The best thing about countries like Bolivia are the black market -- yesterday, I went to a nontourist market that sells all contraband stuff. Sunglasses, electronics, all kinds of home goods sell for dirt, dirt cheap. I bought fabulous "designer" sunglasses for all of $6.
Today, Orieta and I head off to Cochabamba, her home town. The third largest city, Cochabamba lies in the center of Bolivia and hosts what is supposedly South America's largest open air market. Lonely Planet calls it nerveshattering ...
We'll see how I survive!
Friday, April 28, 2006
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
The Work
I realized that I haven't actually written much about what keeps me occupied on a daily basis. So, let's take a walk through a typical Bolivian day in the life of Lady V.
The day usually begins with a Bolivian breakfast -- coffee and bread with butter or jam -- over a Bible study. I make my way to the Renacer Home via two trufis, most of which do not feature working spedometers or gas gauges. Unlike the other shelters, The Renacer Home sits in Zona Sur, a good distance away from the downtown area where the street kids hang out. After all, street kids are pretty hard core, they huff paint thinner, they cut each other up, and they can be as young as 10 years old (actually, some are younger). Even if they step into a shelter, they're not exactly equipped to withstand the temptation of drugs and alcohol on the doorstep.
When I arrive at Renacer, I'm always greeted with an onslaught of hugs -- all six boys have been off the streets for about a year and they are starved for attention and affection. They're usually playing marbles in the front yard, which like most homes down here, is fenced off by a brick wall. For the most part, it's a good natured game :) I have a hard time imagining that these kids who are healthy, chattering and laughing used to live in makeshift shacks by the river. The Choqueyapu River, by the way, is supposedly the world's second most contaminated river, after The Ganges in India. It's estimated that about one-fifth of the trash produced in La Paz each day finds its way into the "river."
Around 9:30, we enter the one-room classroom, which is outfitted with a small chalkboard, a sparsely filled bookshelf, grey metal lockers for the kids' stuff, a desk for the teacher, four student desks, and a wooden table with two chairs from the dining table so the other two kids can sit somewhere. The world map on the wall is from 1986. What books they have are used or out of date, and there aren't enough to go around. The walls are modestly decorated with a few posters created by the kids or typical classroom pieces like a poster of the alphabet.
I generally help the teacher keep the kids in order and answer the millions of little questions they have. A lot of the pedagogy in Bolivia involves copying information from the blackboard and you wouldn't believe how many times they just want clarification on a word on the board. At least I can handle that! Meanwhile, there's always at least one kid who doesn't really understand what he is copying, so the teacher and I walk around and check up on them. The boys have an hour and a half of lessons, a short recess, then another hour or so in class before lunch. They cover all the normal topics, like math and science, social studies, language, physical education.
Today we talked about scientists and came up with ideas for inventions. I also led an acting workshop, where we practiced being "mirrors" and understanding how to pay attention to what the other actors around you are doing and how to react. Then, we acted out the story of Puss in Boots, which didn't end up being much like the story but I think we all had fun.
We also had a minor scuffle between two boys in the classroom and some cuss words were said, so discipline was the next lesson on the docket. An interesting topic actually - we're dealing with street kids who are still pretty fragile. They don't have the coping mechanisms of 'normal' children and the smallest thing will make them want to run away. So, the BCSP has a policy on disciplining and making sure the punishment fits the crime. There's even a policy on how to handle situations when a kids says he wants to leave. At first, they used to have a talk, try to reason with them, but wouldn't keep the kid in the home against his will. Then, they remembered that any other sane parent would simply send their 12-year-old kid to his room if he said something like that. Which is now the policy and it works. I know I've said this before, but the BSCP is about creating loving, solid, Christian homes for these children -- it's not about being a place to sleep.
The boys all have chores, like setting up the table or cleaning the bathroom, and they have been taught normal Bolivian etiquette and table manners. (Example: asking for permission to leave the table for any reason, saying "gracias" to everyone when you're done with your meal). I usually join them for lunch and we chat about football, what they did the day before, that sort of thing. They like to learn new words in English and always ask about what life is like in the U.S. I spent a good deal of lunchtime today trying to explain the Serengeti in Spanish.
Leaving is bittersweet. Again, hugs all around and they often ask me to stay longer and always ask when I'm coming back. As dear as these boys are to me now, after five or so hours, I'm always exhausted! (This trip has confirmed that the teacher's life is not for me, although I have an incredible new appreciation for our underpaid, underestimated, overworked teachers in America). The boys usually see me to the door, unless a really intense game of marbles is underway. On Monday, the newest boy even stood with me while I waited for a trufi, hailed it down for me, and opened the cardoor. Before coming to Renacer, he had been on the streets for around five years and though we don't know his exact age, he's probably 13. Even with limited resources, just few books, and a tough past, he's turning into quite the little gentleman!
The day usually begins with a Bolivian breakfast -- coffee and bread with butter or jam -- over a Bible study. I make my way to the Renacer Home via two trufis, most of which do not feature working spedometers or gas gauges. Unlike the other shelters, The Renacer Home sits in Zona Sur, a good distance away from the downtown area where the street kids hang out. After all, street kids are pretty hard core, they huff paint thinner, they cut each other up, and they can be as young as 10 years old (actually, some are younger). Even if they step into a shelter, they're not exactly equipped to withstand the temptation of drugs and alcohol on the doorstep.
