Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving in Bolivia fell at a time when all of us are in a state of heightened emotions and reflection, as we look forward to our very last weekend in Cochabamba, which is already scheduled to the hour.

Yesterday we had a very lovely Thanksgiving dinner with members of our host families, our Spanish teacher, and Amizade staff (over 20 people :-), and, thankfully, I think everyone was honest when they said my pumpkin pie turned out very well. This morning I found myself waking up before my alarm went off, and in a very odd mood. We now have less than two weeks left in this overall experience, and, although I'm actually feeling more ready than ever to go home, it is still always difficult to walk away from these experiences that have such a profound effect on you in such a short amount of time.

At this moment it's really difficult for me to write this post, actually. I just read an article that our professor, Eric, had published in the Pittsburgh Post Gazette yesterday about why we should be thankful to be Americans, and I realized just how emotional I am at the moment when I started to tear up at the end, haha. It's a short piece that's very much worth your time and thoughs http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/09330/1016436-109.stm.

My favorite quote was:

"American ideals are tied up with the notion that we always can do better. We continue to build a better society. We work to redress the excesses of past generations. Now, for instance, we seek to make our society more environmentally sustainable. We continue to work toward expanding individual human freedoms in our own country and around the world."

I'm not going to comment too much on this, except to say that I agree. I realize as much as anyone that in the United States we have a culture that is at times overwhelmingly materialistic, superficial, and wasteful. I know that there is still sexism, discrimination, and hatred, and that the lofty, theoretical, precepts upon which our nation and government were built do not extend equally to all . However, having now spent over a year of my life in developing countries, and having seen a number of others, I believe that to dwell only upon these few characteristics is a cynical and indeed superficial assesment of what our nation is, and that such a view is short-sighted and insular. I think that it is the easy answer because it does not require you to look any closer at what we are as Americans than turning television screen. There is no person that is perfect, thus there is no government, society, or nation that is perfect, but I think the majority of Americans do give commendable effort.

And being born in the United States, I believe, does give us not only a chance to have the time and means to serve others and share our wealth (I know people are busy, but by this I mean you don't have to worry about making sure the crops get harvested on time so your family doesn't starve over the winter), but somewhat of an obligation to do so. We were born in the United States, we didn't earn a pass to live here and we are no better than the Andean farmers who have never had the chance to learn to read; whether you were born rich or poor on American standards, you unknowingly inherited a certain amount of what is called social capital that most people will never have. Social capital means that just by being born in a well-developed society you have certain opportunities, technology, facilities, communication networks, government institutions, etc, that already facilitate an opportunity to accumulate wealth and carve better opportunities for your children. It is this advantage that allows us to thrive in our culture of consumerism, and it is also the reason we are more capable of changing the world than we realize.

This point has been driven home to me in so many ways over the course of my travels, but I think few experiences exemplify it better than one Bridget and I had last weekend when we traveled to Potosí, an old mining town that, in its prime, was larger than London and was almost singularly responsible for Spain's great wealth in silver and other minerals at the height of it's imperial power. Potosí, which lies many hours south of Cochabamba by bus, is home to the Cerro Rico, a volcanic mountain (although not a volcano; the volcanic movements are what pushed all the minerals so close to the surface of the earth) that has huge deposits of silver, tin, and 96 other natural minerals. The inside of the mine at times sparkles with pyrite and quartz, while colored stalactites and stalagmites drip from the cielings and grow from the floors. There is a thick mineral dust that constantly fills the air, and levels upon levels of mining shafts connected by narrow, roughly carved tunnels that burrow vertically to the roots of the mountain (and, consequentally, scare the daylights out of claustrophobic tourists such as myself).

For the Spanish and for later industrial giants in the region, Cerro Rico was the legendary El Dorado of Bolivia, bringing immesuarable wealth to a select few. For the local populations, systematiclaly persecuted, exploited, and exterminated for centuries in the name of wealth and Western empirial development, the Cerro Rico has for centuries been "the mouth of hell": a grim fate that will inevitably devour them and their children.

The trip we took, just the two of us, included Sucre and Potosí, two historical cities that come up over and over in our reading. Sucre is the de jure capital of Bolivia, but somwhere along the way the centers of power and government shifted to La Paz. Still, it's a lovely colonial town with lots of interesting sites and museums. Potosí is about 2 hours in taxi from Sucre, and is about the same size at 300,000 or so. All in all it ended up being a little more expensive than I had anticipated, but the tour of the mines made it totally worth it.

We have read a good bit about Potosí and the Cerro Rico, and about the centuries of cruelty and inhumane treatment the workers in the mines have suffered at the hands of the dominant powers that established themselves centuries ago in this region. In Eduardo Galeano's provocative work Open Veins of Latin America, he describes the mines in their prime (around the mid 1500s-1700s) in this way:

"In three centuries Potosí's Cerro Rico consumed 8 million lives. The Indians, including women and children, were torn from their agricultural communities and driven to the Cerro. Of every ten who went up into the freezing wilderness, seven never returned... Soon after the mine began operating, in 1550, the Dominican mink Domingo de Santo Tomás told the Council of the Indies that Potosí was a 'mouth of hell' which swallowed Indians by the thousands every year, and that the rapacious mine owners treated them ´like stray animals.´"

Of course the extremity of worker exploitation and the loss of life is nothing today like it was in the age of Spanish imperialism; however, the contemporary situation is still a sobering reality that I will not be able to translate well here, I don't believe. But, I'll try.

Entering the mine was not terribly pleasant to begin with because I really am pretty claustrophobic, although we did get a lot of comic relief from the ridiculous outfits we were given to wear, complete with rubber boots, over-sized black suits, helmets, headlamps, and bandanas. I was later grateful, though, that I summed up the courage, and we did make the most of it while inside. We entered into a shaft that was opened during the time of Spanish rule, and followed it along with our guides and fellow foreigners (Europeans and Canadians) until we had to make the descent to the lower shafts. Each shaft was usually just a little too short for me to stand up straight, although there were larger caverns from time to time. To get into the lower shafts you shimmy/scoot/climb your way down narrow little tunnels that curve downward and sidways so you can't see anyone else most of the time. At times they were small enough that you had to literally crawl, and at those times I was practicing some serious mental self-calming and deep breaths, haha.

It was a Saturday, so there were less workers than usual, but we did meet three.

The first was in the second level, where it is actually relatively cool due to a combination of the fresh air leaking in and being carried in long tubes that run through all the shafts, spraying in cold air. As we got deeper, though, it got increasingly hot because it is a volcanic mountain; apparently in some areas it reaches up to 60 degrees Celcuis (140 degrees F!). Anyway, the first worker we met was a 59yr old man who, for the last 25yrs of his life has been busy shoveling piles of wet minerals from carts that come from other parts of the mine into piles, which are then once a week put into large, circular buckets that are hauled out of the roof of the mine on hooks.

The man was aged far beyond his years, although he was certainly strong as an ox, as our Spanish compañero put it. In 6 years, at 65, he will be able to retire with a pension from the government, to enjoy the few years of life he may have left. The guide didn't hear me when I tried to ask how much the pension is, but I can't imagine it is anywhere near the compensation he deserves for 31 years of servitude to the mountain. The guide had us help shovel the pile he was working on until it was gone, and we brought him a bottle of pop, for both of which he seemed relatively grateful.

From there we went down to the fourth level, where it was much hotter and a bit hard to breathe. In this level we made our way to where there were two other workers, being supervised by an older man. The boys were croutched in a hole at the base of a small, man-made, cavern, tinking away at the rock with large hammers, inspecting the stone they broke off, then either putting them in their bags or tossing them away. The workers in the mine choose their own schedules and amount of hours to work each day, and are paid not by the hour but by the kilogram of minerals and the quality of the rocks they bring up. Thus, the boys were picking away at the mountain in search of the most mineral-rich chips they could get, which they will then haul up in bags on their back weighing about 40kilos (at least that was how much the one our guide brought up for one of the workers weighed, and they were still speeding past us as we all made the ascent, commenting to one another in quick Quechua). These boys work 11 hour days, and they will be able to sell their minerals for 3-15 Bolivianos (a little under $.50 to just over $3) per kilo depending upon the quality of the stone to one of the many privately-owned refineries in the area around the mines.

