the rocks occupied my mind and body more than I had expected. Our guide had done overnight trips in the caves, and I heard about people that go in for days at a time without lights. I enjoyed my couple of hours, but I feel no urge to spend a night listening to potentially rabid bats flutter there wings and rain drops trickle into stagnant pools of water.
Post caving things stopped going so smoothly. Like any trip in Bolivia, the real adventure lies in the way to and from your destination. We ended up renting a van to take us back to Cochabamba, because in order to fit in all of our activities, we would miss the daily 6am bus. The van we rented was a mess, though a very well decorated mess (see picture that I'll post soon). Just after we left town we came across a motorcyle burning in the middle of the road. Clearly a bad omen. No one was seriously injured, and it was startling to our little crowd of foreigners that the two men involved in the accident didn't even call for help when we pulled over. They just sat along the roadside, quietly nursing their injuries. A truck full of teenage boys pulled over a few moments later and a small team assembled to smolder the burning motorcyle, and pull it out of the middle of the road.
Once that scene had cleared, we were on our way, for a little while. Within 30 minutes of our departure, we had stalled for the first time. By sunset, our driver was taking out the seats of the van to essentially take apart and put back together the mechanics of the vehicle. We weren't going to get very far. None of us had cell phone reception to call back into town when the van ceased to move at all. Our driver at one point received a call, and confirmed, to our horror, that he would be leaving Cochabamba for a return trip to ToroToro the next morning. It seemed unlikely that the van would make it to the next pueblo. Unfortunately, our driver didn't have enough credit on his phone to make an outgoing call for another taxi. I went with a few others to wander the road in search of reception. It's one of those things you do when you are fairly powerless in a situation, but want to take some sort of action.
By nightfall, we had all given up on the car making it back to Cochabamba. Our driver negotiated us a spot in a barn while two other attempted to ride into the next town. They didn't make it that far and ended up getting a ride with a truck full of goats the final stretch where they met a different driver who agreed to take us into town. At that point, wearing every article of clothing I brought with me to fend of the mountain chill, I couldn't help but drift off. Awakened by a different taxi honking its horn on the roadside, I jolted awake and ran toward the car.
7 people squeezed into a 5 seater, it was a comfort to know that we were back on the road again.
Monday, January 16, 2012
L´s and R´s
Note for my Spanish pronounciation- my l´s sound like my r´s. That´s what I found the hard way when I asked a taxi driver for the stop for the trufi (a shared taxi) to a town called Tarata. Delivered to an unmarked trufi at an unmarked corner of the city´s biggest market, I hopped in and checked with the two other already waiting in the van that we were in fact going to Tarata. They confirmed, so I squeezed into my corner, and waited to fill up the trufi so we could depart. 8 additional adults, 3 babies, and 2 puppies later, the trufi was full and we were on our way.
After we passed a tiny town, the women I had asked about Torata upon entering the told me that I missed my stop. So I hopped out, crossed the highway, and waited on the side of the road as a woman tended her farm and 4 sheep grazed around me. Less than four minutes later I hailed down another trufi to return me to the town, which I realized as I walked into the plaza was ToLata not ToRata.
Minus 10 points for getting lost on my first day trip. Plus 20 for going somewhere that is really off the tourist track.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Sneezing My Way to South America
I woke up with a cold the morning before my flight, and braced myself for the trip from San Francisco to San Salvador to Lima to La Paz. People looked at me in horror when I sneezed and spread my germs around our circulating air supply. However, apart from feeling sorry for the sniffling mess that I had become by the end of it, the trip down here actually went really smoothly. I made all of my connections, and didn´t have to check a bag.
La Paz felt familiar. It reminded me of Ayacucho, the city up in the Andes in Peru where I spent the summer after my high school graduation. I had a bizarre moment of feeling like I was 18 again breathing in air thinned out by the altitude and clogged up with the city´s smog. The spaces beneath my fingernails had turned black after my first day wandering around the streets. I enjoyed trying to make my way through the chaos of the city, and am still struggling to wrap my mind around just how enormous it is. Beyond La Paz is El Alto, a settlement that sprouted up in the mountains and grew into a city of nearly one million people . Activists and political leaders in El Alto hold a lot of power in this country, and they can use the strategic location of the city outside of La Paz to block the way to Bolivia´s capital in protest.
La Paz was essentially a layover for me, I know I'll return and explore it more. After two days in a hostel packed full of people just backpacking from place to place, it felt good to know that I would be living somewhere for a bit. I'll have more Spanish and a better grasp of the culture before traveling more. I met a few too many people that would actually say things like "Obviously Bolivians are dumb, I don't see anyone doing anything besides selling gum on the streets to make money." I can't resist engaging with people when they say things like that. I can think of so many examples of Bolivians doing more than selling gum, and reasons why poverty isn't an indication of stupidity.
I took a night bus to Cochabamba after my third day in La Paz, a double decker with reclining seats that appear to have been designed in the early 90's. I thoroughly enjoyed the geometric print seats and aqua green foot rests. When I arrived on a Sunday, the city was subdued and shut down. I spent a couple of hours looking for breakfast with some Dutch girls also waiting in the plaza for some indication of business starting up. Monday, the city woke up and I started Spanish classes and living with a family. As much progress as I know I´ll eventually make, I feel overwhelmed with how much time and patience it takes to really make substantive progress in a language.
