The White City

This is Sucre. Very quaint, very colonial. ALL the buildings are white, no kidding. It was an awesome city and we got to do a lot of really cool things including the Museum of Indigenous Art. There were incredible weavings and clothing, so complex and detailed and colorful. The musuem is also run by an organization that trys to help weaving communities sell their products in the market. I also went the CasaDel Libertad, which has original constitution and a lot of other really cool artifacts from the independence in1825. Our guide was really nice and it was nice to "be reminded" of everything we learned in history class in early February. One of the big things is that one of the reasons the "revolutionaries" won is because a bunch of upperclass sons of the Spanish decided to switch sides and support Bolivar so when they won independence, nothing really changed anybody who wasn´t wealthy colonist because the new people in charge were pretty much the same Spanish elite, only their sons. Oh colonialism.

We also had a sort of private concert with Las Misas, a pretty famous Andean folk band in Bolivia. One of the men also has a music school in Sucre. It was awesome. We got to hear music from the school, which was little kids to mothers, and then a concert from the band. (we also had really good steak.) One reason I love Andean folk music is because the dancing is so fun. There are definite moves and steps so to speak but really nobody cares what you do so everyone is just moving around yelling periodically.

One afternoon we ventured to Pisili, a Quechua weaving community about 2 hours outside of Sucre. They have hadSIT students beforeand knew we would enjoy helping them cook the lunch and the women let us where their traditional hats ( i will try to put a picture up soon). Something else I hae really enjoyed about the campo and meeting different indigenous communities is that their traditional clothing is all so distinct and different to their region, the colors, the patterns, the styles, everything. We were just starting to play fútbol witihsome of the boys when it started to rain. Not really a big deal except that our bus driver didn´t think we would be able to make it up the road if it was a little muddy. Ahhh, and we were just getting started and we had even scored.

Of course, the mud wasn´t the problem, but the slope and narrowness of one part of the road. It is hard to describe, but we had to turn a corner and go up hill at the same time. It wasn´t a problem on the way there because dip wasn´t a durastic from the other direction. Basically, we had to widen the left side of the road with rocks so wewouln´t fall into the ditch/small ravine and on the right side we had to make a small ramp with rocks because the front of the bus kept dipping too low into the slope of the road. With a little patience and a crow bar, we were back on the road.

I have been back in Cochabamba this week and it has gone incredibly incredibly fast. It began by going to mybrother´s ballet on Sunday night and since then I have pretty much consumed by a group project about the special education system in Bolivia. We leave Saturday for hot and humid Santa Cruz, which I have heard is "un otro país" (another country).

The Underworld

It´s been a busy week or so. I just got back from Potosí and Sucre and am trying to catch up with the real world. I have not faired so well.

Potosí is an old mining town and the highest city in the world (around 14,000 ft) and probably the reason why Bolivia became a country. When the Spanish colonized, they began mining silver out of Cerro Rico, which watches over Potosí. They forced many African slaves and indigenous people to work mining the silver and tin and 8 million miners died because of poor working conditions. Most of the other cities in Bolivia were settled to support this industry.The colonial influence is obvious by the architecture and by that it is an incredibly poor city now, because most of the wealth has been stripped from the mines, but none of the weath was ever invested in the city but pocketed by Spanish elite. Since then, Potosí still relies on the mines, even though they have been exploited to almost nothing. We got to go into Cerro Rico through mining tour company (a strange concept in itself). It is a different world and hard to undertand. The miners are very supersticous and rightfully so. They ask protection from a legend figure called Tio, who is frightening but atleast something to trust in. It was dark and sludgy and hearing dynamite blasts through the walls was haunting. We would run into miners on the tracks and gave them pop, cigarettes, coca, or alcohol as a sort of gift for getting in the way of their work.

Most of the workers now are in their late teens and 20s and most miners do not live past 40 because the breath in so much junk. Many of the young miners are trying to get through school but many never do and thus never escape the mines because they have to stop school to work, in order to eat. Even though the mines are hopeless, their is a definite pride to being a miner, maybe because they are aware they are killing themselves to support their families.

We also visited an afterschool sort of program for miners kids. It was wonderful, we played a rendition of duck duck goose for a really long time and red light green light. During a snack I talked to about five 7 year olds about the mines. They were all eager to work in the mines because all their brothers and all their fathers did, and they all said with equal enthusiasm that they were afraid of el Tio.

In other Potosí news, we went Karoke-ing with an Andean folk band and went to Casa de Monedas, one of the main minting factorites for the Spanish empire. We also took one morning and went to a natural hot spring. It was a wonderful temperate lagoon that I think I could have lived in. We swam around and also covered our selves completely with mud.