It wasn't until they told us that I realized how old the boys were, and I'm still reeling at the fact. The first, and the only one who uttered a word in the 15 minutes we were there, had just turned 15, and was in his 2nd year of work. The second was 19, and had been working since the age of 14. This is normal. The kids from the families in Potosí often need to work to support their families beginning as young as 12 for various reasons, and, once that is their fate, escape is nearly impossible. I was very suprised when we stopped at the miners market and the guide showed us the dynamite they use and explained that there is no age limit to buying it, even a five year old can, but now I understand why that is. We brought these boys pop and dynamite, actually, for which we got a meek gracias.

I can't remember the names of the boys we saw, and I never saw their faces, which strikes me as a morbid symbol of truth: these are the faceless, nameless victims of progress, whose voices are silenced as soon as they enter the earth, where they will be buried alive for the next 50yrs, unless death takes them first. When I got out of the mine I took the silver ring out of my pocket, which I bought bought for a few dollars in Chapare, and it felt cold and sinister.

But, what are we to do? A question that has come up in class has been on how to live, not promoting good necessarily, but just without causing harm. It's more a more comlicated question that one would think. It is impossible to have the scope to fully understand the consequences of our actions, as we are all, on this earth, so profoundly interconnected. I suppose we can start by being conscious comsumers, by buying free trade goods and shopping at thrift stores, for instance, but the level of guilt I could have the capacity to feel just be having been born into the life I lead has the potential to be unbearable.

Yet, from this guilt there also comes a profound sense of thankfulness for who I am and what I have been given in life, which I have been trying to embrace as closely as possible in these few days, so that it does not so easily escape me as tends to happen all too often. And I am glad that, before even being legally allowed to buy a beer in my home country, I am becoming as aware as I can of the realities of this world we live in, and formulating ways to live my life in a way that will reflect this knowledge. In this way, also, I feel extremely priveleged.

By writing this I am not trying to send a message that we should all feel guilty for going shopping on Black Friday or not giving much of your salary to charity. The knowledge of the suffering of others does not alleviate the individual battles we all face in life and the needs of those we love. However, I do think that it is worth considering just how complicated things really are.

We were talking last night about how we can express this experience to others in a way that will make them more compelled to get involved in global projects like Amizade, no matter the scale, and someone said that doing a trip like this "necessarily complicates things". I think that's a perfect way to express what this trip has been for me. It has been fun, to be sure, but it has also been frustrating and challenging in ways I did not anticipate. It has been impactful, and not as fulfilling, perhaps, as I had hoped in some ways; I think I will leave more overwhelmed by how complicated the world is than when I came, rather than with a deeper understanding of it. This, though, may be just as valuable as the illusion of deeper understanding.

We, as humans, are limited in scope and the capacity to hold knowledge and to understand that which is foreign to us. There is an argument that any attempt to be a "global citizen" is misguided and harmful because we cannot predict the results of our actions in communities that are unknown to us, and we cannot truly understand any community we were not raised in. I think in some ways that is true, but that it certainly has its limitations. I think the recognition of our minute place in the world and our own limits is an important step in becoming a better global citizen because in some ways it helps to take the weight of the world off of our shoulders. I know that I can't reach all the orphans in the world, or in Bolivia, or in Cochabamba, but I have reached some; just as I realize that by walking or riding my bike instead of buying a car won't reverse global warming, but as least I'm doing what I can to decrease my own carbon footprint.

If we all did our little part and were proud of that little part we did there would be far less want, I think. I know that I cannot understand the culture here fully, but I feel an affinity with Latin America that draws me here regardless. I could be volunteering at a soup kitchen at home instead, an equally as admirable task, but I prefer to be here so I am. I don't think everyone shares my passion and my views in this particular area, but I do think that we should all try to find our own niche where we can develop that passion. Don't be discouraged to help one person just because there are millions more in need, because if we each did that then imagine what a world we'd live in.

I know this is all very idealistic, and that things are far more complicated, as always, than they seem, but it is something to consider and to be thankful for. We should be thankful just to have the ability to give and to serve, and from that gratitude will stem a feeling of obligation to extend our own happiness to others. I think the ability to give is a privelage that we can no longer ignore, and is an obligation we should accept.

Ok that's that :-)

I hope everyone had a lovely Thanksgiving, and is getting all geared up for Christmas. I, for one, will be happy to be home with my family on that day, and I can't wait to meet the new little sibling that will be waiting for me when I get back! Have a good one.

Con Amor,

Alanna

Chapare and Uyuni: Two Incredible Weekend Getaways

¡Hola!

(This uploader is being reaaaalllly slow, so I'm not putting nearly as many pics as I would like. There should be more up on Flickr now or soon)

Well we're entering into our last month here as service-learning students in Cochabamba, and the reality of how little time we have left (or ever had) is becoming an ever-growing, unwelcome presence in our overall moods and mindsets. So, what better way to combat the angst of departure than to spend two weekends in a row exploring the radical geography of this beautiful place called Bolivia?

Two weeks ago we were talking, and realized how few weekends there were left, so, we decided that we needed to get our butts in gear and get out of Cochamba for the weekend. The original plan was to head to Sucre and Potosí, two historical cities south of here, but because it was going ot be a holiday weekend (Todos Santos and Difuntos, the Bolivian version of Mexico's Day of the Dead) the flights were full already. But, no worries, instead we hopped on a Surubi on Saturday morning (7-8 person van, called that after a type of fish) and headed north to Villa Tunari, Chapare, in the amazonian region of the country. It was neat to drive because we were passing through the typical, arid mountain landscape that surrounds Cochabamba, then it was like all of a sudden we turned a bend and the mountains we the lush green of Peru, eventually leading us into thick jungle foliage and 100 degree weather with 100% humidity. There was never a dry moment after that...

Jean Carla, our lovely coordinator, found us a small hotel in the center of the town Villa Tunari, which is tiny and centered on tourism, as there are various resorts and nature parks in the area. The hotel had a pool and a nice open area with lots of palm trees (later in the weekend Margaret took it upon herself to knock down, crack, and drink 4 of them, although the water inside wasn't anything compared to what I had in Brazil) and a decent pool. The pool ended up being a key element in the weekend because we soon found out that the hotel was conserving water, and thus didn't have it turned on unless you asked; then, when you did ask, it would be about 5 minutes of trickle. So, it was a very hot, sweaty, bug repellent filled weekend without showers, but it was totally worth it.

We decided to go to two of the parks, one Sunday and one Monday, and then take the afternoons to just chill out and eat the delicious fish dishes the town has to offer.

Sunday we went to Parque Machía, which is a huge wildlife reservation run totally by volunteers (mostly foreign, from what it seemed). The park is nicknamed "the monkey park" because the first area you visit is home to several species of monkeys that just walk around and steal wallets from visitors. You can pet the monkeys, and it's not at all uncommon for them to climb right up onto your head. Bridget, Weenta, and Margaret all had very close encoutners with a mommy monkey who was carrying a baby on her back and jumped from one of them to the other. I, unfotunately, only got a few pets in, but at least I didn't get bitten, which I've heard of happening on numerous occasions.

We also saw some beautiful tropical birds and a few other little critters. I actually expected there to be a little more wildlife around then there was, but I guess the animals prefer their privacy as well. The park has a path that's a few kilometers long, and ends in a waterfall and hanging bridge, so just the walk through the jungle was nice. Actually the waterfall was pretty tiny and slightly disappointing, but we found another one that was a little better and quite refreshing, at the least. That afternoon we tried to find some natural lakes we'd heard about, but failed and ended up swimming in a green pool that dyed my hair a lovely shade of mold. It's fading out now, but it was funny because Bridget refused to get in for fear of the green hair and I told her she was silly... at least she was nice about it when she got to say "I told you so!" That evening we just hung out at the hotel, played cards, swatted mosquitos, cracked coconuts, and swam until we got yelled at for being too loud.

