La Paz I am in.
I arrived this morning, walked to my shithole backpackers that I stayed at last time, remembered the name of the manager, and perhaps therefore, was treated very very well, as he remembered me too! AND he put me in a room that didn't smell of spew this time... Showered after a bus cama from Cochabamba (bed bus where the seats incline aLOT and there's more leg space). Last time I came here by bus I was convinced by a bugger of a bus touter at the Cbba station that a regular bus would be fine for me and my size, and given there were no more bus camas I accepted his opinion, which turned out to be painfully inaccurate. The bus cama on the other hand was very pleasant, not only due to the extra leg room (it was still better for me to stick my legs in the isle) but due to the fact it costs more, there are less screaming babies and, well, to be honest, people were in a better, more comfortable mood. And if I go on I'll realise how elitist my trip was so I'm stopping now.
It's 9.29am This means that in exactly two days and 21 minutes my South American/Bolivian/Cochabamban journey will change tremendously as I'm joined by the one and only Ms. Fiolarola McInnes.
Whee.
La Paz has a not altogether unpleasant smell to it. I mean, aside from the incredible traffic pollution that dirties everything and stinks like a ... well, a deisel tank, it's also got a sweet, incency smell that I remember from last time I was here, but only notice as particular to La Paz this time around. It's a smell that reminds me of an innocent child. Which is strange for all this city's reputation. But perhaps it is just an innocent child, being naughty because everyone expects it to be. Maybe it's the smell of peace, it's namesake.
I also realise that I'm running on high adrenalin because although I should be freezing in the morning La Pazian chill, I only have a t-shirt and jeans on. My fingers are going numb at the keyboard, but my excitement and sense of lots to do in the coming two days is really heating me up.
We'll be here for a few days, before cycling down that most wonderful of roads, you know, the one that kills everybody, to Coroico for navidad - xmas. Then new years at my friend Mauro's place in Caranavi. Both latter places are very jungly low in the Yungas area, but very close to La Paz which is 4500 metres in the sky. Weird.
Gotta go get things ready for the girl.
Chau,
Michael.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Bolivia? Nearly. Brazil? Kinda. Chile? Back up!!
Hmm... This photo is me with no Spanish, no experience in Bolivia, no awareness of the shot being taken and no thermal underwear, pero mira me español ahora!, almost nine months in, now fully aware of the shot (I like shots taken unawares...) and still no thermal underwear, but I haven't been so cold as I was that morning around 5ish at the Geysers del Tatio. Bolivia's just on the other side of those mountains (apparently)! Kinda looks like I'm about to walk there by myself. How roschmlantic.
My friend, Constance from France(who I met on the various tours we both found ourselves on) just sent it to me, and she also sent me some juicy news about a new Brazilian villa she's bought! And you, yes, YOU can rent it at will! Here's the message she sent me...
Hello,
As some of you may already know, my friends - Xavier, Aurelien, Lorine, and I, have fallen in love with Brazil.
We now have a house in Taiba, a small village in the North of Fortaleza. It is a beautifully equiped house with 6 rooms - all with en-suite bathrooms, a swimming pool, a large tropical garden and a veranda with a barbecue...just 3min walk to the beach.
Taiba is sunny and hot all year round because it is so close to the Equator and it is only 7 hours away from Europe (Rio is 11H30 flight..)
There are many things to do in Taiba from Kite surfing to surfing, fishing, sandboarding, lots of lovely beaches, excursions to Jericocoara (one of the most preserved and beautiful place in Brazil) etc...
If you are interested in renting our house for your holidays please send us a email at villataiba@hotmail.com and we can send you more information on tariffs and availability.
Yours,Constance Rouget-Luchaire
That's all for today. Fiona will be sending her first guest blog entry in ... 7 DAYS!! *teeth grit and mouth widens sideways to stop himself from fainting in the utter, bewilderingly blind excitement!!!*
And GOD I look good in that photo...
Michael.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Anybody heard of the Hershey squirts?
Rupert sent me this article (with his son featured). Be careful ye Melbournians if heading to the smelly-poo beaches this summer.
http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,20904153-2862,00.html
In Bolivian news, presidents attending the Community of Nations Summit have been sending their best regards to Michael McMahon after a harrowing few days of dissentry. Although on the mend McMahon reports varying levels of discomfort, and some scary moments on the street, as he timidly shuffles to his classes, hoping that things don't go horribly wrong while explaining the subjunctive - a word that always gives him the shits.
Completely unrelated, this idea of Bolivians being generally unreliable is gaining credibility levels over and above any thouhts of my being racist. But it turns out that I'm also quite used to it, and further, can understand it and enjoy it to some extent. As apposed to being "unreliable" as such it stems from a culture of pleasantry and good will. More on that later.
Bedtime for Bonzo.
Michael.
http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,20904153-2862,00.html
In Bolivian news, presidents attending the Community of Nations Summit have been sending their best regards to Michael McMahon after a harrowing few days of dissentry. Although on the mend McMahon reports varying levels of discomfort, and some scary moments on the street, as he timidly shuffles to his classes, hoping that things don't go horribly wrong while explaining the subjunctive - a word that always gives him the shits.
Completely unrelated, this idea of Bolivians being generally unreliable is gaining credibility levels over and above any thouhts of my being racist. But it turns out that I'm also quite used to it, and further, can understand it and enjoy it to some extent. As apposed to being "unreliable" as such it stems from a culture of pleasantry and good will. More on that later.
Bedtime for Bonzo.
Michael.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Drowing in political action, if not the floods...
Well, it happened again.
Just as the city's hundreds of cleaners swept and hosed, pumped and scooped (the majority of the workforce chola-based - or as it appeared to me) the mess left by last Saturday's incredible deluge of rain and wind, and the city was brought back to a reasonably clean state, good old Pachamama decided to let us know that our silly efforts aren't necessarily enough. More rain Thursday, the underpasses were totally full this time (as apposed to 3/4 full last time - not that that made any difference for the cars) the hail, banked up on each of our window sills and doorways like snow, gave the impression that the water flowing through the streets was frozen. As it apparently turned out Pachamama may not have shown her fury so heavily had some sleepy dope sitting at some watery lever opened that lever to let the flooding waters flow into the river instead of the streets... an error by a civil servant... who would have guessed!
