Sucre, 04/22/12

This weekend was more tranquilo, being dedicated to minimal activity after the very busy weekend before. It was pretty much a walk in the park, literally. Much of the discretionary time was bench sitting, watching people, an easy and enjoyable task. There were the teenagers, joking, laughing, all phones in hand or on the ear. There were the vendors with cheap candy, helado (ice cream), balloons, fresh popcorn and bird seed. There were the curbside car washers, giving wash and wax for about $3, with their buckets of soap and rinse water. There were the families, bringing thier young childre to enjoy the sun, while the youngest feed the pigeons or secitedly chased them around the statute of Antonio Jose Sucre, or they posed for photos atop one of the two lions on either side of the statute. There were the garden crews, digging and replanting below the spread of teh palms and other trees, to maintain the beautiful mixture of green and bright color. There were the lovers, mostly young, but not all, holding hands, hugging kissing. And there were the old friends, reflecting on life, politics, age and the past.

There was the walk through the central market, several streets of virtually everything available for consumption. Certainly there was the market for produce, meat and pan. So many, so much. I wonder what happens at the end of the day, with the unsold. Are there methods to assure that the expiration dates are not exceeded? I proceeded to several vendors selling pirated CDs (they all are), both music and movie, where the price ranges from $1 to $2, wondering if customs will object.

And finished with a rare bar night, cerveza for me, while my younger school friends, from Canada, Australia, New Zealand and Scotland consumed stronger content. Funny how the group all had some degree of allegiance to the Queen. But, I enjoyed the brief break from the spanish. My accent without the latin did get a comment. I have commented before on the enjoyment of the cultural discovery and exploration with fellow travelers from abroad, how different we all are from each other.

We will see how the brief momentary diversion prepares me for the upcoming week, my first as a volunteer in Sucre.

Its like when your making conversation
And you´re trying not to scream
And you´re trying not to tell them
But you don´t care what they mean
And you´re really felling fragile
And you really can´t get home
And you really feel abandoned
But you want to be alone.
Old friends, they shine like diamonds
Old friends, you can always call
Old friends, lord you can´t buy them
You know its old friends after all.

When the house is empty
And the light begins to fade
And there´s nothing to protect you
Except a window shade
Its hard to put your finger on the thing
That scares you most.
And you can´t tell the difference
Between an angel and a ghost.
Old friends, they shine like diamonds
Old friends, you can always call
Old friends, lord you can´t buy them
You know its old friends after all.

(G. Clark)

Uyuni, 04/18/12

I have now reached the halfway point of my adventure, and this weekend provided the most exploration to date. But, before discussion of the five day experience in the SW part of Bolivia, near the frontier of Chile, I will reflect on one observation.

Normally on group tours, such as I just completed, I get the added benefit of meeting fellow travelers from other countries. So, not only do I encounter the local population, but get the added bonus cherry on top of the whipped cream. That taste is deliciosa. Without the added travel expense, less the visual aides, I still feel afterward that I know something about another place, people. My primary observation based on those who travel elsewhere, is that there are not essential differences. I`m not as tolerant as Will Rogers in liking everyone I meet, but I have not yet crossed anyone who wanted to harm or conquer. But, I have not met the political, business leaders.

On this trip I was entertained by three young South Koreans, and a lovely family (madre, padre, young adult son) from Sao Paulo, Brazil. The Korean youngsters were hardly quiet or subdued, as I would have predicted, but very expressive, excited and fun loving. I enjoyed the Brazilian family even more. Their Spanish was perhaps no better than mine, if that, and so much of the communication from them was via Portuguesa. That indeed was a challenge, due to the many differences from Spanish. But, we did communicate. Best of all, after the trip, our enjoyment of each other resulted in exchange of communication data, and an invite to visit, which I am strongly considering.

As for the trip itself, it started with a nine hour bus trip from Sucre to the SW part of Bolivia, a pueblo named Uyuni. The next morning our group gathered and first visited the Salar de Uyuni, a massive salt flat, reportedly the largest of its kind in the world. At this time of the year, ending the wet season, most parts have standing water of an inch or so. This thin layer of water creates a strange mirror impression. Dozens of other tours spread out over the flat, and as they flew in random directions over the area without restriction of road or signal, it appeared that water bugs were walking on top of an immense pond. Nearby cooperatives will rake off the top layer of salt, shovel ant hill like mounds of the salt, then wait one, two days for the mound to dry, before hauling off the salt for processing. Some of the buildings in Uyuni are constructed of salt blocks. We spent most of the day here on the salar and then proceeded toward the most desolate looking atmosphere I have ever seen.