The unfortunate thing was that Sean ended up getting really sick the night we got there, and Hannah fell and hurt her ankle, so the two of them had to go home that afternoon. So, only Weenta, Bridget, Margaret, and I got to enjoy the whole trip.

Monday the four of us went to La Jungla, which is a park for big people that has some high, wooden-jungle-platform-style walkways, leading eventually to a series of swings in the trees. The highest swing was 18 meters (60ft) tall, and was totally terrifying but wonderfully exhilerating. It was funny because I started out being all freaked out just walking in the platforms, but ended up conquering my somewhat recently developed fear of hights and going for it. I was quite proud of myself, and I'm pretty sure everyone in the park could hear me screaming, haha.

That afternoon we decided to have a nice lunch and head out early becuase the other park was quite expensive and we were all pretty ready to get a shower anyway. Little did we know, however, that there were no surubis leaving Villa Tunari that day because it was a holiday. After being totally blown off by the one driver that could have taken us and chose to instead be a jerk, we met up with a nice Bolivian lady and her kids (who were about our age) who were also heading to Cochabamba. She flagged down one of the big tour buses for us, but there was only room for one, and it was on the stairs. Her son went there, but then the driver decided since we were only four and relaticaly small in size we could go ahead and hop on too. So, we ended up riding back in the compartment behind the driver's seat where there was this hard bed thing I suppose they can sleep on.

It was very cramped and very hot, and the trip took way longer becuase the buses go so slowly up the mountains. However, we managed to find the humor in the situation, and actually had a nice ride, all sardined and stinky, listening to some of the cheesiest Spanish love songs I've ever heard. It was actually kind of good to be up there because you're supposed to keep an eye on the driver to make sure they don't drink, which he didn't, of course. In fact much of the time I was more appaled by the fact that we were going 20km/hr rather than the crazy traffic maneuvers.

The following Friday we had out second Amizade-planned trip, which was to Uyuni, in the southwestern department (like a state) of Potosí. The six of us went with Sergio, who is Jean Carla's assistant and a very cool guy; Eric was sick and had to stay behind, unfortunately. On Friday morning we got a bus to Oruro, a city 4 hours away famous for its unique carnaval, then from there we took a 7ish hour train ride to the town of Uyuni. Uyuni itself if very tiny, but we stayed in a neat hotel with AWESOME food (American-style fruit pancakes and llama pizza; actually the place is run by a guy who woked at Margaret's favorite pizza place in Massachussettes, talk about a small world) and got a good night's rest before heading off on our grand adventure through the arid Andes. I might also add that the region we were in for the weekend was over 12,00 ft above sea level, a rude awakening for me from Cochabamba's 8,000ish. I was the only one who seemed to need the altutide medicine, though.

The tour we took (that everyone takes if you go there) was a 3-day jeep ride around the region, which boasts the largest salt flat in the world at 12,000km (7.5mi); several lakes full of thousands of flamingos, including one green and one red lake colored by the natural minerals; volcanic rock formations, hot spots, and hot springs; wildlife like llamas, alpacas, viscachas (like a rabbit mized with a chinchilla), and vicuñas (like a llama mixed with a white tail deer), and miles upon miles of a surreal desert landscape. You should go.

We were in two jeeps, one of which was also shared by two Canadian girls and two very nice Swiss guys, two drivers, and a cook who rode around with us and made us yummy food like pasta quinoua, which is a typical grain of the Andes that is very high in nutritional value. The first day we went to the salt flats, where we took some fun perspective pics (where you can make it lokk photoshopped because there's no point of perspective; we didn't know about this before, though, so ours aren't all that cool, honestly). There is an island in the middle called the Isla del Pescado (Fish Island, because it's shaped like a fish) that's made of fossilized coral, and is covered in beautiful cacti. That was probably one of the coolest things we saw, if not the coolest.

That night we stayed in a hotel in a "ghost town" that only had electricity until around 9pm. After that Sean and I taught everyone to play Euchre by candlelight and drank Argentinean wine (we were still friends the next day, but the atmosphere did get a little tense even with the wine... they tell me I can get a LITTLE competitive, so I guess I am my mother's daughter, haha). It was called a ghost town because all the people that lived there aside from the family that runs te hotel literally left their houses in search of better economic opportunities. If you saw the town it's easy to understand. There's not much money or opportunity to be scraped off the bare rock of a rugged mountainside. It was really neat to walk around, though, because you could really examine the houses and try to imagine the way the people must have lived. At the very top of the town there was a flat area with just the skeletons of mud huts; it could have easily been mistaken for Incan ruins if you weren't able to crumble the mud off of the walls yourself.

The next day was colder and very windy. We drove around to some very neat volcanic rock formations, and got to see our first two lakes, one of which is called the Stinky Lake because it smells like sulfur. The lakes were full of pink and white flamingos, and I got just about enough flamingo pictures to wallpaper my house in the two days we visited the lakes. We visited the Lagua Coloradad for a bit, though, which wasn't as red as it's supposed to be, unfortunately, and the Laguna Verde, which was also not all that green, but still very beautiful. Its sits right below a volcano, so the reflection was really neat. Plus we never got tired of the flamingos. We could also see mountains on that part of the drive that are in Argentina dn Chile, which was a neat concept.

That day we also ran into a herd of llamas, which I was probably a little too excited about. The mountain landscape on this day was really incredible. There are several where you can see layers of different colors starting from the peak and going down the side of the mountain from the different minerals. We also saw a few volcanoes, one of which is still smoking, and the famous "tree rock", which is naturally shaped like, you guessed it, a tree. That night we stayed at a hostel in the park Reserva de Eduardo Avaroa (I don't, know who he is) at the edge of the Laguna Colorada, a reddish-orange lake.

After going to bed at an unusually reasonable hour, we were awaken a little late at 4:30am by our somewhat impatient drivers (they were obviously annoyed by our taking the time to brush teeth, etc) and headed off into the sunrise to see the natural and man-made geysers (steam shooting out or the earth reaching what must have been around 30ft) and the "dangerous volcanic area" where the pic at the top is from. This area was really reallly cool. It was like craters burned into the ground with boiling water at the bottom and steam rising all around. The smell was not that awesome, but it gave one the sense of being on another planet.

Next came what was possibly the most fun part of the trip: the hot springs. Keep in mind that when we got out to the cars at 4:45 it was probably around -10degrees C (14 degrees F), and it didn't really get much warmer than that at all after the sun came up. So, you get there with freezing toes and all these layers on (for me it was 2 pants, a tanktop, T-shirt, sweater, hoodie, hat, gloves, scarf, and 2 pairs of socks), and suddenly there are all these people just chilling out in bikinis. I was a little skeptical, but decided there was no way I could miss it, and it was AWESOME. The water is like 95 degrees F, and it warmed me up to the core for the rest of the day. Margaret, Weenta, Hannah, and I all got in, and we haven't quit raving about it since, haha. Bridget, being from Texas and all, wasn't handling the cold as well as the rest of us, and Sean just gave s a "no", haha. We ate our breakfast there, and the rest of the day was a little rushed because we had to get back to Uyuni, and the Swiss guys had to make it to the Chilean border to get the only bus by 9am.