Talking of flooding the streets, streets have been flooded with Military Police, security, riot police (well, riot police or not, they always look like they're ready for it) and the army, all making sure I can't get a word in edgeways or even have a quiet drink at Cerebritos with Hugo and Evo, just to toss around a few ideas... They're both here in Cochas, along with maybe a dozen other heads of state for The Community of Nations South American Summit, which is still happening having started, I think, on Friday. I hear that Hugo brought his own chefs because he has fears of poisoning... silly, paranoid fellow you may scoff, and in a sympathetic country no less, but on the other hand Che trusted the Bolivians and look what happened to him! And as I reflect now, I wonder if the cleanups would have been so promptly actioned had the Summit been elsewhere... The streets have been particularly clean lately...
I met a friend from Red Tinku at my regular lunch spot during the week, wearing a pass around her neck, a pass to the Social Summit happening at the same time, in which Tinku are heavily involved. I hear that thousands will attend that little shindig as well. My understanding is that both Summits have at their root, to varying degrees to concepts of international integration, sovereignty and the solidarity of the people, and the Social Summit will be addressed by some of the visiting leaders from the Summit with all the fatigues. A positive process I am sure has rarely been repeated in any other area of the world. What will eventuate? Vamos a ver, as usual.
"Dos/Tres! Dos/Tres! Dos/Tres! Dos/Tres! Dos/Tres!", they shouted on Saturday afternoon as hundreds of "2/3" printed white shirts marched down Avenida America while Arthur and I were doing our market shopping (why were we not there in the morning as usual? I woke too late, and Arthur was holding his stomach, hoping not to have to make an urgent run to the loo - poor bugger is constantly sick in Bolivia and is feeling like he shouldn't even be here with his tender constitution...). Anyway, we couldn't work out the "Dos/Tres!" idea and I chucklingly agreed with Arthur's certainty that protesters in Bolivia, having run out of words to chant, had settled for numbers now... bloody funny and a crudely tuned comment on the amount of Bolivia's protests.
As it turns out the protest was being led by the conservative parties apposed to the Morales government's move to have all bills passed only by majority vote (50%) and not a two thirds vote (Dos/Tres!), as stated in the constitution... (is it in the constitution? Sometimes I'll write things here that are either unconfirmed, or just complete shit, in the hope that someone will prove to me they're reading my blog!). Although the two thirds sounds like a good idea, it will surely stop up the process government bills, decisions of which I'd like to see pass quickly and smoothly, but on the other hand the opposition seats in parliament were voted in by the people... (I think?!) and concensus decision making is on my agenda, and should be part of the process. I'd make the bet though that if Podemos were in power they'd be happy for their constitution to state a 50% bill passage...
Well, a watery and political week in Cochabamba. Watery politics isn't that common in this continent. More happening than in recent weeks - something to keep my mind off the next ten days' agony. 10 DAYS! Foder! EVERYone's very excited about meeting Fiona.
Good opinion polls to you,
Michael.
p.s. Oh! And Augusto Pinochet couldn't make the Summit, even if he was invited... he's dead. And good riddance to bad guacamole I say.
Just as the city's hundreds of cleaners swept and hosed, pumped and scooped (the majority of the workforce chola-based - or as it appeared to me) the mess left by last Saturday's incredible deluge of rain and wind, and the city was brought back to a reasonably clean state, good old Pachamama decided to let us know that our silly efforts aren't necessarily enough. More rain Thursday, the underpasses were totally full this time (as apposed to 3/4 full last time - not that that made any difference for the cars) the hail, banked up on each of our window sills and doorways like snow, gave the impression that the water flowing through the streets was frozen. As it apparently turned out Pachamama may not have shown her fury so heavily had some sleepy dope sitting at some watery lever opened that lever to let the flooding waters flow into the river instead of the streets... an error by a civil servant... who would have guessed!
Talking of flooding the streets, streets have been flooded with Military Police, security, riot police (well, riot police or not, they always look like they're ready for it) and the army, all making sure I can't get a word in edgeways or even have a quiet drink at Cerebritos with Hugo and Evo, just to toss around a few ideas... They're both here in Cochas, along with maybe a dozen other heads of state for The Community of Nations South American Summit, which is still happening having started, I think, on Friday. I hear that Hugo brought his own chefs because he has fears of poisoning... silly, paranoid fellow you may scoff, and in a sympathetic country no less, but on the other hand Che trusted the Bolivians and look what happened to him! And as I reflect now, I wonder if the cleanups would have been so promptly actioned had the Summit been elsewhere... The streets have been particularly clean lately...
I met a friend from Red Tinku at my regular lunch spot during the week, wearing a pass around her neck, a pass to the Social Summit happening at the same time, in which Tinku are heavily involved. I hear that thousands will attend that little shindig as well. My understanding is that both Summits have at their root, to varying degrees to concepts of international integration, sovereignty and the solidarity of the people, and the Social Summit will be addressed by some of the visiting leaders from the Summit with all the fatigues. A positive process I am sure has rarely been repeated in any other area of the world. What will eventuate? Vamos a ver, as usual.
"Dos/Tres! Dos/Tres! Dos/Tres! Dos/Tres! Dos/Tres!", they shouted on Saturday afternoon as hundreds of "2/3" printed white shirts marched down Avenida America while Arthur and I were doing our market shopping (why were we not there in the morning as usual? I woke too late, and Arthur was holding his stomach, hoping not to have to make an urgent run to the loo - poor bugger is constantly sick in Bolivia and is feeling like he shouldn't even be here with his tender constitution...). Anyway, we couldn't work out the "Dos/Tres!" idea and I chucklingly agreed with Arthur's certainty that protesters in Bolivia, having run out of words to chant, had settled for numbers now... bloody funny and a crudely tuned comment on the amount of Bolivia's protests.