The area visited has a volcanic history and there are numerous volcanoes, mostly inactive, that rise above. For much of the three days through this area, at the foot of these peaks, lies a gravel like surface, totally devoid of plant life, except a few lichens, and nothing more. From a distant view toward the feet of the peaks, the appearance is that of a massive beach, that extends for kilometers (metric system) rather than yards. The mountains and volcanoes have no vegetation as well, clearing exposing every wrinkle, fold and crevice of their form.

Throughout this landscape are a variety of unusual rock sightings, ghost like, some exposed by erosion, others blasted from afar by ancient volcanic eruption. Once exposed, ages of constant strong winds have carved the most unusual shapes. One area is named Valley of Rocks, thrown and scattered from great distances by ancient explosions. Another area, named Desert of Dali, references the similarity to a Salvidor painting, where isolated rocks are strategically placed intermittently on this flat, plantless, sandy floor, cast shadows providing the only contrast to the backdrop. But, I saw no limp clocks from my vista. The name, however, is appropriate.

Another constant to this lifeless place are constant lagunas. A few have aqua dulce, but most are saline. At these high altitudes in excess of 4,000 kms, they only support tiny micro organisms. This is not a tropical paradise, due to extreme cold, dry and windy conditions, and yet numerous flamingos feed on these tiny organisms, providing a contradiction to the otherwise lifeless environment. They are present everywhere. When the winds blow, as they almost always do, the minerals and microorganisms, are forced to the top, and the uniqueness of each produces a variety of colors on these lagunas, from red to green, black and white. Many lagunas are aptly named the color of their resulting surface sheen. The most unusual, and one of the largest, is named Laguna Colorado (red). I attempted with many photo shots, to capture some image of the bands of red of the surface, the blue of the sky, the white bands of salt deposits, and the pink of the flamingo. Difficult.

The last leg of the trip began at 5:00 AM to drive to a post above 5,000 km (about 17,000 feet) to see geysers at sunrise, against the sunrise, where wind chill was well below zero. Interesting, but very uncomfortable. On this day we continued to see several sites of thermal activity, strange rock formations, numerous volcanoes, and lagunas.

At one such stop over Laguna Verde (green), after a group photo, I lost my camera and its documentation of a month stay in Bolivia. After several miles to a checkpoint between Bolivia and Chile, where we dropped the Koreans to enter Chile, I discovered the loss. Immediately my mental state changed and I had to test my maturity of handling and accepting conditions beyond my control. My state was not positive. I did my best to rationalize, blame, hope, accept. Blame was due to my own carelessness. My greatest worry was to the lingering impact on my attitude, and to my feelings of my trip, the possibility my adventure would leave a very bad taste. But, the tour had to stay on schedule. After possibly 100 miles of further travel toward our return to Uyuni, with the continued thought of my loss, we encountered another tour group, of the dozens in the area. They asked if anyone had lost a camera. Elation. After many many thanks, and a prayer of grace, I had to reflect on my luck as to why, the possibility of such discovery in an area larger than many states, and to whether I had promised in my hopes more than I could give for the return. I am in a better place now.

Its one of those days, you can´t explain
When nothings right or wrong
Too much wine, or not enough
So you just play along.
Theres no rhyme or reason
Ain`t a damn thing you can do
Somedays you write the song
Somedays the song writes you.

Searching for a melody, to sing my soul asleep
Reaching for some harmony, down inside of me
Somedays you know just how it goes
Somedays you have no clue
Somedays you write the song
Somedays the song writes you.
(G.Clark)

Sucre 4/09/12

Had a bit of a jumpy week. There initially was a financial scare, but fortunately it can be resolved after my return. For a few days, the anxiety level challenged the Andean peaks. But, sometimes I am taken care of by the trust of others, and so all is well. So, finished upbeat with Pascua, the Easter weekend.

Good Friday evening I actually walked in a procession. I have observed others, but this was the first for me to walk within the crowd. I was never in a marching band, nor served in the military. I did march a few times in the 60´s antiwar protests. Plus, there have been numerous 10K, half and full marathon runs, but these have no similarity. With the protest marches there is some uniformity of committment, but chants, shouts, raised clinched fists and waving signs, just do not quite relate. Obvioulsy a more somber and less reactive flow of humanity stepped beside, behind and around the wooden carved images of Christ and Mary carried on the shoulders through the streets.