When I arrive at Renacer, I'm always greeted with an onslaught of hugs -- all six boys have been off the streets for about a year and they are starved for attention and affection. They're usually playing marbles in the front yard, which like most homes down here, is fenced off by a brick wall. For the most part, it's a good natured game :) I have a hard time imagining that these kids who are healthy, chattering and laughing used to live in makeshift shacks by the river. The Choqueyapu River, by the way, is supposedly the world's second most contaminated river, after The Ganges in India. It's estimated that about one-fifth of the trash produced in La Paz each day finds its way into the "river."
Around 9:30, we enter the one-room classroom, which is outfitted with a small chalkboard, a sparsely filled bookshelf, grey metal lockers for the kids' stuff, a desk for the teacher, four student desks, and a wooden table with two chairs from the dining table so the other two kids can sit somewhere. The world map on the wall is from 1986. What books they have are used or out of date, and there aren't enough to go around. The walls are modestly decorated with a few posters created by the kids or typical classroom pieces like a poster of the alphabet.
I generally help the teacher keep the kids in order and answer the millions of little questions they have. A lot of the pedagogy in Bolivia involves copying information from the blackboard and you wouldn't believe how many times they just want clarification on a word on the board. At least I can handle that! Meanwhile, there's always at least one kid who doesn't really understand what he is copying, so the teacher and I walk around and check up on them. The boys have an hour and a half of lessons, a short recess, then another hour or so in class before lunch. They cover all the normal topics, like math and science, social studies, language, physical education.
Today we talked about scientists and came up with ideas for inventions. I also led an acting workshop, where we practiced being "mirrors" and understanding how to pay attention to what the other actors around you are doing and how to react. Then, we acted out the story of Puss in Boots, which didn't end up being much like the story but I think we all had fun.
We also had a minor scuffle between two boys in the classroom and some cuss words were said, so discipline was the next lesson on the docket. An interesting topic actually - we're dealing with street kids who are still pretty fragile. They don't have the coping mechanisms of 'normal' children and the smallest thing will make them want to run away. So, the BCSP has a policy on disciplining and making sure the punishment fits the crime. There's even a policy on how to handle situations when a kids says he wants to leave. At first, they used to have a talk, try to reason with them, but wouldn't keep the kid in the home against his will. Then, they remembered that any other sane parent would simply send their 12-year-old kid to his room if he said something like that. Which is now the policy and it works. I know I've said this before, but the BSCP is about creating loving, solid, Christian homes for these children -- it's not about being a place to sleep.
The boys all have chores, like setting up the table or cleaning the bathroom, and they have been taught normal Bolivian etiquette and table manners. (Example: asking for permission to leave the table for any reason, saying "gracias" to everyone when you're done with your meal). I usually join them for lunch and we chat about football, what they did the day before, that sort of thing. They like to learn new words in English and always ask about what life is like in the U.S. I spent a good deal of lunchtime today trying to explain the Serengeti in Spanish.
Leaving is bittersweet. Again, hugs all around and they often ask me to stay longer and always ask when I'm coming back. As dear as these boys are to me now, after five or so hours, I'm always exhausted! (This trip has confirmed that the teacher's life is not for me, although I have an incredible new appreciation for our underpaid, underestimated, overworked teachers in America). The boys usually see me to the door, unless a really intense game of marbles is underway. On Monday, the newest boy even stood with me while I waited for a trufi, hailed it down for me, and opened the cardoor. Before coming to Renacer, he had been on the streets for around five years and though we don't know his exact age, he's probably 13. Even with limited resources, just few books, and a tough past, he's turning into quite the little gentleman!
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Tiwanaku
Tiwanaku. A civilization which ended at least 200 years before the Incas existed. That's pretty mindblowing. Unfortunately, the Tiwanaku ceremonial site has been so looted over the years that we don't know much about them. (In fact, the nearby town church was built using many of the stones from the ruins). Luckily, new discoveries are made every year -- I think just last year, they realized that there were mummies underground and a whole maze of tunnels and tombs.Speaking of tunnels, I needed one as I attempted to catch the tourist bus to Tiwanaku. The morning had started off relatively well - I managed to wake up on time after the late night wedding party, had hopped into a cab, and was enjoying a nice chat with driver when we kept getting diverted by the traffic cops. Come to find out that of all the 365 mornings of the year, the morning of April 22, 2006 just happened to be the day of the biggest marathon in La Paz. Go figure. Naturally, the marathon course followed the one main road of La Paz and, naturally, that was the one road that I needed to cross to get to the bus. With three minutes before departure, I hastily called the tourist company, who told me that the bus wouldn't leave until 8:30 and that I should proceed to the storefront.
After frantically searching for a tunnel to cross under the road, I gave up and just crossed the road when there was a break in runners. I don't think the police saw me. I finally arrived at the storefront, where Luisa was waiting for me -- not to walk me to the bus but to tell me her life story, which included working as a maid for the American Embassy, being wrongfully accused of stealing, getting married, and becoming a tourist company agent. After this 45-minute chat with Luisa, a woman named Lucy appeared, who walked me to where Isabel was standing, who walked me to the bus, which was filled with tourists who had been waiting 45 minutes for me. Typical Bolivian communication breakdown. And don't even ask why it took three different women to get me to the bus.
We finally got on the road and I made nice with the other folks, who were from Ecuador, Germany, France, Belgium, Holland, England and Australia. And they had all been traveling for at least 2 weeks, with 3-7 more weeks ahead of them. I was green with envy. The French woman was also green, but with a stomach bug that forced us to pull over while she vomited. That earned her the title of "most-hated tourist on the bus" instead of me. Was it bad of me to think that?