That afternoon we had lunch in a little town that had fiels of moss with alpacas all over them, which was really beautiful, and after lunch we headed back to Uyuni with few stops. In Uyuni we got some much needed showers (although not nearly as needed as they had been after returning from Villa Tunari, haha, at least there was virtually no sweating on this trip), ate the most delicious pizza ever made, and then Weenta and I went with Sergio to a little pub (called The Extreme Fun Pub, which was, despite it's absurd name, actually really neat) to meet up with some friends of his from Uyuni who are opening a hostel there while everyone else took a nap before the train ride. We got the train at 1am, and slept some, although they decided to turn on the worst DVD ever made at around 6:30. It was all these aweful 80s and 90s songs like "Total Eclipse of the Heart", but dubbed in even worse Spanish translations; it was really one of the worst things I've ever seen, and although it was funny on the way there, the humor was lost on me at 6:30am, haha).

We got home that afternoon and had dinner with a very nice Canadian guy we met on the bus, and have since had a fairly standard week. Well, actually yesterday was Weenta's bday, so we had a little party in Spanish class, then a very delicious dinner at her house. Yesterday evening we also went to a presentation about Andean/indigenous cluture by a famous Bolivian anthropologist named Wilfredo Camacho and his wife, so that was neat.

Friday night Jean Carla bought us tickets to go see Bolivia's most famous traditional band, Los Kjarkas, whose music is a lot of fun. They sing in both Spanish and Quechua, which is the traditional language passed down from the Incan Empire of the Bolivian middle lands and much of the Andes. Here's one of their most famous current songs, Fría: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZ6pdOHPJgo. The concert was a looot of fun, although I'm not sure how much I would just listen to their music. They make it so you can dance and get into it, and most of the crowd was singing, etc. We were lucky they came while we were here.

So that's that. Now we have 2 weeks left in Cochabamba, which is still thouroughly depressing. Next weekend the group is splitting up for another weekend of travel. Bridget and I are going to reschedule the Sucre and Potosí trip, and the others are going to Toro Toro, which I think is a jungle-esque town where you can go caving, scuba diving, and other fun outdoorsy things that I'm a little too claustrophobic to really enjoy, haha.

If I don't post before then, I hope everyone has a wonderful Thanksgiving and safe travels throughout the season!

Yours

Alanna

Article for the National Energy Technology Laboratory Newsletter and General Update

Hello All! It's been awhile, but I'm a busy bee down here, and it's quite hard to find the time to write in my blog. This post will be largely an article I wrote for my mom's company's newsletter, but I'll tell you a little about what's been going on down here first.

Two weeks ago we had the chance to do a rural homestay in a nearby town called Mallcho Rancho, where we joined another group called Youth International that was here for about 2 weeks working on a school in the neighboring town of Viloma. As in Cochabamba, we stayed with local families (along with two other YI students, who were mainly just out of high school), but there is a very stark contrast between city and country living; although, there was certainly a wide variety of conditions in terms of host houses, from no shower and an outdoor bathroom to houses bigger and fancier than mine at home. My host family's house was somewhere in the middle. They were poultry farmers, and the host dad was a laborer for local projects. My host mom had been working at a toilet paper factory, but quit right around when we came to stay because she was tired of working the night shift. I had quite a nice shower, actually, and the chicken I ate from their farm was deeelicious.

The actual work was pretty strenuous and left me sore, but definitely in a good way. We were working mainly on laying sidewalks and stuco-ing walls, so I did a mixture of shoveling, rock, dirt, and water hauling, cement mixing, and stucco-ing. It was a little discouraging at the same time, though, because the classrooms we were working on were the last two to be done of an 8 classroom project, but the community couldn't afford to buy the materials for the roofs, which cost about $1,500 each. So, eventhough we got a lot done, the rooms still won't be in use for another few months.

Here at "home" I've been doing classes, kick-your-butt-yoga, and service as usual. This week was my first working at CEOLI, which is a center for kids with disabilities, where they go to learn in a classroom setting, as well as basic life skills. I worked in the craft shop with the older group, who range from teens up to 25yrs old. There they work on making craft items that they sell in a shop downtown to make money for the center. The things they make are actually really neat, and it was a nice break from Millennium, as there is considerably more life, laughte, and overall good spirit among the kids at CEOLI.

My last excciting story is that there was a socialist presidential summit here last weekend, called the ALBA-TCP (Alianza Bolivariana para los pueblos de Nuestra América, or The Bolivarian Alliance for the towns of our America), which included nine countries, the most important of which are Cuba, Venezuela, and Bolivia. The main issues they made judgements on were denouncing the new government of Honduras, which took over in a coup this summer and creating a new currency called the Sucre that all of the member states will start using in international trade in 2010 (to me this seems a lofty goal, but we'll see how it goes). This was the seventh meeting of the group, which is growing, but will probably never include major Latin American nations like Brazil and Argentina, because the summit is not shy to speak out against the United States and Europe's Western imperialism. The other major players in Latin America are major precisely because they are highly involved in the "Western" economies, so they couldn't take that stance.

Anyway, the presidents were staying at the Hotel Cochabamba, which my friend Bridget and I walk by each day to go to Spanish class, so we got to walk by all the mounting police and pres everyday, etc, which was kinda neat. Last Saturday, though, I called a Bolivian friend because we were supposed to go on a motorcycle ride (which we did later, and it was also awesome), and he was there at the hotel. He said Evo had already left, but he was waiting to see Chavez. Sooo, we hurried down there, and there were only about 50 people, so we could get right up against the rope, and, low and behold, here comes Hugo Chavez strutting out to romance the crowd before going to the stadium for a rally that was taking place (which was too dangerous for us to go to, unfortunately; we stand out, and people seem to die just about every year in political protesting here).

So, we're getting pics, etc, and he starts talking to this woman from overtop his car door, and invites her to the stadium with him. There were, of course, a bunch of "ohs" and "ahs" following that, but then he looks over in our direction and sees Bridget. He looked at her and said (in Spanish, of course), "you, white woman, where are you from", and we were both totally stunned, and actually scared to tell him we were from the US because, as you probably know, Chavez is about the most outspoken USA-hating president around. She told him, though, and he asked what part she was from, then he said "Viva los Estados Unidos!" and told her in Spanish, then in English "you are our sister!" Of course I'd been filming, but the minute he started talking to her I freaked out and turned my camera off, then turned it back on a few second later, so I missed a few seconds of the conversation, including the "Viva" part, but got the majority. I really wish now I'd talked to him because considering the circumstances I'm sure he would've answered, but I was just in total shock. Still, it was a pretty surreal experience.

Anyway, I'll get off here and start on some homework. I hope everyone's having a lovely fall, and I wish you a Happy Halloween!

Sincerely yours, fellow white woman,
Alanna

P.S. photos are being uploaded onto my Flickr as we speak, as well as the Chavez videos :-) The link is to the left under "Related Links"

Article:

Cochabamba, Bolivia, is a city with a rich and sometimes troubling political history, and, now, as President Evo Morales approaches his first chance for re-election December sixth, the city is a political science student’s paradise. In the little over a month that I have been studying and volunteering here, there has been at least one blockade, two protests, one of which involving the use of tear gas and water hoses for crowd control, and a Latin American presidential summit that included such figures as Hugo Chavez and Raul Castro. I’ve also had numerous political dialogues with city and country residents alike, seen the endless political propaganda that is spattered across the city’s walls, been beside a friend who was directly addressed by Hugo Chavez himself (who finished by telling her, “you are our sister”, then proceeded to call North Americans gor
illas who couldn’t think later that afternoon, ah Chavez), stepped out of my house to encounter the other major presidential candidate parading down the street, and gotten to know too well the heart-rending effects of government policies concerning adoption and orphanage maintenance.

Although it seems relatively certain that Evo will once again claim the presidency, I am very fortunate to have been here during an election and have learned more about Bolivian and Latin American politics already than I had imagined. It is a fact that in 2005 Evo was elected by a landslide as Bolivia’s first “indigenous president”, less than a year after violent protesting over oil and gas reform forced the former president to resign his post. It is also true that he has instituted some significant policy changes, such as re-nationalizing the oil and gas industries, and, just this weekend, making an accord with eight other leftist Latin American states to create a universal currency to be used in international trade, called the Sucre. However, the fine details of exactly has occurred in the subsequent years under the administration of Evo and his MAS (Movement toward Socialism) party tends to coincide at least somewhat with whom you are talking and what their views toward the president and his politics are.