As it turns out the protest was being led by the conservative parties apposed to the Morales government's move to have all bills passed only by majority vote (50%) and not a two thirds vote (Dos/Tres!), as stated in the constitution... (is it in the constitution? Sometimes I'll write things here that are either unconfirmed, or just complete shit, in the hope that someone will prove to me they're reading my blog!). Although the two thirds sounds like a good idea, it will surely stop up the process government bills, decisions of which I'd like to see pass quickly and smoothly, but on the other hand the opposition seats in parliament were voted in by the people... (I think?!) and concensus decision making is on my agenda, and should be part of the process. I'd make the bet though that if Podemos were in power they'd be happy for their constitution to state a 50% bill passage...
Well, a watery and political week in Cochabamba. Watery politics isn't that common in this continent. More happening than in recent weeks - something to keep my mind off the next ten days' agony. 10 DAYS! Foder! EVERYone's very excited about meeting Fiona.
Good opinion polls to you,
Michael.
p.s. Oh! And Augusto Pinochet couldn't make the Summit, even if he was invited... he's dead. And good riddance to bad guacamole I say.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Sloth, and other sins...
http://www.theage.com.au/news/health/the-sublime-state-of-sloth/2006/11/23/1164777697800.html?page=fullpage#contentSwap1
A worthy pursuit.
As TISM noted sagaciously - I'm interested in apathy.
And can anybody guess (without flogging it around on the blog site!!) who this horoscope entry refers to (aside from me)?
CapricornYour patience with a flighty friend could be running thin. It may seem as though this pal is more interested in looking good to newcomers than in honoring old promises. Give your friend a wake-up call today, and remind her or him of your history -- and about some important obligations. This conversation will alert you to one or two new facts that could explain recent behavior -- but do these facts excuse that behavior? Don't fall for tall tales.
Suffice to say, I'm meeting with him/her today... I love my horoscope. It's all true!!
A worthy pursuit.
As TISM noted sagaciously - I'm interested in apathy.
And can anybody guess (without flogging it around on the blog site!!) who this horoscope entry refers to (aside from me)?
CapricornYour patience with a flighty friend could be running thin. It may seem as though this pal is more interested in looking good to newcomers than in honoring old promises. Give your friend a wake-up call today, and remind her or him of your history -- and about some important obligations. This conversation will alert you to one or two new facts that could explain recent behavior -- but do these facts excuse that behavior? Don't fall for tall tales.
Suffice to say, I'm meeting with him/her today... I love my horoscope. It's all true!!
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Goodbye Emily...
Another fleeting moment in my life passes before my eyes in the form of one of those hastily developed but seemingly concrete friendships as a result of international alien solidarity. Our housemate, Emily, is a treasure and I'll miss her as she goes off travelling before being home for xmas... I get so jealous of my fellow visitors being home for xmas.
Anyhow, we had a party last night to purge the house of the pain of her non-presence. And for cultural accordance, we had a toga theme... cos, you know, that's what indigenous people wear around here...
Of course we took the notion seriously and wore nothing underneath our sexy bedsheets... bother - I must get non-seethrough (and rose-less!) bedsheets!
While a downpour of liquid (of an alcoholic kind) was thrashing those inside, out in the street, a downpour was causing havoc of another kind... Some schmuck probably didn't have the chance to make the stupid decision to drive through 6 feet of water, given the speeding and drunken driving that you'll invariably find on Cochabamban roads... You can just make out the car (which was completely submerged before I ran to get my camera) being winched out of one of the underpasses near our house. We thought it was strange that a bit of a storm would keep traffic off the road... The river running right alongside wasn't flooded of course... Not sure what the problem was that caused the deluge (lack of precautionary measures no doubt, again) but it's still being pumped as I speak, 14 hours later. Reminds me of my fears when I passed through the Burnleigh Tunnel in Melbourne...
Acción de Gracias.
Acción de Gracias. A formidable event in any well-educated mind. But with a US citizen in the house, one who can give a keen critique of the entire history of US aggression, both outside and in, I decided to humour her and help prepare Thanksgiving dinner... and indeed from the outset found it a completely pleasant experience! Especially my sucess with the Pumpkin Pie and my close relationship to the dead bird (pictured). Present are two Bolivians and three gringos. I think we were supposed to slaughter all the native Americans after dinner, for historical accuracy, but they're all so damned cute!
Sorry about the grainy pics... And yes, those are marshmellows on mashed sweet potato of course.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Yes, so, here are some photos from Luke's camera. I downloaded them before he left, in case he never came back, having VB to drink and meat pies to hoe down...
Second is the incredible sight of the Virgen de Urkupiña Festival back in mid-August (and me after walk 20km long with a 3am start), from the top of the hill near the temple and site of the "vision" the little girl had all those years ago (and consequently the whole town as it happens...) of the Virgin Mary herself no less. Strangely they didn't have any visions before the Spaniards turned up...
First one is of something you've seen before. The Halloween night, but at the venue itself, and me about to slash my IMF aniquilador all over the shop! I finally won a prize for that on a following night - given that I went home before the prizes were called - a free beer.
Second is the incredible sight of the Virgen de Urkupiña Festival back in mid-August (and me after walk 20km long with a 3am start), from the top of the hill near the temple and site of the "vision" the little girl had all those years ago (and consequently the whole town as it happens...) of the Virgin Mary herself no less. Strangely they didn't have any visions before the Spaniards turned up...It's true!!!
The day they brought old Adam down
November 21, 2006
Workers and the oppressed were on the streets across the world yesterday in celebration as capitalism was brought to its knees by the heroic actions of protesters in Melbourne over the weekend. In two short days, poor old Adam Smith's entire capitalist system was consigned to the wheelie bin of history as the Melbourne activist movement put forth a mighty effort against the hated ruling class.