Anyway, the ruins themselves aren't actually much to look at right now. There are some impressive monoliths (above) and the incredible carved Gateway of the Sun (left) made of one single stone, but it's nothing like Machu Picchu (or so I've heard. Haven't made it there in person yet). That's about it. Still, having been built between the 4th and 8th century AD, Tiwanaku makes your imagination run wild -- how did these people transport 25-ton stone blocks, which had to have come from either Lake Titicaca (40km away) or the nearest sandstone site (5km away)? And how did they figure out that the site of the Akapana pyramid is equidistant from the two highest mountains in the distance? How did they build the Kalasasaya temple so that the sun's rays would would cut through it diagonally and perpendicularly on the solstices and equinoxes? Just amazing, thrilling, and magical stuff.We stopped for lunch at a local restaurant, where I ordered the fish because I didn't have enough nerve to order the llama. But the nice Swiss man offered me a bite of his llama lunch. It was delicious, and evidently is much healthier for you than any other meat.
We arrived back in La Paz about 45 minutes later than scheduled.
The View
Got a chance to snap a photo of my first view of La Paz. It's a little misty, but you can see why I'll never forget it and why I want to share it with you. The snowcovered mountain in the distance is Illumani. Enjoy.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Dancing with Napkins
I got myself invited to a Bolivian wedding last night! And I didn't even know who was getting married until I was being driven to the church. (At least it wasn't my own wedding). What happened was that Orieta made me cancel my trip down the World's Most Dangerous Road to enjoy free food and dancing. Not a bad trade off.
Since I hadn't anticipated attending a Bolivian wedding (I mean, who does, really?) none of my clothing was appropriate. But Orieta came to the rescue again, borrowing a formal black dress and shoes from a friend. Orieta, by the way, has very useful friends, including a parking lot attendent who moonlights as a tailer and a woman who comes to her house to sell clothes from a store in Spain at a fraction of the price. I can't say the arrangement strikes me as completely legal, but at least I'm getting some fabulous clothes tailored to fit me perfectly ...
But back to the wedding. It was all fun and good -- Orieta's 20-something nephew oogled the new Asian girl (um, that would be me) for awhile before asking her to dance and then later that night, I somehow got stuck dancing with a 76-year-old wrinkled Bolivian man who really, honestly thought he had moves.
My second favorite part of the evening was when the music periodically switched from Bolivian to American. Specifically, during the cake cutting bit, the DJ played James Blunt's "You're Beautiful." Now, if you don't know the song, it's about a boy who never gets the girl of his dreams. I kept wanting to ask if they actually knew what the song was about, but figured I should just keep my mouth shut.
My all-time favorite part of the evening was when the music switched to traditional Bolivian tunes. Suddenly, the dance floor was PACKED with Bolivians waving white napkins. I have no idea what the napkins are about, but aside from the one moment when I needed to clean the cake off my fingers, it was such a joy to watch these people dance! They were having such a great time, all ages, all sizes, all dance abilities - it was as though the highlight of the evening had suddenly arrived, like when you're at a club and the mediocre music is played at first, but then two hours before closing time, they just crank it up with the fabulous tunes that get everyone doing their D-Qwon dance moves. It was just like that! In Spanish.
It really is too bad that Americans don't have dances that transcend generations like that. (The chicken dance and the electric slide do NOT count). As much as I love to shake things up, there is something so wonderful about traditional music and dance, especially in a country like Bolivia that has just been through so much hardship. The dances always symbolize something; they are reminders of past joys and sorrows; they are beloved by young and old alike.
The evening finally came to a close for Orieta and me around 1am (even though we were supposed to leave at 9pm). It was a struggle waking up this morning -- to get to the Tiwanaku ruins, I had to catch an early bus. Which ended up having to wait 45 minutes for me because of a marathon and a talkative maid-turned-tourist agent. But more on that later when I piece together my thoughts and post up a few pictures.
Since I hadn't anticipated attending a Bolivian wedding (I mean, who does, really?) none of my clothing was appropriate. But Orieta came to the rescue again, borrowing a formal black dress and shoes from a friend. Orieta, by the way, has very useful friends, including a parking lot attendent who moonlights as a tailer and a woman who comes to her house to sell clothes from a store in Spain at a fraction of the price. I can't say the arrangement strikes me as completely legal, but at least I'm getting some fabulous clothes tailored to fit me perfectly ...
But back to the wedding. It was all fun and good -- Orieta's 20-something nephew oogled the new Asian girl (um, that would be me) for awhile before asking her to dance and then later that night, I somehow got stuck dancing with a 76-year-old wrinkled Bolivian man who really, honestly thought he had moves.
My second favorite part of the evening was when the music periodically switched from Bolivian to American. Specifically, during the cake cutting bit, the DJ played James Blunt's "You're Beautiful." Now, if you don't know the song, it's about a boy who never gets the girl of his dreams. I kept wanting to ask if they actually knew what the song was about, but figured I should just keep my mouth shut.
My all-time favorite part of the evening was when the music switched to traditional Bolivian tunes. Suddenly, the dance floor was PACKED with Bolivians waving white napkins. I have no idea what the napkins are about, but aside from the one moment when I needed to clean the cake off my fingers, it was such a joy to watch these people dance! They were having such a great time, all ages, all sizes, all dance abilities - it was as though the highlight of the evening had suddenly arrived, like when you're at a club and the mediocre music is played at first, but then two hours before closing time, they just crank it up with the fabulous tunes that get everyone doing their D-Qwon dance moves. It was just like that! In Spanish.