Living Bolivia’s third largest city, I tend to get opinions that are staunchly anti-Evo, and was actually quite surprised to find that a few rural Bolivians I spoke with feel the same enmity towards him that most city-dwellers do, even if they voted for him four years ago. I’ve heard many opinions about el presidente, some of which I believe to be true and some exaggeration, including that he receives direct funding from Venezuela (although his policies do appear to be somewhat more moderate than one would expect from a president with the word “socialism” in his party’s title), that he has no more than a high school education, that he encourages animosity between urban and rural Bolivians, and that he has undermined the middle class while fostering a growth of narco-trafficking in rural Bolivia, including in the mountains surrounding Cochabamba. Whether or not his policies have been beneficial or destructive to the country in the long term is yet to be seen, but there is no denying that the sheer emotion invoked by his name attest to how historically significant his regime will always be to the nation. And despite his many criticisms, Evo is a beacon of hope for much of rural Bolivia, and has the ability to inspire in them a sense of unity and empowerment that has been robbed of their people for centuries.

My most direct experience with Evo’s policies, though, as a volunteer in a local orphanage, have left a bad taste in my mouth, and make me question the validity of his views. The orphanage where I volunteer at is called Millennium, and is a semi-private, semi-state funded facility currently housing twenty-two children between the ages of six months and six years, who are cared for by two nurses at a time and intermittent volunteers. The center receives a government payment of $.42 per day, per child, and is in serious threat of closure due to a recent drop in its main source of funding from the United States. The orphanage apparently used to have a relatively significant adoption rate to Europe (Bolivia has never had an agreement with the Untied States), but Evo has failed to renew agreements with all European nations apart from The Netherlands, whose license has yet to expire. The president’s view is that Bolivia’s children are not for “export”, an interesting notion in a nation where the GDP/capita is under $3,000. I suppose in his mind they are better of on their $.42 daily bread than in the hands of Western imperialists.

Despite the director’s best intentions, the kids at Millennium are given a level of care that may be defined in the United States as negligent. With only two nurses to care for twenty-two children and a budget that only allows for two diapers per baby per day, one can certainly note the health, developmental, and social problems that the children may never be able to overcome. After the children reach six years of age they are moved to various state-run facilities, as the licensing requirements vary. I have never personally visited one of these facilities, but our local coordinator said they are in poor enough conditions that it is not uncommon

for the children to run away rather than stay there; I have personally seen kids not much older than six asleep on the sidewalks on a semi-regular basis. As of 2006 there were 40 million homeless children in Latin America, and I think it is safe to assume the numbers have only been growing since. Still, the government seems more interested in good public relations and bashing the United States than facing these dire issues.

Still, as an aid worker it is at least heartening to encounter individuals like the director of Millennium who give all their time and energy to providing the children with a roof over their heads and enough meals to keep them satisfied. Although we are sometimes upset by the conditions at the orphanage, we’ve been told that it is one of the best in the city, and that the sudden lack of funding due to the financial crisis was a major blow. The board of directors are now struggling to keep it open, and if it closes the kids will be transferred to state-run orphanages, where they will almost certainly face a more difficult living situation than they already have, with thanks to the government’s spending on things like increasing a needless military and launching the first Bolivian satellite.

If you or any individual or organization you know is interested in making a donation to Millennium, or if you or anyone you know may be interested in doing a volunteer to Bolivia or one of Amizade’s many other global volunteer sites, please contact Amizade, and they will be able to give you further guidance: amizade.org. Any donation to Millennium through Amizade would go directly for the improvement of the children’s living situation, and would really make a difference in their lives. Hopefully through the generosity of others in Bolivia and abroad we can keep this facility running and get it back to top condition.

P.P.S. Amizade is having a donation day this coming Wednesday the 29th at 10:00AM where if you donate any amount between $50 and I believe $2,500 the donation will be matched 50% by another organization in Pittsburgh, and if you specify the funds can go to Millennium or any other project Amizade is working on. Just something to think about ;-) Check out Eric's blog under "Related Links" for more info!

The Real Work Begins

Hellooo!

It seems like an eternity since I last did an entry - all of our days have been filled to the brim with classes, service, excursions, family functions, homework, and an hour or so to relax or get a coffee. Needless to say I´ve been a little busy, and have a tooon to write about. I´ll just cover the basics of what´s been going on lately.

A short-term (older adult, not college-aged) Amizade group was here for two weeks (most are leaving today, and last night we had an awesome going away party complete with all you can eat fresh seafood, a private room at a Karaoke bar, and dancing salsa, merengue, and samba with some Bolivian friends), and were working on construction of an orphanage called Hogar de Niños in a small town about 20 minutes outside of Cochbamba called Vinto. We had the pleasure of being able to join them for a few days of work, and got down a diry painting, stucco-ing (which is extremely difficult), plastering, tiling, and the like. Amizade has been working on the orphanage for many years, and have expanded it two-fold. Some of the volunteers had been here before, and were back for more. One couple in perticular, Marty and Marvin from Missouri, have been coming to Cochabamba off and on for 10 years, and cçhave built a very strong relationship with the people here. Marvin is even the godfather of one of the local mason´s sons.

However, last week we all got a big shock, when about ten armed policemen showed up at the orphanage when the others were working (we weren´t there), and began an investigation of the premises. We came to volunteer the next day, and found out that the news was reporting that the orphanage was being shut down due to abuse, and in the following days the story began to unfold. We were still able to work, eventought the kids had been taken to different facilities, although reporters were streaming in and out all day. Now, our professor did make clear to us that we are unsure of what the situation is, exactly, and that the Latin American media tends to overexagerrate and jump to conclusions, so do consider that. Anyway, according to the media the nuns running the orphanage were not real nuns, and there were various reported cases of abuse by them, other employees, and older children to younger children.

I hesitated to even include this in my blog, but I think it´s important to give a realistic account of what´s going on here. Amizade of course has no fault at all in the matter, and is not involved in any way, we are fairly certain that the facitlity itself will be re-opened under different management, and that all the hard work that has been put in over the years by many generous individuals will not go to waste. Our overall experience at Hogar de Niños was positive, and we were able to interact with the kids one day after work. They even made birthday cards for two of our volunteers, and we had a little party with cake and playtime. I can only hope that they are able to return to their home with the care they deserve, and are not put out in the street. I´ll go into a little further detail about this system a little later.

Last Saturday I went to a baptism with my host family at a church in a nearby town, which was very interesting. The church is famous for its alter to the virgin, and once a year draws people from all over South America to pay tribute to her. It is apparently a strong center of faith, and thus a popular place for baptisms and weddings. When we arrived a newlywed couple was just pulling away, and when we were leaving they were setting up for the next wedding. The baptism itself was for 90 kids, most from the surrounding countryside. We were there for my host uncle´s (who lives with us) granddaughter, Velesca.

The service itself was a little nuts because there were so many people in attendance. You really couldn´t hear anything the priest was saying, and there were photographers and camera crews all around trying to capture the moment to sell to participating families. My host mom explained to me that it is unusual for people from the city ot baptise their children under those circumstances, but her great niece had been born with a birth defect, and her parents had prayed to the virgen, promising to baptise her there if they were able to get is fixed through surgeries, etc. Valesca is now totally healthy, to my knowledge. This photo is of my host uncle with his 3 daughers. The one holding Valesca is her godmother, who lives in Miami, and came in for surgery. It´s cheaper for her to fly both ways and get two surgeries and dental work done here than to get them in the U.S. Talk about a need for healthcare reform.