"I really think this vindicates the protest movement here" said Carnival Against Capitalism organiser Jacinta Tarquin. "We cop a lot of flak from the media, of course - but also a lot of internal criticism, asking how effective are rallies like these. Well, here's your answer."
The delegates to the G20 conference hosted in Melbourne last weekend called a hasty media conference to explain to Rupert Murdoch and James Packer why they were out of a job. "Clearly the message from the anti-capitalists was too loud and strong to ignore," explained Peter Costello, ex-treasurer. "The chants, the speeches, the placards, the leaflets, all combined into a force that was just too strong for market forces to resist. We must shamefully but honestly concede defeat." Mr Costello has accepted a post of economic adviser to the Spartacist League.
The ex-governor of the Reserve Bank of Australia, Glenn Stevens, commented further: "I had no idea that we capitalists were doing such nasty things to people until I read one of these leaflets. I mean, I almost burst into tears and I've had a hard time reassuring my children and pets. All I can say is thank God for free speech."
Ex-prime minister John Howard hurried home from his junket in Vietnam to reassure Liberal voters that their standard of living will not change. "I don't think there will be major repercussions against the rich and powerful," he told media. "I have been given assurances by the leading left-wing parties such as the DSP and Socialist Alternative that the redistribution of wealth will be relatively painless."
Despite being on the losing side, former police chief commissioner Christine Nixon praised the bravery, strength and tactics of the protest shock troops the Anarcho Bloody Barmy Army (ABBA). "I have to admit the enemy had the tactics, the skills, and definitely the support of the majority to defeat the police," she told Indymedia. "I am greatly impressed with ABBA and am confident they will be able to take on any major challenges in the future, as the glorious workers/poor/queer/women's/indigenous/significant-others republic grows."
Praise for the decisive battle that changed history came also from the ordinary masses, now committed to environmentalism and gender equality thanks to ABBA's altercation with the police. "God, I wished I was out there with them," sighed Mavis Horne, 78, of Gentle Meadows Hostel, Glenroy. Her daughter Angela, 54, visiting Mavis with her own granddaughter Celeste, 4, nodded in agreement. "I would have loved to have taken little Celeste to the front of that protest," she said. "I think the bravery and clear-sightedness of those class warriors set a wonderful example for children." When asked for comment, little Celeste giggled and buried her head in her grandmother's arms, clearly just as happy as the oldies about the victory for the working class.
As a new dawn of hope and peace sends its first rays across a world free from the scourge of misery, slavery and reality TV, we can only pause to thank the Melbourne activist and protest communities for their incredible efforts. They said they couldn't make it, but they finally came through - and this one's for you.
Andrew McIntosh, Glenroy
November 21, 2006
Workers and the oppressed were on the streets across the world yesterday in celebration as capitalism was brought to its knees by the heroic actions of protesters in Melbourne over the weekend. In two short days, poor old Adam Smith's entire capitalist system was consigned to the wheelie bin of history as the Melbourne activist movement put forth a mighty effort against the hated ruling class.
"I really think this vindicates the protest movement here" said Carnival Against Capitalism organiser Jacinta Tarquin. "We cop a lot of flak from the media, of course - but also a lot of internal criticism, asking how effective are rallies like these. Well, here's your answer."
The delegates to the G20 conference hosted in Melbourne last weekend called a hasty media conference to explain to Rupert Murdoch and James Packer why they were out of a job. "Clearly the message from the anti-capitalists was too loud and strong to ignore," explained Peter Costello, ex-treasurer. "The chants, the speeches, the placards, the leaflets, all combined into a force that was just too strong for market forces to resist. We must shamefully but honestly concede defeat." Mr Costello has accepted a post of economic adviser to the Spartacist League.
The ex-governor of the Reserve Bank of Australia, Glenn Stevens, commented further: "I had no idea that we capitalists were doing such nasty things to people until I read one of these leaflets. I mean, I almost burst into tears and I've had a hard time reassuring my children and pets. All I can say is thank God for free speech."
Ex-prime minister John Howard hurried home from his junket in Vietnam to reassure Liberal voters that their standard of living will not change. "I don't think there will be major repercussions against the rich and powerful," he told media. "I have been given assurances by the leading left-wing parties such as the DSP and Socialist Alternative that the redistribution of wealth will be relatively painless."
Despite being on the losing side, former police chief commissioner Christine Nixon praised the bravery, strength and tactics of the protest shock troops the Anarcho Bloody Barmy Army (ABBA). "I have to admit the enemy had the tactics, the skills, and definitely the support of the majority to defeat the police," she told Indymedia. "I am greatly impressed with ABBA and am confident they will be able to take on any major challenges in the future, as the glorious workers/poor/queer/women's/indigenous/significant-others republic grows."
Praise for the decisive battle that changed history came also from the ordinary masses, now committed to environmentalism and gender equality thanks to ABBA's altercation with the police. "God, I wished I was out there with them," sighed Mavis Horne, 78, of Gentle Meadows Hostel, Glenroy. Her daughter Angela, 54, visiting Mavis with her own granddaughter Celeste, 4, nodded in agreement. "I would have loved to have taken little Celeste to the front of that protest," she said. "I think the bravery and clear-sightedness of those class warriors set a wonderful example for children." When asked for comment, little Celeste giggled and buried her head in her grandmother's arms, clearly just as happy as the oldies about the victory for the working class.
As a new dawn of hope and peace sends its first rays across a world free from the scourge of misery, slavery and reality TV, we can only pause to thank the Melbourne activist and protest communities for their incredible efforts. They said they couldn't make it, but they finally came through - and this one's for you.
Andrew McIntosh, Glenroy
Monday, November 20, 2006
There's no Critical Mass in Cochabamba...
Critical Mass is one of my passions, all too irregularly attended when I was still in Melbourne and now regretting it in a Critical Mass-free zone.