It really is too bad that Americans don't have dances that transcend generations like that. (The chicken dance and the electric slide do NOT count). As much as I love to shake things up, there is something so wonderful about traditional music and dance, especially in a country like Bolivia that has just been through so much hardship. The dances always symbolize something; they are reminders of past joys and sorrows; they are beloved by young and old alike.
The evening finally came to a close for Orieta and me around 1am (even though we were supposed to leave at 9pm). It was a struggle waking up this morning -- to get to the Tiwanaku ruins, I had to catch an early bus. Which ended up having to wait 45 minutes for me because of a marathon and a talkative maid-turned-tourist agent. But more on that later when I piece together my thoughts and post up a few pictures.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
House vs. Home
I came down to Bolivia for a two main reasons -- to better understand how U.S. organzations can partner with organizations in other countries to solve social injustices, and because my faith demands that I live a life serving other people.
More than anything else so far, I've learned the difference between a house and a home. Houses, or shelters, are what most organizations down here provide for street children. In those buildings, the kids maybe can get a little food and at least sleep under a roof without the stench of the sewer at night. And when morning comes, they're back on the streets to fend for themselves.
But The Bolivian Street Children Project is pretty much the only organization in La Paz that serves these kids by providing the love and security of a home and a family. BSCP is hardly an orphanage -- I remember John telling me on my first or second day here that what they strive for is to give these children their childhood back, a childhood robbed by drugs, prostitution, absent or abusive parents, and violence. The kids in the Barnabas and Renacer Homes have a family -- they have "adopted parents," they receive respect and education, they have a name, discipline, role models, security and love. And while I'm often convicted by the material things I take for granted, I'm struck this time by these intangibles that I overlook.
I understand more profoundly why love is the main topic of the Bible. For those of you haven't read it, the Bible isn't actually about right wing radicals, abortion, homosexuality, do's and don'ts, and fire and brimstone. Someone once said that it's the story of God's romance with the world. A love story, not a trashy smut novel. (Although, it's kind of amusing to imagine Fabio as Jesus on the cover of the Bible).
Regardless, all this talk about love, houses and homes reminds me that a heavenly home is built for me but until I get there, it's my job to build an earthly home for anyone else who needs one. And I don't need power tools, carpentry skills, and a hard hat to do it.
More than anything else so far, I've learned the difference between a house and a home. Houses, or shelters, are what most organizations down here provide for street children. In those buildings, the kids maybe can get a little food and at least sleep under a roof without the stench of the sewer at night. And when morning comes, they're back on the streets to fend for themselves.
But The Bolivian Street Children Project is pretty much the only organization in La Paz that serves these kids by providing the love and security of a home and a family. BSCP is hardly an orphanage -- I remember John telling me on my first or second day here that what they strive for is to give these children their childhood back, a childhood robbed by drugs, prostitution, absent or abusive parents, and violence. The kids in the Barnabas and Renacer Homes have a family -- they have "adopted parents," they receive respect and education, they have a name, discipline, role models, security and love. And while I'm often convicted by the material things I take for granted, I'm struck this time by these intangibles that I overlook.
I understand more profoundly why love is the main topic of the Bible. For those of you haven't read it, the Bible isn't actually about right wing radicals, abortion, homosexuality, do's and don'ts, and fire and brimstone. Someone once said that it's the story of God's romance with the world. A love story, not a trashy smut novel. (Although, it's kind of amusing to imagine Fabio as Jesus on the cover of the Bible).
Regardless, all this talk about love, houses and homes reminds me that a heavenly home is built for me but until I get there, it's my job to build an earthly home for anyone else who needs one. And I don't need power tools, carpentry skills, and a hard hat to do it.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Don't you wish you were here?
Welcome to Lake Titicaca. You can make fun of the name all you want, but I know you would rather be here than wherever you currently find yourself.However, I'm not sure you would want to get to the Lake in the same way that I and two other Americans did. Instead of paying $75 to be crammed into a slow-moving minibus with a big tour group, Todd, Carna and I decided to rent a car and drive ourselves to save money. We tried to get a road map from La Paz to Copacabana, but discovered it wasn't very helpful. The only thing the map showed was one line between the two towns ... But, since there is literally only one road you can take, I guess there's not much else to show.
Traveling the solitary road to Copacabana is like traveling back in time 200 years. Adobe brick houses, women in traditional, colorful Bolivian garb, herds of sheep, hairy pigs, cows and donkeys crossing in front of your car. We had planned to stop at a town called Huatajata but we blinked and accidently drove through it without realizing it.
About an hour and a half through the journey, we caught our first glimpse of the Lake from above ... which is what I've posted for you. And that was hardly the best view! The coolest part about the drive to Copacabana is winding through the mountains because you occasionally lose view of the lake, then you go around the bend, and bam! Another view of the lake, even better the previous one.
Two hours into the journey, the road just ends. Yep, it just ends at the water. You have to float your car across on a rickety wooden barge to get to the road, which continues on the other side of the straight. Check out what we saw from our barge - does anyone else see something wrong with the picture below??