On Sunday our group travelled with the short term group and three other travelers Eric met at his hostel to a site called Incallajta, which is the location of an Incan fort and small city. The whole trip was extremely interesting, and the 3-hour drive through the mountains taught us a good bit about the country just from looking out the windows. When you get outside the city you begin to see the life of the majority of the world - mud huts with straw roofs, outhouses, small plots, sometimes at an incredibly steep grade on the side of the mountain, and essentially no more than the ingredients for a life of subsistence.

The site itself was gorgeous, and we had a very good guide. We took about a 2 hour hike around the ruins, and had a lovely time. There´s really not too much to say about it, but I got some nice photos, so you can get a little bit of an idea for yourself. It was a cool day with high wind and, as always, the strong Bolivian sun.

A local walks his horse down the mountain; Descending the path to the waterfall

Last week I started my service work at Millennium orphanage in Cochabamba (not to be confused with the one in Vinto that was shut down), which is about 4 blocks from my house. I´ll be working there two days out of the week, and with another organization called CEOLI, which provides services, classes, etc for children with disabilities. I haven´t had the chance to go there yet, though. Millennium is home to 22 kids, aged 6 months to 6 yrs old. After they turn six they are no longer allowed to get state funding, so if they aren´t adopted or placed in a different facility they are put out on the street, which is very upsetting to me. There are many street children around the city, many will juggle or wash your windshield at a stoplight for change or come around outdoor restaurants begging. This photo is one I took walking to Spanish class one morning. Can you imagine? Or do any of us really want to?

Anyway, Millennium is run by a woman named Virginia who has a very obvious committment to providing the best home she can for the kids. Although they only get $.43 a day from the government for each child, at least they have food, clothing, and a bed to sleep in. Still, the conditions are a little hard to accept. All of the kids have runny noses and coughs, and most have lice. There are 2 nurses on staff and various volunteers in and our, but they have to be somewhat stern due to the lack of staff. For instance, we aren´t allowed to pick the kids up because then they´ll cry to be held all the time, and if one falls and is crying they´re essetially just told to get over it and left on the floor. As volunteers we help feed and cloth them, etc, but also just give them as much individual attention as possible. We took turns holding Pablo, the 6 month old baby (who can barely hold his head up), and talking to the others, rubbing their backs, tickling them, etc. It´s as depressing as it is fulfilling, but hopefully over the course of a few months it´ll make a little difference.

Adoptions to American families from Bolivia has apprently never been legal, but traditionally they have been allowed with Europe. Now, though, Presidente Morales isn´t renewing the adoption agreements, and according to my information the only foreign adoptions that are still allowed are to The Netherlands. His stance is generally quite anti-Westrn "Developed World" (which has actually been well-earned, but is not necessarily the best attitude) as far as I can tell, and he says that Bolivia´s children are not for export. A nice theory that results in an ever increasing population of street children. According to my Spanish teacher they had some issues with children being adopted and sold into slavery or used in the organ sales black market, which is very hard to believe, but may be true. Still, it seems to me if you´re that crooked and evil it would be easier and cheaper to just take them off the street and smuggle them out of the country.

As much as I do love it here, there are plenty of things to make you angry and ashamed of the lavish lifestyle we lead in comparison to so many in the world. Yet at the same time, it´s natural to think of yourself first, is it not? I know when I get back my career and my happiness will be at the top of the priority list, not ending world hunger. Still, the fact that I´m very much hoping to enter a career that will make at least a small impact in this area helps to reconcile a little of that guilt.

Eric posted a few quotes from our journals on his blog, and they are all worth checking out. It´s interesting to see everyone else´s reaponses to the trip thus far. Mine was in response to a quote we read in class, which is as follows:

"Like slavery and apartheid, poverty is not natural. It is man-made and it can be overcome by the actions of human beings. And overcoming poverty is not a gesture of charity. It is an act of justice. It is the protection of a fundamental human right, the right to dignity and a decent life."

Nelson Mandela

My response to that was this: When you think of ending poverty as an act of justice rather than an act of charity it places an individual responsibility on each of us to act in ways that are more just rather than just nice.

It´s just something to think about. I do believe that there could be an end to poverty, but unless there are fundamental changes made in our lifestyles. There was a very good article we read called "What Should a Billionaire Give and What Should You?" that breaks down the amount that the super-rich would have to give to substantially increase the quality of life of millions. It´s not that much. If you´re interested you can read the article at http://www.utilitarian.net/singer/by/20061217.htm.

That´s all for now. This week we´ll be staying with rural families for 3 days and working on furthering construction of a school in the country with a group that´s here called Youth International. That should be very interesting. I´m also going to start having essays due every week, so I don´t know how much time I´ll have to write. I´ll try to keep up as best I can.

Here´s my song of the day. I´m sure you´ve all heard it, but there´s no harm in a little reminder.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-b7qaSxuZUg

"You may say I´m a dreamer, but I´m not the only one..."

Yours,

Alanna

Futbol, Family, Friends, and Fun... Not to Mention the Occasional Parade and Blockade

Hola!


(Note: I added pics to my last post, so you can take a look)

Well I´ve officially spent a whole entire week in la Bolivia maravillosa, and what a week it´s been. Between an electrified soccer match, shopping in the largest open air market in South America, dancing with some spry old cochabaminas (ladies from Cochabamba), and trying our hand at some homestyle vegetarian cooking, our days have been going by fast, and we´ve barely even begun the real tasks at hand.

I´ll start from the beginning, which would in this case be last Sunday (Saturday wasn´t all that interesting - we went out looking for a contemporary dance performace, got lost, and instead called a taxi and went bowling, haha)

So on to Sunday... As I said Friday, I just met my host mom last weekend, so as sort of a getting-to-know you, we decided to go to La Cancha, which is the largest open air market in South America, and that´s saying something, haha. La Cancha is in the Southern part of the city, which is the poorer area, and covers several city blocks with stands, shops, street vendors, and sort of open warehouses full of every possible item you can imagine. From fresh fruits and vegetables, to artisan crafts, to watches, cell phones, jewelry, pots and pans, TVs, tablecloths, candy, and rows upon winding rows of shoes, jeans, and dresses. There is an interesting mixture of people working the stands - some dressed in the traditional skirts, hats, and colorful wraps of the campesinos (people from the rural ourskirts), and some chatting on cell phones in Levis. We went at lunchtime, so many were eating a plate of rice and meat or other typical dishes, and there were girls inching down the isles selling hot bowls of soup on trays. Ad you walk the smells vary considerably from tastey food to musty clothes to urine, and it´s hard to step anywhere without bumping into someone. This pic is of my host mom talking to one of the vendors about buying peanuts.

We were looking for sandals to replace my recently deceased Havaianas, but didn´t have much luck because a lot of things are closed on Sunday. Still, it was a very fun experience, and was definitely better to go with my host mom, who always seemed to know the way, although to me it seemed an impossible labyrith.


After our semi-successful shopping trip, we ventured out to the country, driving for about 20 minutes. It was cerainly very interesting to see the abrupt change in landscape from the largely modern Cochabamban centro, to the surrounding mountainsides. The houses there are all perched, one on top of the other on the dusty slopes of the mountains surrounding the city, and are largely made of concrete, mud and stone, and many have very shoddy roofing. You could see people washing clothes in the river below, and many made their way in or out of the city along the sides of the road, or up paths and steps that carve their way up the mountains, most dressed in the traditional garb, the origen of which is unknown to me. This photo is of houses we passed on the hillside.






We went, though, to a very lovely restaurant that sits just below the dam, and apparently expanded from being just a little family owned place to a huge restaurant with a salon for weddings, paddle boating and other rides, a multi-storied building and outdoor eating area, and one of the coolest bathrooms I´ve ever seen. It´s still owned and run by the family, though, and in fact the husband was running the boat rental place while the wife was in the kitchen; not your typical enterprise owners.