Unfortunatley Critical Mass's annoyingly "dis-organised" site doesn't give much news about Melbourne's 11th birthday this coming Friday but don't let the site give you the impression that the ride is anything but a fun, communal gathering. Everyone on the ride is helpful, there's usually tight organisation of the route, the bicycle cops are in attendance as escorts, and many of the drivers are very very supportive.
http://www.criticalmass.org.au/ is the site, but otherwise:
Join the birthday ride this Friday the 24th
5.30pm outside the State Library in Swanston Street, Melbourne CBD.
Go ahead, bring a friend. It's a cack!
Unfortunatley Critical Mass's annoyingly "dis-organised" site doesn't give much news about Melbourne's 11th birthday this coming Friday but don't let the site give you the impression that the ride is anything but a fun, communal gathering. Everyone on the ride is helpful, there's usually tight organisation of the route, the bicycle cops are in attendance as escorts, and many of the drivers are very very supportive.
http://www.criticalmass.org.au/ is the site, but otherwise:
Join the birthday ride this Friday the 24th
5.30pm outside the State Library in Swanston Street, Melbourne CBD.
Go ahead, bring a friend. It's a cack!
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Sick to the stomach... and it's not the lettuce.
My disgust for the U.S. government and those who support them grows by the day. Not just because of how it treats the very poor countries of Latin America and the world, but also those in their own country. The Patriot Act... read up on it. See how civil and sound it all appears, then see how it's being implemented in actual fact. Goon squads?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AyvrqcxNIFs
This video's police repeat an order to "stand up or we'll tase you again...". It reminds me of impatient parents who tell their "misbehaving" kids who are crying for a reason usually ignored "If you keep crying I'll give you something to cry about!" Anyone ever been tased? If you have please reply and tell me if you could stand up afterward. Or if you wouldn't stand up with the threat of being tased again.
Here's what can happen in other countries through direct support from the U.S. government:
"In 2001, the US approved three sales of electro-shock weapons to Turkey, despite continued widespread use of such technology to torture. In a 2002 case, a 17-year-old schoolgirl who had been detained for distributing leaflets calling for Kurdish education was stripped, threatened with rape and tortured with electric shocks to her feet, legs and stomach."
- Amnesty International http://www.amnestyusa.org/countries/usa/document.do?id=F7CE0B13E65E100085256DF00050B882
Lovely. Just bloody great.
Here's an article in the Fort Worth Weekly Newspaper about a Fort Worth fellow killed by a taser gun for not coming out of a closet. Hmmm... http://www.fwweekly.com/content.asp?article=770
Bother.
It's Saturday and I have a Spanish language video night to attend. Wonder if they have subtitles...
Michael.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AyvrqcxNIFs
This video's police repeat an order to "stand up or we'll tase you again...". It reminds me of impatient parents who tell their "misbehaving" kids who are crying for a reason usually ignored "If you keep crying I'll give you something to cry about!" Anyone ever been tased? If you have please reply and tell me if you could stand up afterward. Or if you wouldn't stand up with the threat of being tased again.
Here's what can happen in other countries through direct support from the U.S. government:
"In 2001, the US approved three sales of electro-shock weapons to Turkey, despite continued widespread use of such technology to torture. In a 2002 case, a 17-year-old schoolgirl who had been detained for distributing leaflets calling for Kurdish education was stripped, threatened with rape and tortured with electric shocks to her feet, legs and stomach."
- Amnesty International http://www.amnestyusa.org/countries/usa/document.do?id=F7CE0B13E65E100085256DF00050B882
Lovely. Just bloody great.
Here's an article in the Fort Worth Weekly Newspaper about a Fort Worth fellow killed by a taser gun for not coming out of a closet. Hmmm... http://www.fwweekly.com/content.asp?article=770
Bother.
It's Saturday and I have a Spanish language video night to attend. Wonder if they have subtitles...
Michael.
Friday, November 17, 2006
I can't get no...!
Hmm... I'm very tired today. I got woken by Fiona (on the phone), which is ALways the best way to wake up, after having a fairly early night at Karaoke - evidenced by the featured photo (can you tell what I'm singing??)
Fiona told me lots about my nephew's 21st birthday party, about how everyone was good to her, how much fun she had. I think I'm glad the party is all over. I don't have a itching to be there now. It's passed. My spirits are lifting.
Picture #2: Ahh, there's nothing like a light beer. And this is nothing like a light beer! (thanks Mary Poppins! I've been quoting from her quite alot lately for some reason!) These are three of my ex-students, out on another field trip with their latest teacher (they could never convince me to take them out!) What are they doing with all the teachers? Eating them?
This place is called Dali, my new favourite bar (ECLA is a restaurant by definition!). Depressingly it is full of gringos, but with a healthy spattering of locals too. Hmm... not much real Bolivian news from me. What does that all mean? Probably means that I'd better get to work.
Michael.
A noice little piece.
Hi all. I just wanted to show my family and friends (and anyone else looking for a positive lift) a message from a fellow on the Marfan Community email list. I often only let people know of the bad news in the Marfan Community and this is anything but that. Thanks fellow whose name I won't use!!
Good Morning Everyone,
Today is my 50th birthday; a milestone I scarcely ever expected to see.
I celebrated this weekend with 50 of my friends, birth family and chosen family members on a boat cruising on Lake Austin. My best friend from junior high school, one of my close friends from high school, my Mom, my sister and one of my dearest friends and teachers in Austin all spoke about my life and my part in their life. I was deeply moved and the whole group was very joyous.
I'd like to say how much I've appreciated everyone on this list. I'm grateful for the help I've received from all of you, for the help I've seen given to so many others and for the opportunity for me to help others.
I consider myself to be fortunate on so many levels. The whole Marfan gig gave me clarity early in life about the importance of getting on with life and about how precious all our moments are. I figured out early on that I am best served by doing things I desire to do right now rather than hold off. I had the right kind of intellect, heart and drive to be able to do work I love, travel the world, make enough money to live in style, aid others in their lives, learn lots of amazing things, have a life-long partner who continues to teach me about love, have Beloveds who share their lives with me and in the end do what I've always wanted to do in life; see the world be a bit better for my having been here.