Anyway, we finally got ourselves to Copacabana, the biggest little town on the Bolivian side of the Lake, and enjoyed an unforgettably tasty trout lunch. The highlight of Lake Titicaca is exploring La Isla Del Sol (Island of the Sun). But to get there, you have to get a boat ... which you pay for by the motor! It's the same boat, but if you want to use two motors, it costs $60, while it only costs $30 to use one motor. Our solution was to officially pay for one motor and slip an extra 50Bs ($6) into the hands of the boat driver. (FYI, it is cheaper to charter a private boat on Lake Titicaca than to go to DisneyWorld. Which would you rather do?)On the Island, you can explore the ancient Inca ruins -- in fact, some Incan legend says the first Incas were actually born here, out of Lake Titicaca. I wish we could have spent more time on the Island; I would have loved to camp out here for a night or two. But at least we timed our return trip perfectly -- as we left Copacabana, dusk was just setting in and I watched the colors of the sky change over Lake Titicaca, from clear blue, to indigo, to orange, until the inky blue-black of night crept toward the horizon and enveloped it. Remarkable.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
A few pictures
La Paz from the top of the San Francisco Church.(See, Mom and Dad, I told you it was a real city!)
The Valley of the Moon. We hiked around this bizarre maze of eroded sandstone; saw cactus. Cool, but totally not OSHA-approved.
One of the views of La Paz from El Valle de la Luna. Just imagine what this looks like on a clear, sunny day!
Monday, April 17, 2006
Children are children
In case you didn´t already know, kids are kids are kids. Note the similarities between Bolivian and American children:
1. They would rather play than take baths.
2. They ask a lot of questions.
3. They listen to Madonna and Eminem.
4. They play soccer/football.
5. They like to draw and they don´t always color inside the lines
6. They call each other by funny nicknames, like Tomato.
The only two differences that I´ve noticed so far is that the Bolivian kids speak Spanish and even at two years old, they aren´t put into car seats. (The babies help drive or perhaps they are navigating while sitting in the lap of the adult). Of course, at this point, I´m talking about well-adjusted kids.
Today was my first day at work with the five boys in the Renacer Home. Thanks to their wonderful and ultra-patient teacher, we learned about the ecosystems of Bolivia, talked about the climate, the flora and fauna of each ecosystem, and discussed the importance of taking care of the environment. Wow, that took me back to sixth grade, when I wore thick glasses and wore a mess of hair. The Renacer kids are way cooler than the Vanessa of fifth grade, that´s for sure.
Today was also my first day on the streets to meet the other kids without homes. I kinda wish I had super funny things to say right about now, but all I´m focused on is the chemical smell of paint thinner that was constantly huffed by the kids during our three-hour visit; the putrid odors of the river/sewer where the kids used to live before the police destroyed their makeshift shelters; the cute little braids worn by the 8-month-old baby girl with the doped-up parents; and the reddened eyes of the woman who sells thinner to these streetkids.
But if I concentrate hard enough, I can focus on all the laughter as we played football with the kids; the fun of letting one of the boys teach me a street game; and the challenge of teaching Bolivian kids to count in Chinese. And I can think about the Renacer boys and how far they must have come from their previous lives. Most importantly -- I can hope for the future of the little boy who, tonight, took his first step off the streets to live at Renacer.
1. They would rather play than take baths.
2. They ask a lot of questions.
3. They listen to Madonna and Eminem.
4. They play soccer/football.
5. They like to draw and they don´t always color inside the lines
6. They call each other by funny nicknames, like Tomato.
The only two differences that I´ve noticed so far is that the Bolivian kids speak Spanish and even at two years old, they aren´t put into car seats. (The babies help drive or perhaps they are navigating while sitting in the lap of the adult). Of course, at this point, I´m talking about well-adjusted kids.
Today was my first day at work with the five boys in the Renacer Home. Thanks to their wonderful and ultra-patient teacher, we learned about the ecosystems of Bolivia, talked about the climate, the flora and fauna of each ecosystem, and discussed the importance of taking care of the environment. Wow, that took me back to sixth grade, when I wore thick glasses and wore a mess of hair. The Renacer kids are way cooler than the Vanessa of fifth grade, that´s for sure.
Today was also my first day on the streets to meet the other kids without homes. I kinda wish I had super funny things to say right about now, but all I´m focused on is the chemical smell of paint thinner that was constantly huffed by the kids during our three-hour visit; the putrid odors of the river/sewer where the kids used to live before the police destroyed their makeshift shelters; the cute little braids worn by the 8-month-old baby girl with the doped-up parents; and the reddened eyes of the woman who sells thinner to these streetkids.
But if I concentrate hard enough, I can focus on all the laughter as we played football with the kids; the fun of letting one of the boys teach me a street game; and the challenge of teaching Bolivian kids to count in Chinese. And I can think about the Renacer boys and how far they must have come from their previous lives. Most importantly -- I can hope for the future of the little boy who, tonight, took his first step off the streets to live at Renacer.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
That´s not supposed to be a seat
The best way to get around Bolivia is via "trufi", these shared taxis (just regular sedans) that simply pick up 5 random people and drop them off at the appropriate street corner. You know their approximate route by the sign in the front window that will say something like "Los Pinos" or "Irapavi". Only a picture will truly depict what these vehicles look like, but suffice it to say that Boston cabs are in mint condition compared to these cars. But from where I live, it doesn´t cost more than $3Bs to get to wherever I want to be. (That´s about 37 cents, so you can understand why they don´t purr like kittens; it´s more like a loud sputter of a dying mountain lion). But the trufis are fantastic and just ooze with character.