That evening Jean Carla, our lovely local coordinator, bought us all tickets to the last home game of Wilsterman, one of the two Cochabamban soccer teams. It was, of course, full of crazy screaming soccer fans, some of whom were more so than others, and towards the end the continual chanting and shouts from the crowd got increasingly profane, as neither team had managed to score a single point. About 15 minutes from the end, though, Wilsterman managed to make the winning goal, so it was a good day for Wilsterman fans (and for us as well, as the spirit is highly contagious).



Coming back to crazy fans, there are two sections apart for the craziest hooligans, one of which is the more violent. Apart from the typical smoke bombs, confetti, throwing of plastic bottles, and massive banners, they also felt it was necessary to start catching fires in the stands. This of course led to an active intervention by the numerous
police officers who are there to keep order and protect the opposing team and referees. In fact, they actually showed the police essetially beating a few people up on the screen where the crowd close-ups were being displayed. I didn´t get a good picture, but it was certainly a moment of culture shock. Other than that it was a great time! haha. You can read a far more artfully written version in Eric (our professor´s) blog.

(side note: Since then Wilsterman played a game that secured the team for the running in the national championship, and afterward the opposing coach ran at theirs seemingly in an attempt to attack him, and had to be blocked by the police, so even if it´s culture shock for me, I guess no one besides us was suprised at our game´s events, haha... I hate to think what woud´ve happened had we lost)


After the game we decided to go to Weenta´s (pronounced just like its spelled) for a bit because her family was having an Independence Day party, complete with a live band and gourmet catoring.



Just to elaborate on this before I get into the party: A number of Bolivians have told me that gringos (foreigners) tend to be suprised at the number of parties and parades, etc they have all the time, to which they respond that life is short, and everything should be a cause to celebrate. Monday was the actual Independence Day, and we went out to the city´s main plazas to catch some of the festivities - the parade that was going on lasted for the entire time we were there, which was about 3 hours, and was not showing signs of slowing down. Bands, city officials, mining unions, schools, and just about every one else who had any reason at all to be marching was. This sense of patriotism is interesting to me because it seemed to be largely indigenous people who had come out, but it´s precisely the indigenous people that hardly even reaped the benefit of the struggle for independence. Bolivia is still the poorest country in South America, and these people have been marginalized by their government and the international economy, left with few schools and barely access to clean drinking water. Yet, they still find reason to celebrate their culture and their country. (Like our Spanish teacher told us - A ustedes les gosta gastar, a nosotros nos gosta bailar!, or "you guys like to spend money, we like to dance")



This is a very interesting time in Bolivia, though, in this regard, because a few years ago Evo Morales, the first "indigenous", rurally born president was elected, and he seems to be a symbol of victory to much of the indigenous community in the way Obama has been to our African American community. Now, I´ve heard very mixed opinions about Evo and his policy, the negatives of which include the fact that he has only a basic education, he seems easily influenced by and in line with socialist leaders such at Chavez and Castro, that he may actually be another mestizo (mixed Indigenous and European) like former presidents have been, and that many of the ministers that influence him are corrupt, whether he is or not. This December he´ll be up for reelection, so we should get to wittness some pretty exciting political action by both the government and the people. As is it now the city´s Plaza Central, or the plaza 14 de Septiembre (which is where my pic was taken) is littered with largely liberal political propaganda that gives you an interesting perspective from the view of Bolivian activists. This photo is of a few indigenous ladies hanging out in the Central Plaza in Independence Day.

In other news, there was a protest this week where the transportation union had blocked off many of the streets in central Cochabamba, demanding the government talk to them about transportation reform (including the street our afternoon class was on, haha). Apparently the transportation unions are very strong, and don´t like the fact there there are numerous unregistered vehicles that they have to compete with. Blockades are pretty common in the city and the country, and my host family just said they don´t make much of a difference. The government just says they´ll talk to union leaders to they´ll upen everything back up, but then nothing really gets accomplished anyway.

Of course, Bolivian and Latin American politics will be one thing we´ll be exploring in much greater depth as the semester progresses, so this has been an extremely superficial analysis. I just wanted to give you a little idea of what´s going on down here.


So back to the party, which was, as I said, complete with a band, good food, and pretty much exclusively older relatives. In fact, I have a lovely picture of me giving cow tongue a try, which is apparently very popular in Cochabamba, Bolivia´s most famous gastronomic center. I don´t think it would´ve been that bad had I not been able to see the taste buds - something about that just grossed me out way too much to even begin to enjoy it, haha.


Other than that, though, the party was great. We ended up being pulled onto the dance floor by Weenta´s host mom, and a few other ladies, where we did some traditional-ish dance for like a half an hour. We were definitely getting into it, and by the end everyone was sweaty and tired from laughing. Margaret, in particular, connected really well with one of the ladies, and they were really breaking it down, haha. That´s what this pic is of. We also got to see Weenta´s host dad and host sister do a beautiful traditional couples dance with handkerchiefs.

So those are probably the most interesting things that I´ve done lately. This week we began both Spanish and our Poli Sci and history classes. Toni, our Spanish teacher, is great. She makes classes go by very quickly because we have a good time, and she even threw Hannah a party yesterday because today is her 20th b-day. The other classes look like they´re going to be really interesting as well. This week was just sort of intro, but I think we´re going to learn sooo much more here than we would´ve at home. Learning about the often vague concepts of development, poverty, class struggle, etc is given a whole new light when you actually get to see people living it out. We don´t start our service until next week, and have thus far only had a very small taste in the city, but I think in the weeks to come this trip will really start to come alive.

A short term group is coming to do some manual labor on a school, which we´ll be partaking in this Monday and two days the following week. We´re going to stay with host families out in the country for that and actually do some real work, so it should make for a great experience and an interesting entry. We also start our service next week, so look for a new post on that stuff next weekend-ish.

Also, I´d appreciate if you can send some positive thoughts and prayers to my Papa and Nana Jane, who were both in the hospital last week. They´re home now, but still need all the support they can get. Thanks!

That´s all for now, I´m about ready for some home-cooked lunch! I hope there weren´t too many errors - I´m feeling way too lazy to proof-read, haha.

All the Best,

Alanna

Since I forgot to add a song last time, I´m putting up two this time.

Maná - Manda una Señal (a very famous song by a very famous Mexican band)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8X_2cjFGHE

Chimarruts - Saber Voar (by a Brazilian reggae band, one of my all time favorite love songs)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NhnVJBylnlE

P.S. Sorry about the funky formatting. It always looks nomal in the editing window, but weird on the page. I don´t think I can do much about it. Also, pics aren´t up yet. I might do a shutterfly instead because Flickr only allows 100/month, but I need to do homework this afternoon, so if I do set that up tomorrow will be the earliest. Sorry!

I´m Here!

Hellooo!



So it´s my third day in the lovely Cochabamba, and I´m loving it so far! We arrived in La Paz at 7 AM Thursday (to be greeted by -1C degree weather, haha), and then connected to Cobhamba, arriving around 11. The flight was absolutely gorgeous, although between the small plane and altitude I felt a little sick. I got some nice photos flying over the Andes, though, and of aerial views of the city.



Cochabamba itself sits in a valley, and it´s a wonderful juxtaposition of palm trees in the foreground and arid peaks in the distance (not high enough to be snowy here). It´s not as high of an altitude as La Paz, which is the highest capital in the world, but I did feel it a little the first day, and I´m sure I would if I did any serious exercise. It´s spring time, and the weather is very dry, about 80 and sunny, with a pleasant breeze (that the local coordinator says is full of disease, so we have to be careful, haha). In fact the city´s nickname is the City of Eternal Spring because it´s always temperate. It gets much cooler at night, but I have lots of blankies :-).



My host family consists of a divorced mom who I met today because she was away for work, a sister named Paola who´s 23 and has thus far been very friendly, and a host brother who´s 25 and said hi but keeps to himself. The house is very nice and comfy, and is adjoined to another, where my host aunt, uncle, and grandmother live. I´ve talked mostly to my host aunt, Tia Marta, who has been playing mom since Olivia (my host mom) was gone, and she´s extremely pleasant. She never married because the she says Bolivian men are too controlling, so she devoted her life to her career and her nieces and nephews - independent woman! My host mom ownes a shoe and accessory store called Elegance that I haven´t had a chance to see yet, but I think they do quite well.