So take a moment today to say a gentle Happy Birthday in your Heart for me - I'll be listening.
Abundant Love, (the fine fellow whose name I said I wouldn't use)
Chris.
(and then he told me not to be so silly and use it anyway,).
Good Morning Everyone,
Today is my 50th birthday; a milestone I scarcely ever expected to see.
I celebrated this weekend with 50 of my friends, birth family and chosen family members on a boat cruising on Lake Austin. My best friend from junior high school, one of my close friends from high school, my Mom, my sister and one of my dearest friends and teachers in Austin all spoke about my life and my part in their life. I was deeply moved and the whole group was very joyous.
I'd like to say how much I've appreciated everyone on this list. I'm grateful for the help I've received from all of you, for the help I've seen given to so many others and for the opportunity for me to help others.
I consider myself to be fortunate on so many levels. The whole Marfan gig gave me clarity early in life about the importance of getting on with life and about how precious all our moments are. I figured out early on that I am best served by doing things I desire to do right now rather than hold off. I had the right kind of intellect, heart and drive to be able to do work I love, travel the world, make enough money to live in style, aid others in their lives, learn lots of amazing things, have a life-long partner who continues to teach me about love, have Beloveds who share their lives with me and in the end do what I've always wanted to do in life; see the world be a bit better for my having been here.
So take a moment today to say a gentle Happy Birthday in your Heart for me - I'll be listening.
Abundant Love, (the fine fellow whose name I said I wouldn't use)
Chris.
(and then he told me not to be so silly and use it anyway,).
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Parade strips, Field trips, orange drips and curiosity #17 and almost #18...
Now this is curious. It seems the only Beta Blocker not available on the market in Bolivia is Sotalol. Of course this is the one I need to keep the Atrial Fibrillation and his nasty cousin Ventricular Tachycardia at bay. Other beta blockers just don't have what it takes (the "have what it takes" phrase is directly from last night's long explanation of it to my students *always writes studnets by accident, which is certainly not the case since he changed classes...*).
So, does Peru have the medication? And if so, will the Marfan Syndrome Support Group in Peru a) understand my typed Spanish request? b) willingly fulfull that request? and c) be able to fulfull the request even if willing?
Of course I can ask Fiona to travel the entire planet with some tucked away in her bag. So, options abound.
Well, another curiosity struck me on the way here, and it has something to do with the poverty of the country, but now can't for the life of me...
Photos!
a) I've never been on a fieldtrip with my students before. This is primarily because there's too much to do in class, what with the word power and the listening and the grammar focus, and stuff. But this is one field trip I was able to be present for, even if it wasn't my class. It was "let's have a festival outside the CineCenter because it's there" day. Just down the road at my work, I had three students (normal for a Friday night) all of whom didn't want to be there because of a migraine, mother's birthday party, and just plain knackered. So they went home and I joined Emily's class at the CineCenter. Well, there we all are in a classic abomination of Western cultural colonisation, two teachers and one student in the food court of the CineCenter (let me again take this opportunity to point out that this was my old class where people used to attend all the time...). Emily is also my housemate from Wyoming, U.S.A. The latter fact is unfortunate, but she's a great housemate nonetheless, although I now say "sure" in a very distasteful accent...
b) There you go. The first picture of me completely unaware of the camera. And how naturally I seem to be haggling with the fine fruitjuice fancier! I think I was saying something like "It better be bloody good for $5B!" 'cos I know how to say that in Spanish... It's my new local Saturday market, where a few vendors are getting used to my height and presence, enough for a familiar hello.
c) This festival on Saturday was unusual, not in the way it was presented - a parade of thousands of bears, cueca dancers, devils, caperales dancers, junglefever women, drums, Tinku dancers (one of my favourites) and lots and lots of very long legs, various tapas stalls, lots of alcohol, and these spectator stands that eventually turn into miniature Great Southern Stands with hundreds of drunken young people yelling at you as you walk along, mostly imploring you to come and talk, and stuff, so very much the norm. It was unusual in that this time nobody really knew what the festival was for. There were no saints, or virgins or ... well, it's really usually about a saint or a virgin. It had something to do with the San Simón University. We think...
Well, off to teach English in the sweltering heat of Cochabamba's November afternoon sun. I hate afternoon lessons... I been saying "I hate..." alot lately... hm... best stop that.
Love to you all, and missing you more by the day (when's Fiona getting here??!),
Michael.
p.s. oh, it's 35 days.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Curiosity #14
I was told last night by a sagacious Bolivian matriarch of a plan hatched by some US Navy general years ago when Bolivia was under Communist rule. With the fear that Bolivia was a threat he very cleverly suggested invading Bolivia by sea... of course, this was all after Bolivia's war with Chile where they lost their coastline.
Just thought that for my readers I should bring to light some more of the logic behind the US war machine...
I laughed and pulled my ever lengthening hair at the same time (it's a liberating experience I can tell you! Try it.)
p.s. she (the matriarch) could be wrong... any takers?
Just thought that for my readers I should bring to light some more of the logic behind the US war machine...
I laughed and pulled my ever lengthening hair at the same time (it's a liberating experience I can tell you! Try it.)
p.s. she (the matriarch) could be wrong... any takers?
Oh yeah! I forgot! The Melbourne Cup!
It passed by for me like the perfect antithesis to the U.S. elections.
It was only through an email from the recently departed Marty, back in Melbourne to turn the city into a yearlong Johntson Street fiesta, who informed me that he was being as unpatriotic as I was, and missed the circus* completely. Well, Philip Adams covered the Melbourne Cup quite well, as far as I can tell (or am concerned) but it does have a hint of the U.S. election to it. The comparison could be just that I've been following the election more closely this time round given a) most of what Dubya even sneezes out is even worse for this here landmass than it is for Australia and b) we have an American in the house. A USian that is (I've been chided harshly by Latin Americans on more than one occasion for calling people from the US "Americans"and dismissing the rest of those in The Americas claim to their own land... typical.)