Yesterday, I took a trufi by myself for the first time. Two, actually -- I had to make a connection :) The first one was rather nondescript, typical green flags flapping from the grill, big sign in the front window that completely blocks the view from the passenger side. The second trufi, however, had suffered an attack from what must have been an avalanche. The sign of impact radiated from the middle of the front window and the body of the car wasn´t looking so hot either. But he was going to where I needed to be. Seeing three people in the back seat, I hopped in the front and waited for the driver to start the engine. Then one more passenger showed up. If you were paying attention at the beginning of this blog, you should be wondering how a typical 4-door sedan fits 5 passengers and a driver.
The answer is that it doesn´t. But Bolivians make it happen. I had to slide over and sit on the console of the car, with my legs over to the passenger side because, of course, all these cars are manual, not automatic. There are no seatbelts on pretend seats, by the way. And away we went, up the bumpy roads, dodging stray dogs, manic drivers, and pedestrians.
The ride was worth it, though, because I met the boys in the homes for the first time. And they are such good kids. We walked into the Renacer Home (which means Renaissance Home - the kids picked the name themselves, by the way) and the five boys were watching Star Wars (the first episode). They hopped up to meet us, shake hands, give saludos (the cheek kiss thing). We finished the movie with them and headed outside to play a bit of football (aka soccer). I managed to last about 15 minutes before wanting to rip out my weak lungs and die. And then I realized they were only warming up. And that we had to walk to the real soccer field. And I was very very wrong to think that the field was a short walk away. They made me scale down a freakin´ mountain, and then up another mountain so they could play a real game. I think us two Americanos arrived a good 7-10 minutes after most of the kids. Um, no thanks. I sat on the bleachers to cheer them on. Now, THAT was a real seat.
Yesterday, I took a trufi by myself for the first time. Two, actually -- I had to make a connection :) The first one was rather nondescript, typical green flags flapping from the grill, big sign in the front window that completely blocks the view from the passenger side. The second trufi, however, had suffered an attack from what must have been an avalanche. The sign of impact radiated from the middle of the front window and the body of the car wasn´t looking so hot either. But he was going to where I needed to be. Seeing three people in the back seat, I hopped in the front and waited for the driver to start the engine. Then one more passenger showed up. If you were paying attention at the beginning of this blog, you should be wondering how a typical 4-door sedan fits 5 passengers and a driver.
The answer is that it doesn´t. But Bolivians make it happen. I had to slide over and sit on the console of the car, with my legs over to the passenger side because, of course, all these cars are manual, not automatic. There are no seatbelts on pretend seats, by the way. And away we went, up the bumpy roads, dodging stray dogs, manic drivers, and pedestrians.
The ride was worth it, though, because I met the boys in the homes for the first time. And they are such good kids. We walked into the Renacer Home (which means Renaissance Home - the kids picked the name themselves, by the way) and the five boys were watching Star Wars (the first episode). They hopped up to meet us, shake hands, give saludos (the cheek kiss thing). We finished the movie with them and headed outside to play a bit of football (aka soccer). I managed to last about 15 minutes before wanting to rip out my weak lungs and die. And then I realized they were only warming up. And that we had to walk to the real soccer field. And I was very very wrong to think that the field was a short walk away. They made me scale down a freakin´ mountain, and then up another mountain so they could play a real game. I think us two Americanos arrived a good 7-10 minutes after most of the kids. Um, no thanks. I sat on the bleachers to cheer them on. Now, THAT was a real seat.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
He llegado!
For the rest of my life, I'll never forget my first view of La Paz. (FYI -- not from the plane; i was still sleeping, of course). When you leave the airport, you drive through the neighborhood called El Alto, the poor part of town. Oddly enough, La Paz's neighborhoods are kind of reversed, compared to American standards. The poor people live at the higher altitude and the affluent live lower down the mountain.
Anyway, you drive through El Alto and can't help but notice that red lights are merely suggestions at 6 a.m., that three cars can actually fit across a two lane road, and public transportation involves hopping on a minibus while it's still moving. The driving wasn't quite as terrifying as in Beijing but then again, it was only 6 a.m.
But you get passed the craziness and suddenly, you find yourself on a winding road on the side of a mountain and the most breathtaking vista breaks before you -- the city of La Paz below you, nestled between mountains with the morning mist just lifing and the snow-covered peak of Illumani looming in the distance. Oh. My. God. You can't actually speak when you see that for the first time. Yes, even I was speechless and that view will be emblazoned in my memory for eternity.
I'm staying with a lovely couple in Zona Sur, the nicer part of the city. And you can very quickly tell when you cross into Zona Sur from the downtown area -- beautiful houses with flowers, trees and nicely manicured lawns. Orieta and Saul live in an apartment building on the fifth floor -- and I'm almost embarrassed to say that I was huffing and puffing by the time I got to their door. You don't really think the altitude has affected you until you climb a flight of stairs and you're light headed, with your heart pounding, gasping for air.
Luckily for me, John and Michelle haven't planned out a very rigid schedule for me, so there's plenty of time and space for spontaneous travel and events. We shall see what the next 27 days have in store ...
Anyway, you drive through El Alto and can't help but notice that red lights are merely suggestions at 6 a.m., that three cars can actually fit across a two lane road, and public transportation involves hopping on a minibus while it's still moving. The driving wasn't quite as terrifying as in Beijing but then again, it was only 6 a.m.