They do speak a good bit of English, but I´ve asked they only speak Spanish so I can learn. So far it hasn´t been too much of a struggle, but I certainly have a lot to learn. Yesterday we met the Spanish teacher and she evaluated each of us to see what level we should be in. In fact, we´re all going to be in the same class minus possibly one girl, Weenta, who hadn´t had Spanish in a few years. Toni, the teacher, seems like she´s going to be excellente! She´s very passionate, and has 20 years of experience. By the end I think we´ll all see a huge difference in our Spanish :-D.

The other students doing the program are all super-cool, and we´ve had no trouble talking and starting to get to know one another. They are Bridget (from Texas, but goes to WVU, so we´ve known each other for awhile), Hannah (from Winthrop in South Carolina), Weenta (from Pitt), Margaret (from the University of Massachusettes), and Sean (from the University of Indiana in Bloomington - he´s the only guy, but doesn´t seem to mind). It´s neat because we all have a lot in common, but come from very diverse backgrounds and interests. We also all live within about a 15 minute walk from one another (with the exception of poor Sean who lives pretty far out and has to take the bus), so that´s nice too.

Overall life had been very nice. The exchange rate is 7 Bolivianos to 1 Dollar, and everything is suuuper cheap. For intstance, I´m at an internet cafe that costs 2.50B per hour, and last night we went out for a little bite to eat and a drink, and it was only 32B for a pretty large tunda salad sandwich, fries, and a beer, just over $3. This is a good thing because I just haaappened to leave my wallet at home, so all I have is $90 leftover from what my mom gave me at the airport when I realized it. So, I think I´ll survive for a few weeks before my credit card arrives. This is a pic of us exchanging money - there are people with a sign that says "dolares" just on the street near our Spanish classes, and they give you a better rate than the banks... Gotta love it!

I didn´t bring my camera cable, but hopefully I can get some pics up on Flickr within a few days. I´ll probably just use the account I already have, which is http://www.flickr.com/photos/alannainbrazil/. I´m also adding this link and a few blogs of others I´m travling with to my interesting links section. Eric is our professor, and Bridget and Hannah are other participants.

Ok, I´m almost out of time...

Hasta Pronto!!!

Alanna

Getting Geared Up

Hello All!

Well it’s now exactly two weeks before I depart for Bolivia, and I’m definitely getting very excited. For the last few weeks I’ve been trying to dot all the I’s and cross the T’s, and I think I’ve gotten things pretty well straightened out. I’d like to say thanks again to everyone who has supported me as I prepared for this trip – I owe this opportunity to many, and this is just a small way for me to try to share my experience with you all.

I’ve been reading my pre-immersion materials, which include a number of articles and the book The Open Veins of Latin America, which was written by Eduardo Galeano, and gives a rather extreme view (a native view) of the history of Latin America since the beginning of colonialism. It’s rather difficult to read, actually, because it's at times very upsetting, but anyway the point of telling you all this is just to say that I wrote this as sort of a response to that book.

We have journal entry assignments for my classes there, so this entry is taken from the first assignment…

“What are your expectations, assumptions, and fears relating to your upcoming cultural immersion and travels?”

When I first considered this question, I looked back briefly to my previous experiences in South America (having already spent 10.5 months in Brazil, a few days in Chile, and a few weeks in Peru). As such, I expect to feel that internal thrill of entering the unknown when the plane first touches down in Lima, momentarily unhindered by the exhaustion that quickly overtakes even the most experienced travelers.

Beyond that, I expect to be greeted once more by the fresh air and breathtaking vistas that are South America, and which house structures and faces characterized by an odd juxtaposition of ancient wisdom and simplicity and religious propaganda and overzealous architecture, still ancient in its own right.

I assume that all of us taking part in this great journey will become good, if not great friends through our shared interests and experiences. I assume the courses will be stimulating and insightful, and that the service element will both fill our hearts with joy and shatter them to bits. I also assume that there'll be lots of fun local market shopping :-), one of my favorite overseas-activities.

I also have fears, of course. I have fear about my host family, as I’ve had some negative experience in this area in the past; I won’t meet this one until I arrive, but I’m hopeful that we’ll get along just fine. I also have fear that I’ll arrive all excited only to find myself the outsider of the group, but from everyone’s getting-to-know-you e-mail they seem very cool. And, juvenile as it may seem, I also fear the remoteness when it comes to a lack of communication and technology (it is a city so there will be internet café’s - that’s good). This stems mainly from the prospect of not being able to see my boyfriend or maybe even hear his voice for 3 months when I usually text him about every 5 minutes, and also from the fact that Im expecting another sibling at the beginning of December.

Above all, though, I think my greatest initial fear when considering this program was the prospect of having to once again go through the reverse culture shock of coming home, and, for me, what has in the past turned into a post-exchange depression. This trip will be much shorter, it’s true, but its nature, I believe, will make it much more difficult to walk away from.

I believe this because the service portion of the trip will be, while certainly very rewarding, very challenging for me. Looking poverty in the face – really giving it a face, and a name, or 30 names, or 100 names of people I meet and interact with will, I’m sure, change the way I see many things I have come to take for granted. Of course, a general passion for and interest in the region, language, and its people have driven me here in the first place, but after reading a few pages of Galeano’s book I have to question the validity of that drive. So many people who do service are really just self-serving, thinking of college applications and image, and I truly hope to not be one of those people.

I’m thinking now of my trip to Peru in March/April, 2008. I remember being awed by the picturesque landscapes, ad struck by the reality of its inhabitants’ lives: truly living to survive. Still, I’m now ashamed to admit feeling indignant when a little girl bugged me for a coin after I took one of those pretentious tourist photos of her, decked out in traditional garb, holding a baby goat in her arms and staring up at us with her dark, seemingly empty eyes. I wonder now what she would’ve told me had I instead thought to ask her name (if I’d even been able to with the language barrier), and who her family was, and whether she liked whoring herself to Western tourists’ LCD-stares, rather than going to school. I wonder if she knew that my camera quite possibly costs as much as her family lives on in a month.

We snap the photo and we think we understand what’s behind those eyes. We drive by the huts and think we begin to feel what it’s like to only consume that which you truly produce, and which your life depends on, reaped solely through your own sweat and calloused hands. And we imagine we can stand there with them and look back at ourselves with awe and resentment.

Perhaps this time around I’ll ask.

I don’t mean to say that these people have no happiness, no hope, or no future, or that they even envy the “developed world” for its material wealth, based on principle. I just mean that once you begin to think you understand something, you then realize days, or weeks, or months later that you are in fact as hopelessly ignorant as ever; perhaps as ignorant, indeed, as the conquistador believed the poor Indians to be not so long ago. If not ignorant, then we are (or at least most are) terribly naïve.

So, as I prepare to make this journey at last, I plan to set out with an attitude of complete humility. I hope to learn from these people all that they have to, often unknowingly, teach me about themselves and their culture as it exists today. I expect that I will leave Bolivia more conflicted and perplexed about the state of the world than I am while entering it, but I hope to have at least some sense of clarity.

I expect the unexpected, and I fear the unknown; however, I also embrace the opportunity to use that fear as a tool to become a more perceptive student – both in the classroom and in the wide world. In essence, I hope, or expect, or assume, or fear, that I will learn what it means to be a true “global citizen”, and, perhaps, even take some baby steps in that direction.

Yours,
Alanna

P.S. I've decided to from now on share a link to a song that I have stuck in my head or thinks pertains to the post. This is mainly just because I'm a music snob :-P

Today's is "Flume" by Bon Iver

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K7-zmQ3XEc0