Cotidiano

So I´ve been back here in Cochabamba for the past week or so. It has been nice to be back and see my family and have more of a routine than our excursions. Cotidiano means daily life. It is easy to journal and blog about huge trips and experiences but I think that daily life in another culture is equally, if not more, important. Experiencing as much as I can the daily life of a Cochabambina changes my experiences and what I learn immensly, because it is less about being a tourist and checking of sites to see and more about being open to what the culture has to teach you.

Normal day, I wake up around 7 and run. I eat a breakfast of coffee and a bread or a piece of fruit and then I take a Truffi to school. Lately I have been walking because my host brother told me he used to walk downtown when he was in college. Truffi-ing takes about 30 minutes, if traffic is bad, which it almost always is and walking takes about 45 minutes. My brother also told me he is going to fix his bike tomorrow so I can ride to school. This should take me about 15 minutes, if I survive. I am excited for the challenge.

I then have class from 9-12.30. Recently, we have been focusing on topics assoicated with globalization and how this affects Bolivia. A lot of it has to do with resources and who controls them, Bolivia or private companies. A lot of Bolivia´s problems and poverty has come from the fact that they have not profited from their abundance of natural resources (like silver, tin, gas, etc.). Who is making the money? Well, international companies who exploit labor and resources to add millions to their billions. This causes Bolivia and other countries like it to depend on foreign support from other countries and institutions like the World Bank. However, all help comes with strings, and big ones at that. For many many years, Bolivia has been not governed by Bolivia but by really rich Americans and Europeans who want to get richer and threaten to take away funding if Bolivia does not comply with its requests. I am going to put it lightly and call it a viscious cycle. Recently, the Bolivian government has been trying to change this and make sure Bolivia profits from Bolivia´s resources, but the process is slow and complicated.

Anyway, I could go on about neoliberal policy and yada yada forever, but before you all either a. go to sleep with too much jargon or b. break your computer because it is all very upsetting, we all go home for lunch. My host brother works in the evenings, so most often he cooks lunch. For example, today we had avocado, tomato and onion salad, potatoes, and beef. I haven´t had one meal I haven´t liked. We sit and eat and chat, and if there´s time, descansa (rest). I begin Spanish at 2.45 until 6.15. My most frequent spanish teacher is Chi Chi. She is fantastic, fantastic, fantastic. We have practiced a lot of conversation, practiced a lot of subjunctive and sometimes visit intersting places in Cochabamba or have speakers. For example, yesterday we visited a therapy and legal help center for sexually abused children. Another day, we got to speak with Oscar Olivera, one of the huge leaders of the Water War in Cochabamba in 2000. I could go on forever about the Water War and and how incredible it is that we met Oscar. Look it up. It is a classic example of Bolivians fighting for what they want ( or don´t want, which in this case is to pay for rain water) and a lot of what happened, happened right where I go to school--the streets, the plaza, everything. We have learned a lot about the importance of the Water War in many classes from many perspectives, including, at least for me, my host family, who actively participated.

After Spanish, I either go home, or go to an internet cafe to do homework. The rest of the night I watch TV, eat a little bit, do homework, pretty normal stuff. It goes so fast. There are not enough hours in the day. Next week, we are going to Potoci and Sucre, old mining towns. Hasta luego.

The Time We Tried to Ford A River in a Tour Bus

It´s proven: playing "Oregon Trail" in real life is equally as fun, if not moreso, than the classic floppy disc game. Long story short, the bridge was out, we tried to cross, didn´t make it. An hour later, a tractor sort of thing from an Astro Turf factory pulled us out. In the meantime, we helped many elderly women cross the río inbetween helping the other passengers get their Truffis un-stuck. A good time was had by all.

Jallalla Jallalla

Last week was one of those weeks that seems like it never really happened. I lived on the shore of LagoTiticaca, the highest navigable lake in the world, for 5 days in a little Aymara village in the Altiplano named Toquoli, at about 13,000 feet. Toquoli has about 24 families that mostly farm papas (potatoes) and raise ovejas (sheep), vacas (cows), y gallinas (chickens). There was also a futbol field, an elementary school, and a greenhouse. This rural homestay experience was very different from past SIT homestays. This was the first time SIT or any large group of gringos visited this community and therefore I think there was a lot of nervousness on both sides. I saw everybody in SIT everyday and lived with 3 other students in my host family, whereas in the past, they have dropped students off at there homes and picked them up in 5 days. Toquoli was more than generous, and many things we did were with the entire community. There was a lot of music and dancing, traditional rituals, coca, and bonfires. The first day, they greeted us on the road with flowers and woven blankets and music, and we got our first taste of the spirit of Toquoli. Everything is about community and reciprocity. So much different than our culture that is about individual success and freedom to do what ever we want. Here, it is community and the land first. They live very close with the land and appreciate its gifts. Many traditional beliefs are centered on Pachamama (mother earth) and celebrating the generosity of the land. "Jallalla" was phrase people yelled during festivals or rituals to sort of celebrate their community. The "ja" part is short word loaded with meaning (sounds like "ha"). It signifies their entire culture, way of life, community, beliefs, etc. The "lla" (sounds like "ya") is an affirmation of their culture and the next "lla" is a double affirmation. We also played frisbee and fútbol with the community, and swam in Lake Titicaca a few times.