But you get passed the craziness and suddenly, you find yourself on a winding road on the side of a mountain and the most breathtaking vista breaks before you -- the city of La Paz below you, nestled between mountains with the morning mist just lifing and the snow-covered peak of Illumani looming in the distance. Oh. My. God. You can't actually speak when you see that for the first time. Yes, even I was speechless and that view will be emblazoned in my memory for eternity.
I'm staying with a lovely couple in Zona Sur, the nicer part of the city. And you can very quickly tell when you cross into Zona Sur from the downtown area -- beautiful houses with flowers, trees and nicely manicured lawns. Orieta and Saul live in an apartment building on the fifth floor -- and I'm almost embarrassed to say that I was huffing and puffing by the time I got to their door. You don't really think the altitude has affected you until you climb a flight of stairs and you're light headed, with your heart pounding, gasping for air.
Luckily for me, John and Michelle haven't planned out a very rigid schedule for me, so there's plenty of time and space for spontaneous travel and events. We shall see what the next 27 days have in store ...
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
I'm outta here!
The day of departure is finally here and my fingers are all tingly. Not actually from excitement, but from the alititude sickeness drugs that I started taking last night.
Regardless, my flight leaves at 6:15 p.m.
Which means I need to leave now for the airport. Ciao!
Regardless, my flight leaves at 6:15 p.m.
Which means I need to leave now for the airport. Ciao!
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
BFF with Delivery Men
Digressing from Bolivia for a day, I'm reflecting on my series of relationship flings with mail delivery men. It began last December when my old car, Scooter, betrayed me in the middle lane of a busy Boston highway during a blizzard. I had decided to drive into work that morning in the snow, then left at noon to avoid the really bad part of the storm. Bad planning. Since all of the other crazies, like me, had the same brilliant idea, we all got trapped in a white-out on the highway. The snow was hurdling from the sky as though terrorized by the ominous grey cloud covering. Frustrated with the rapid snow accumulation, I, like so many other drivers, hopped out of my car to brush the snow from my windows.
To my utter dismay, when I tried to reenter my vehicle, I discovered that the electrical problems (which I had ignored earlier that day) became a full grown disaster. The car had locked itself. Damn. There I was ... in the middle lane ... of a busy highway... alone ... with nothing more than my coat, one glove and a snow scraper. I peered into my car and gazed longingly at my wallet, purse, cell phone and Blackberry.
What was I to do? Couldn't smash the window with my elbow. Couldn't call AAA. All I could do was look around frantically and settled my gaze upon the FedEx delivery truck behind my car. Mustering up my courage, pride, and composure, I approached the driver and meekly reported that my car had locked itself and could I please borrow his cell phone? He promptly told me that he had been laughing at me but sure, here's the phone.
John, the FedEx driver, told me that he'd be fired if he gave me a lift, but out of the goodness of his dear, blessed heart, he told me to get in anyway, since he couldn't leave me in the middle of the freakin' highway in the middle of a freakin' blizzard. The long version of this story includes a pause at the highway rest stop where I unsuccesfully begged a TV news crew to take me back to Boston, losing my car in the towtruck shuffle, and discovering that someone pushed my car into a snowbank after I abandoned it. But today's key point was that John, the angelic FedEx driver, took me to the Ground Round, gave me $20 for food and drink (alcoholic of course), and returned after his route to check up on me while I waited for my boyfriend to arrive. It was short-lived but memorable one-night stand.
My second fling with a delivery man happened only yesterday. I missed a UPS delivery and called the 800 number to arrange for a pickup. The telephone lady told me that the delivery guy would be taking a break at 4:45 at the monument and I could meet him there. Now, there's nothing at the monument. No cafe, no shops. Hmmm...But, wanting my new iPod case before leaving the country, I warily made my way toward the monument where I found two empty UPS trucks and three UPS drivers hanging out in the third truck. Sure enough, UPS man gave me the package and I signed for it out the back of a truck. Surely this is how illegal transactions are completed?
But I end my musings with a love note. Today, upon returning from my errands, I found yet another yellow and brown UPS missed delivery notice. But instead of the usual scrawled notes of "signature required" or "call for pick-up," my notice said "Same time, same place."
What can Brown do for you? Indeed...
To my utter dismay, when I tried to reenter my vehicle, I discovered that the electrical problems (which I had ignored earlier that day) became a full grown disaster. The car had locked itself. Damn. There I was ... in the middle lane ... of a busy highway... alone ... with nothing more than my coat, one glove and a snow scraper. I peered into my car and gazed longingly at my wallet, purse, cell phone and Blackberry.
What was I to do? Couldn't smash the window with my elbow. Couldn't call AAA. All I could do was look around frantically and settled my gaze upon the FedEx delivery truck behind my car. Mustering up my courage, pride, and composure, I approached the driver and meekly reported that my car had locked itself and could I please borrow his cell phone? He promptly told me that he had been laughing at me but sure, here's the phone.
John, the FedEx driver, told me that he'd be fired if he gave me a lift, but out of the goodness of his dear, blessed heart, he told me to get in anyway, since he couldn't leave me in the middle of the freakin' highway in the middle of a freakin' blizzard. The long version of this story includes a pause at the highway rest stop where I unsuccesfully begged a TV news crew to take me back to Boston, losing my car in the towtruck shuffle, and discovering that someone pushed my car into a snowbank after I abandoned it. But today's key point was that John, the angelic FedEx driver, took me to the Ground Round, gave me $20 for food and drink (alcoholic of course), and returned after his route to check up on me while I waited for my boyfriend to arrive. It was short-lived but memorable one-night stand.