Yes,... well, here's Philip Adams view on the race that stops a nation, or two.
* (circus - see Macchiavelli, whom I despise, and bread, which I had with vegemite this morning for the first time since I left Australia, to further fever my desires for home... but it left me truly, ecstatically satisfied...)
November 07, 2006
AND as they head into the straight, Democrat is one, two, three lengths ahead! Legendary jockey Karl Rove is flailing his whip at Republican's flanks, but the grand old nag is knackered! In the members, John Howard is yelling his head off. This is the one race Australia's biggest punter on the American horse can't afford to lose, but the odds are against him. Having bet the farm on Republican (out of Dubya, from Texas), Howard will be going home flat broke!
Looking increasingly desperate, the punters who went along with Howard, Peter Costello, Alexander Downer and the rest of them are turning on the PM and hitting him with their binoculars. And even before Democrat passes the post they're tearing up their tickets and heading for the exit. The poor buggers have not only done their money, they've blown their reputations for picking winners. Now Republican stumbles, tosses Rove from the saddle and comes crashing down in a heap. The stewards will have to erect the screens and put the poor brute out its misery. And judging by the expression on Howard's face, they'll need to put him out of his.
Yes, folks, though worth trillions just a few months back, Republican is dog meat and our PM is Pal! To the deafening cheers of the crowd, Democrat cruises home in a canter in what's finished up as a one-horse race. Liberal backers are talking of a new thoroughbred to replace Howard and Costello: Malcolm Turnbull, from Big Money, out of Wentworth. Mind you, Howard did well in the past by backing mounts from the White House (not to be confused with the Waterhouse) stables. By going for Dubya, Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld in the trifecta, he won a political fortune and some very big races here in Australia, including two Federal Cups on the trot.
Mind you, with overweight jockeys Kim Beazley and Mark Latham riding Labor into the ground, he didn't have much to beat. Labor performed so badly in their outings on both city and country tracks that the stewards suspected the races had been fixed. But with Bob Hawke and Paul Keating out of the saddle, the old grey mare just ain't what she used to be.
Howard joined his American friends racing into Iraq only to meet stiff Arabian opposition. Though victory seemed certain - Bush claimed it long before the race was over - they've been pipped at every post. Hence present attempts to scratch Cheney and Rumsfeld. Though costing a fortune at the political yearling sales, Neo-con (sired by Paul Wolfowitz) turned out to be such a big dud that he was retired early and sent to stud. But nobody's buying.
Now Howard will have to face a race increasingly dominated by Democrat: the big one, the Melbourne Cup of US and world politics. The only question: who'll be Democrat's jockey? John Kerry fell off a few days back and, despite some support from Rupert Murdoch, a legend at picking winners, few believe Hillary Clinton can last the distance. Scholars of the form guide reckon she's carrying too much weight in her saddlebags and will run out of puff in the last furlongs in Pennsylvania Avenue. Some are barracking for Barack Obama, the dark horse from Illinois, but he's a bit young and needs more track work.
So the smart money's on a jockey many believed was past it. Al Gore. Were he a horse (sired by Bill Clinton, out of Puff) he'd have been regarded as more gelding than stallion. But as a jockey he has done pretty well, beaten only in the most famous photo finish in the history of the Presidential Stakes. Six years ago millions of punters backed Democrat as favourite and felt robbed by the judges when they gave it to Republican. (Certainly Gore's mount seemed a nose ahead in that crucial Florida meeting where the stewards were provided by George Bush's brother.) But now Al has won a key victory in the Climate Change Cup, a race in which Howard and Bush were early scratchings.
The connections of Democrat say Gore has lost weight but gained gravitas, that the punters would cheer his return to the track, remembering how he was dudded in the Presidential Stakes. Even some of Republican's backers must be be feeling guilty.
Most important, the Climate Change Cup is regarded as a desirable trophy. So the odds narrow, with yesterday's long shot looking like tomorrow's dead cert.
A Gore win on Democrat would be even worse for Howard than Republican's failure today. Howard was rude to Gore on his recent visit and dismissive of his horse of the apocalypse, An Inconvenient Truth (out of Time, from CO2). The PM's support for the Bush stable ceases to be a winner, here or in Washington.
It was only through an email from the recently departed Marty, back in Melbourne to turn the city into a yearlong Johntson Street fiesta, who informed me that he was being as unpatriotic as I was, and missed the circus* completely. Well, Philip Adams covered the Melbourne Cup quite well, as far as I can tell (or am concerned) but it does have a hint of the U.S. election to it. The comparison could be just that I've been following the election more closely this time round given a) most of what Dubya even sneezes out is even worse for this here landmass than it is for Australia and b) we have an American in the house. A USian that is (I've been chided harshly by Latin Americans on more than one occasion for calling people from the US "Americans"and dismissing the rest of those in The Americas claim to their own land... typical.)
Yes,... well, here's Philip Adams view on the race that stops a nation, or two.
* (circus - see Macchiavelli, whom I despise, and bread, which I had with vegemite this morning for the first time since I left Australia, to further fever my desires for home... but it left me truly, ecstatically satisfied...)
November 07, 2006
AND as they head into the straight, Democrat is one, two, three lengths ahead! Legendary jockey Karl Rove is flailing his whip at Republican's flanks, but the grand old nag is knackered! In the members, John Howard is yelling his head off. This is the one race Australia's biggest punter on the American horse can't afford to lose, but the odds are against him. Having bet the farm on Republican (out of Dubya, from Texas), Howard will be going home flat broke!
Looking increasingly desperate, the punters who went along with Howard, Peter Costello, Alexander Downer and the rest of them are turning on the PM and hitting him with their binoculars. And even before Democrat passes the post they're tearing up their tickets and heading for the exit. The poor buggers have not only done their money, they've blown their reputations for picking winners. Now Republican stumbles, tosses Rove from the saddle and comes crashing down in a heap. The stewards will have to erect the screens and put the poor brute out its misery. And judging by the expression on Howard's face, they'll need to put him out of his.