However, living with a family is definitely helping in terms of immersion, as well as in cultivating the guts to speak more freely, errors and all. My family is also incredible. The mother is so caring, and they have hosted enough others that she is not too overbearing. The parents have two daughters, aged 23 and 25. Living with a Boilvian family adds a lot of warmth to my day to day life. The house is a little ways up into the mountains, a fifteen minute ride in a micro bus (imagine a school bus chopped in half and decorated with cartoon characters and a few crucifixes).
Although I only know a fraction of what goes on in this city, I can tell that there is a lot of richness to life here (not the financial kind). Cochabamba is famous for the Water Wars, a mass movement against water privitization that was critical in setting the stage for the last decade of Bolivian politics. It is a very comfortable city to live in, and I feel as if I have basically everything here. I am itching to visit some smaller towns and explore more of the country. It is a good starting point, though, and we´ll see what kind of life I make here and where I go next.
My biggest problem so far is crossing the street. After a week in Bolivia, it seems pretty obvious that that cars have the right of way. They are bigger, they can run you over, you stop for them. In La Paz, where the traffic was wilder, I would wait for a critical mass of Bolivians and then make the mad dash across the road in the relative security of a small crowd. Here, I am getting more proficient in how to wiggle through the traffic, but I still don´t walk around with the fearlessness everyone else around me seems to possess.
It feels really good to be in Latin America again, and I´m feeling grateful to be at the edge of a new adventure.
La Paz felt familiar. It reminded me of Ayacucho, the city up in the Andes in Peru where I spent the summer after my high school graduation. I had a bizarre moment of feeling like I was 18 again breathing in air thinned out by the altitude and clogged up with the city´s smog. The spaces beneath my fingernails had turned black after my first day wandering around the streets. I enjoyed trying to make my way through the chaos of the city, and am still struggling to wrap my mind around just how enormous it is. Beyond La Paz is El Alto, a settlement that sprouted up in the mountains and grew into a city of nearly one million people . Activists and political leaders in El Alto hold a lot of power in this country, and they can use the strategic location of the city outside of La Paz to block the way to Bolivia´s capital in protest.
La Paz was essentially a layover for me, I know I'll return and explore it more. After two days in a hostel packed full of people just backpacking from place to place, it felt good to know that I would be living somewhere for a bit. I'll have more Spanish and a better grasp of the culture before traveling more. I met a few too many people that would actually say things like "Obviously Bolivians are dumb, I don't see anyone doing anything besides selling gum on the streets to make money." I can't resist engaging with people when they say things like that. I can think of so many examples of Bolivians doing more than selling gum, and reasons why poverty isn't an indication of stupidity.
I took a night bus to Cochabamba after my third day in La Paz, a double decker with reclining seats that appear to have been designed in the early 90's. I thoroughly enjoyed the geometric print seats and aqua green foot rests. When I arrived on a Sunday, the city was subdued and shut down. I spent a couple of hours looking for breakfast with some Dutch girls also waiting in the plaza for some indication of business starting up. Monday, the city woke up and I started Spanish classes and living with a family. As much progress as I know I´ll eventually make, I feel overwhelmed with how much time and patience it takes to really make substantive progress in a language.
However, living with a family is definitely helping in terms of immersion, as well as in cultivating the guts to speak more freely, errors and all. My family is also incredible. The mother is so caring, and they have hosted enough others that she is not too overbearing. The parents have two daughters, aged 23 and 25. Living with a Boilvian family adds a lot of warmth to my day to day life. The house is a little ways up into the mountains, a fifteen minute ride in a micro bus (imagine a school bus chopped in half and decorated with cartoon characters and a few crucifixes).
Although I only know a fraction of what goes on in this city, I can tell that there is a lot of richness to life here (not the financial kind). Cochabamba is famous for the Water Wars, a mass movement against water privitization that was critical in setting the stage for the last decade of Bolivian politics. It is a very comfortable city to live in, and I feel as if I have basically everything here. I am itching to visit some smaller towns and explore more of the country. It is a good starting point, though, and we´ll see what kind of life I make here and where I go next.
My biggest problem so far is crossing the street. After a week in Bolivia, it seems pretty obvious that that cars have the right of way. They are bigger, they can run you over, you stop for them. In La Paz, where the traffic was wilder, I would wait for a critical mass of Bolivians and then make the mad dash across the road in the relative security of a small crowd. Here, I am getting more proficient in how to wiggle through the traffic, but I still don´t walk around with the fearlessness everyone else around me seems to possess.
It feels really good to be in Latin America again, and I´m feeling grateful to be at the edge of a new adventure.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Last year, I lost my passport somewhere between Beit She'an, a town near the West Bank, and Tel Aviv after making it through a border crossing between Jordan and Israel designed to discourage crossing. I must have lost it in one of three taxis we took back to Tel Aviv in the frantic race against Shabat when all transit would stop.
It was pretty easy to get an emergency passport from the US embassy, but along with my orginal went all of my stamps. The Zimbabwean visa I survived 28 hours on a bus for, the Namibian student visa I had an x-ray of my lungs taken for, the entry and exit stamps from a little island in the Pacific that may be as far away from home as I will ever get. Obviously, I need to get myself around the world again.
I left for this trip with a blank passport. This is my first effort to populate its pages with some new stamps.
It was pretty easy to get an emergency passport from the US embassy, but along with my orginal went all of my stamps. The Zimbabwean visa I survived 28 hours on a bus for, the Namibian student visa I had an x-ray of my lungs taken for, the entry and exit stamps from a little island in the Pacific that may be as far away from home as I will ever get. Obviously, I need to get myself around the world again.
I left for this trip with a blank passport. This is my first effort to populate its pages with some new stamps.
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