My second fling with a delivery man happened only yesterday. I missed a UPS delivery and called the 800 number to arrange for a pickup. The telephone lady told me that the delivery guy would be taking a break at 4:45 at the monument and I could meet him there. Now, there's nothing at the monument. No cafe, no shops. Hmmm...But, wanting my new iPod case before leaving the country, I warily made my way toward the monument where I found two empty UPS trucks and three UPS drivers hanging out in the third truck. Sure enough, UPS man gave me the package and I signed for it out the back of a truck. Surely this is how illegal transactions are completed?
But I end my musings with a love note. Today, upon returning from my errands, I found yet another yellow and brown UPS missed delivery notice. But instead of the usual scrawled notes of "signature required" or "call for pick-up," my notice said "Same time, same place."
What can Brown do for you? Indeed...
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
The remedy
April 3, T minus 8: My first day of true freedom from Big Red and The Iguana! I never knew that being unpaid, uninsured and unemployed could bring such happiness to my heart. Monday was like a Saturday! With an open schedule before me, I arose, cooked breakfast, did the laundry, went grocery shopping, and made a few phone calls to sort out scholarships, insurance and, of course, the plane ticket to Bolivia.
Luckily, the air mile angels were smiling down upon me. My new American Airlines agent solved the problem and by that evening, I possessed the confirmation number of a first/business class ticket to La Paz! However, the joy and elation of finally obtaining the ticket was soon superceded by the machinations of my worried parents, who aren't thrilled with the idea of their eldest daughter traipsing around a developing country by herself and hanging out with street children high on paint thinner. You can understand, I'm sure. Here's an excerpt (almost verbatim) of our conversation last night:
"You need to bring Clariten to Bolivia!"
"Huh? I haven't had a single allergy for the 26 years of my life!"
"Well, you might develop one while you're out there."
"What am I going to develop an allergy of? Elevation?"
"You never know. And speaking of elevation, you need to ask your people in Bolivia if they can get you a bottle of oxygen."
"uhhh..."
"I talked to someone who traveled to Bolivia and he had a bottle of oxygen delivered to his room. He said taking a few hits of it really helped with altitude sickness."
"Did you really just say 'take a few hits'?"
"Make sure you ask where you can get oxygen!"
"Well...um. Sure. I guess I can ask my host family where to get oxygen..."
I wisely declined to tell them about the local remedy to altitude sickness -- coca leaf tea.
Luckily, the air mile angels were smiling down upon me. My new American Airlines agent solved the problem and by that evening, I possessed the confirmation number of a first/business class ticket to La Paz! However, the joy and elation of finally obtaining the ticket was soon superceded by the machinations of my worried parents, who aren't thrilled with the idea of their eldest daughter traipsing around a developing country by herself and hanging out with street children high on paint thinner. You can understand, I'm sure. Here's an excerpt (almost verbatim) of our conversation last night:
"You need to bring Clariten to Bolivia!"
"Huh? I haven't had a single allergy for the 26 years of my life!"
"Well, you might develop one while you're out there."
"What am I going to develop an allergy of? Elevation?"
"You never know. And speaking of elevation, you need to ask your people in Bolivia if they can get you a bottle of oxygen."
"uhhh..."
"I talked to someone who traveled to Bolivia and he had a bottle of oxygen delivered to his room. He said taking a few hits of it really helped with altitude sickness."
"Did you really just say 'take a few hits'?"
"Make sure you ask where you can get oxygen!"
"Well...um. Sure. I guess I can ask my host family where to get oxygen..."
I wisely declined to tell them about the local remedy to altitude sickness -- coca leaf tea.
Countdown to Bolivia
A hearty hello to you, the noblest and brightest of all! As promised, I herewith commit to you that I will blog my time in Bolivia with the Bolivian Street Children's Project. And since the trip preparations have been nearly as dramatic as I'm sure the trip itself will be, I'm starting early.
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April 2, T minus 9: I put into motion the mysterious workings of air mile travel. Why spend $1000 to buy a cattle-class seat when I can blow all my miles from Big Red and fly like a true lady in first/business class? Unfortunately for me, I was 16,000 miles short of the cheapest plane ticket known to mankind from Boston to Bolivia. Hellooooo, Dad to the rescue!
Again, unfortunately for me, the uncooperative (and as I came to discover, rather incompetent)American Airlines agent couldn't trasfer or allow me to buy the miles for a whole host of reasons which nearly induced me to a deep slumber, so I won't share them with you. The best she could do was extend the hold on the ticket for another 24 hours and asked me to call back when there weren't tornadoes in the midwest. Right, then.
--------------------------------------
April 2, T minus 9: I put into motion the mysterious workings of air mile travel. Why spend $1000 to buy a cattle-class seat when I can blow all my miles from Big Red and fly like a true lady in first/business class? Unfortunately for me, I was 16,000 miles short of the cheapest plane ticket known to mankind from Boston to Bolivia. Hellooooo, Dad to the rescue!
Again, unfortunately for me, the uncooperative (and as I came to discover, rather incompetent)American Airlines agent couldn't trasfer or allow me to buy the miles for a whole host of reasons which nearly induced me to a deep slumber, so I won't share them with you. The best she could do was extend the hold on the ticket for another 24 hours and asked me to call back when there weren't tornadoes in the midwest. Right, then.
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