Crowd counting is not a skill set, but I have departed a few UT football games. I would say the numbers within the procession, along the streets and those awaiting anxiously in the plaza compared to the exodus of stadium exits. Considering the city is not much more than two hundred thousand, that makes a pretty good size participation.

I generally was beside the marching band that trailed the end of the procession. That way my steps generally matched the beat of the bass drum. I suppose the thoughts, emotions of each believer, shoulder to shoulder, tightly packed, varied. But, there were evident many who were certainly attached and sensitive to the moment, the scene and its representation , while others perhaps were fulfilling implied obligations of faith. For me, well I was curious to the impact of being near, yet open to the possibility of exposure, to what might happen if I let my self participate in the possibility.

Saturday, I left the house early to climb a nearby feature, maybe a little less than a 2,000 foot climb. Along the cobbled path are marked stages in memory of the last 13 stages of Christ´s life. I have seen similar marked walkways, the most impressive in Bogota. But, this was the longest, ending with a tall sculpture of Christ at the summit, overlooking the city, with a marvelous 360 degree view. Even with my early arrival at top, a number of others were, mostly Quechua, were there. Many created small rock altars against the foundation. Many had created small fires for these structures, imploring pardon or begging assistance. The typical mix of Christian and Quechua was visible. Several were passing around bottles of alcohol. Before each sip a few drops were poured on the ground for Pachamana, mother earth, under the outspread arms of Christ above.

Coming weekend is first bus trip.

If I could have the world and all it owns
A thousand kingdoms, a thousand thrones,
If all the earth were mine to hold
With wealth my only goal
I would spend my gold on selfish things
Without the love that your light brings.
Just a little bit more is all I´d need
Till life was torn from me.
I´d rather be in the palm of your hand
Though rich or poor I may be
Fate can see right through the circumstance
Sees the forest in spite of the trees
Your grace provides for me.
(Cox Family)

Sucre, April 4, 2012

There have been few adventures this week. Visits to museums, observance of marches, lines of school students. As I write this I am on a park bench in the central plaza. There is a march, for what, against what, I do not know. Even with the fireworks that always accompany these marches, the park visitors do not even flinch, nor even bother to look, I assume because such events are so common to be near boredom. Most marches circle the plaza, halt traffic, but rarely are accompanied by police presence. This issue seems to be about protest of government proposal to require greater hours for doctors without commensurate pay change.

Not all marches are political demonstrations, some for celebration, others for promotion or recognition. This Easter may provide additional viewings. And, there are the lines of students crowding the sidewalks, dressed in their blue or red uniform, depending on the school of choice.

Staying on base this week gave me time to visit museums of anthropology, art, ecclesiastical and even one on the history of masks. In a way all bind together. That common link is mysticism. All seem to represent some portrayal of belief system in the power and substance of non-scientific. Neither a pro nor con statement, it is simply an observation of the strength of belief, whether it be the numerous rituals of the catholic presence or the centuries old polydeity worship of the Incan or Aymaran descendents. I previously wrote of the witch market in La Paz. Natural remedies are common. I recently listened to the conversation between my home doctor father, his sister and Leo, the cholita of the house. Sister could not sleep, so Leo provided suggestion of some natural remedy, which also required some ritual involving a cross. The medical doctor seemed to have no problem with the recommendation, with questions following on where to purchase.

The anthropology museum was fairly interesting, showing development of tools, ceramics, textiles as well as mummies to display the preparation of dead for the afterlife. Thankfully Incan royalty is no longer present, for all servants and the favorite wives of the king would be buried with him after his death.

The mask museum was amusing. All had the beauty of hand made craft, some more advanced and colorful than others. The largest and most colorful and detailed were bigger than me. What a weight to carry to communicate to the spirits via dance, to attract spiritual help or to dispel the evil. Alas, photos no permiten, so my best was from the anthropology museum.

With my professor of the week, much of the discussion was about the central importance of the mystical in Bolivia. Some of the indigeneous believe their president is a reincarnation of Incan deity. Talk about the power of incumbency. An intesting story in the news is a Christ sculpture in Cochabamba shedding tears of blood this Semana Santa. Supposedly verified by scientific teams.

One final excursion was with my professor who showed me a side street, cobbled, next to a convent. As the story goes, a woman was rejected by the convent due to unwed pregnancy. In despair she killed baby and self and subsquently haunted the street. To ward off the evil an outdoor exorcism was conducted. So, as part of that ritual, human bones were placed in cross fashion in the street, in several locations along its length. Quite an eerie scene.