As I mentioned, I lived with 3 other students with one family. We lived at the TOP of the hill, and definitely got a hike in everyday. The first day, we had all of our stuff, plus huge bags of food to give to the families, and along with Mr. Altitude, the going was rough. Our host brother, Cecelio (24) and uncle had to wait for us A LOT. Once we arrived to our house, we were directed to a little house separated from the main house that we would live in together. Eventually we met, sort of, the rest of the family: Sivilo (16), Cora (14),Beatrice (10), Gemena (5), Wilmer (3), and our mom. The father lives in Oruro, and two other brothers live in Brasil, all to work and send money back. Throughout the week, Cecelio really looked after us. He spent 3 or 4 years working at a clothing factory in Brasil and returned this year to study music right now and hopefully enter University in the fall. He took us on hikes and answered all our questions about campo life. The little ones were a ball to play with. The first day, one of the other students broke the ice with some bubbles and after that they were all giggles. We didn´t get to talk much to Silvio or Cora, and a little bit to Beatrice, who was always cooking or taking animals out. Generally people in the campo are more reserved and harder to get to know in such a short time, especially for us since they do not all speak Spanish. Everyone speaks Ayamara at home and learns Spanish in school, so the little ones didn´t know any spanish, Beatrice and our Mom knew a little and our tio didn´t really know any. Even though it was difficult to have conversations sometimes, we still felt more than welcome and it was hard for them to let us help in the chores. We peeled papas sometimes, leaving them pretty destroyed, but it was funny for the rest of the family. Our mom was laughing all the time, she is so so so wonderful. We had about 40 sheep, 2 or 3 cows, a donkey, and 25 chickens as well. We had electricity, but no running water or bathroom.

It is hard to see a family and a community that works so hard so maintain the little they have and even that is not enough. There is no irrigation system, so everyone depends on the rain. It rains a lot, but when it doesn´t there is nothing they can do. Many young people have to leave for the city (in La Paz or Brasil for this community) to work underpaid, overworked factory jobs to make it by. I think education is becoming more of a priority, but it is still difficult for the young people to go to Univeristy. It is a simple life and they seem content in the midst of poverty, but it is easy for me to say, since I do not live there and come from a privilaged society where I have unlimited choices (arguably too many) from what I want to eat to what I want to do with my life.

As far as food goes, because everybody wonders about food, for breakfast we had either toasted choclo (corn) with hot tea (mate) from Eucalyptus leaves, lemon, or other natural things. To be honest, I´m not really sure, but they always made sure to put a heaping spoonful of sugar in with it. There was also a plate of barley and wheat to put in the tea if you so chose. Lunch was the biggest meal and many times we at as a community. This is not what they do normally, but only since we were there. They spread blankets down over la cancha (futbol field), and then it was sort of like a big papa potluck. A dozen different types of papas, a little bit of corn, a little bit of onion, tomato, and cheese as well. Then you just grab whatever you want in your hands and eat and go back and back and back. They also prepared soup, mostly papa or quinua, but the first day I did have a small fish in my soup. And yes, I ate it, head and all. Dinner was was usually soup and mate as well.

I learned a few Ayamara words, but whenever I asked, I could never write them down, so I don´t remember much. I know baby is wa wa, moon is poxi, and thats about it. Titicaca is Aymara as well. Titi means like the time before everything began and caca is some sort of animal that used to live in the area. The stars were unbelievable and we enjoyed full-moon lit walks home every night. The weather was insane. One minute it´s blazing sun, the next its a downpour. The nights were cold, but our family provided many many blankets so I was never cold.

Something else I´d like to mention before you fall asleep from this post is that Toquoli had us in the community because they are faced with a problem much of the campo faces today. They are not making money and cannot sustain their community as is. Many communities on Lake Titicaca get offeres from huge hotels and corporations to develope their land into tourist hotspots. No body really really wants to sell out but there doesn´t seem like much else they can do. They are stuck between a rock and a hard place.Toquoli is one of many communities trying to use a more healthy version of tourism to generate money. They want to rennovate old mining buildings on their shore into cultural exchange centers for groups like SIT and other groups to use and or camp. They want it to be more about sharing culture and knowlege than souveniour trinkets and cocktails on the beach. They do have hope though, that they will be able to maintain their culture and community inspite of their economic situation. One night when it was raining a lighting bolt hit near the community, this is a sign of new beginnings and that something good will happen soon. Hayaya Hayaya.