Yes, folks, though worth trillions just a few months back, Republican is dog meat and our PM is Pal! To the deafening cheers of the crowd, Democrat cruises home in a canter in what's finished up as a one-horse race. Liberal backers are talking of a new thoroughbred to replace Howard and Costello: Malcolm Turnbull, from Big Money, out of Wentworth. Mind you, Howard did well in the past by backing mounts from the White House (not to be confused with the Waterhouse) stables. By going for Dubya, Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld in the trifecta, he won a political fortune and some very big races here in Australia, including two Federal Cups on the trot.
Mind you, with overweight jockeys Kim Beazley and Mark Latham riding Labor into the ground, he didn't have much to beat. Labor performed so badly in their outings on both city and country tracks that the stewards suspected the races had been fixed. But with Bob Hawke and Paul Keating out of the saddle, the old grey mare just ain't what she used to be.
Howard joined his American friends racing into Iraq only to meet stiff Arabian opposition. Though victory seemed certain - Bush claimed it long before the race was over - they've been pipped at every post. Hence present attempts to scratch Cheney and Rumsfeld. Though costing a fortune at the political yearling sales, Neo-con (sired by Paul Wolfowitz) turned out to be such a big dud that he was retired early and sent to stud. But nobody's buying.
Now Howard will have to face a race increasingly dominated by Democrat: the big one, the Melbourne Cup of US and world politics. The only question: who'll be Democrat's jockey? John Kerry fell off a few days back and, despite some support from Rupert Murdoch, a legend at picking winners, few believe Hillary Clinton can last the distance. Scholars of the form guide reckon she's carrying too much weight in her saddlebags and will run out of puff in the last furlongs in Pennsylvania Avenue. Some are barracking for Barack Obama, the dark horse from Illinois, but he's a bit young and needs more track work.
So the smart money's on a jockey many believed was past it. Al Gore. Were he a horse (sired by Bill Clinton, out of Puff) he'd have been regarded as more gelding than stallion. But as a jockey he has done pretty well, beaten only in the most famous photo finish in the history of the Presidential Stakes. Six years ago millions of punters backed Democrat as favourite and felt robbed by the judges when they gave it to Republican. (Certainly Gore's mount seemed a nose ahead in that crucial Florida meeting where the stewards were provided by George Bush's brother.) But now Al has won a key victory in the Climate Change Cup, a race in which Howard and Bush were early scratchings.
The connections of Democrat say Gore has lost weight but gained gravitas, that the punters would cheer his return to the track, remembering how he was dudded in the Presidential Stakes. Even some of Republican's backers must be be feeling guilty.
Most important, the Climate Change Cup is regarded as a desirable trophy. So the odds narrow, with yesterday's long shot looking like tomorrow's dead cert.
A Gore win on Democrat would be even worse for Howard than Republican's failure today. Howard was rude to Gore on his recent visit and dismissive of his horse of the apocalypse, An Inconvenient Truth (out of Time, from CO2). The PM's support for the Bush stable ceases to be a winner, here or in Washington.
Banality #16 amidst Todd's birthday and a rant on Rio.
It's my nephew's birthday. He is also my godson. He is very very special to me. It's a particularly special birthday for him because he is now 21 and for those out of the cultural loop, it's the traditionally significant day that one is a complete adult and is set loose in (or on) the world. Todd has been on the loose for some time now, but it's still a special occasion and all my family will be coming together to celebrate with him and his friends.
So, crap. I feel very much like I should be there. I've written a speech, a poem that gives him curry, and tells him how much he's like his brilliant uncle. I hope to deliver it over the phone, or via an MP3 or something...
And so a spate of homesickness sets in (is this another spate, or the same one?!). NOT at all assisted (that is, very much assisted) by my overindulgence of downloading not just one, but two versions of "I still call Australia home"... Quick! A toucan! A Boa! A Jaguar! SOMEthing to slam me with how lucky I am to be here!
But I just want to point out, as perhaps a banality (or IS it?) that the original version of said song, by Peter Allen, states, as we all know "I've been to cities that never close down, from New York to Rio and old London town..."
The other version, as beautifully and angelically sung as it is by The Australian Children's Choir, states this: "I've been to cities that never close down, from New York to Rome and old London town..."
Now I'm pretty upset about having my host continent left out of the whole feeling of longing that that song is meant to invoke in Australians abroad, but I reckon the change is due to the decision by some poncy suit that Rio is not a child's city. Well, on the contrary the city is bloody full of them, easily seen, if not heard, because so many of them are living on the street.
Who wants to go to Rome anyway?
Here's a link from the BBC on a photo exhibition project by Rio's street kids (similar to the one created by participants at the North Carlton Railway Station Neighbourhood House not long ago) that proves that Rio is indeed a child's city.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/shared/spl/hi/pop_ups/06/in_pictures_shooting_rio/html/1.stm
Happy 21st Todd. I miss you, particularly today. Have a very special night. I love you.
So, crap. I feel very much like I should be there. I've written a speech, a poem that gives him curry, and tells him how much he's like his brilliant uncle. I hope to deliver it over the phone, or via an MP3 or something...
And so a spate of homesickness sets in (is this another spate, or the same one?!). NOT at all assisted (that is, very much assisted) by my overindulgence of downloading not just one, but two versions of "I still call Australia home"... Quick! A toucan! A Boa! A Jaguar! SOMEthing to slam me with how lucky I am to be here!
But I just want to point out, as perhaps a banality (or IS it?) that the original version of said song, by Peter Allen, states, as we all know "I've been to cities that never close down, from New York to Rio and old London town..."
The other version, as beautifully and angelically sung as it is by The Australian Children's Choir, states this: "I've been to cities that never close down, from New York to Rome and old London town..."
Now I'm pretty upset about having my host continent left out of the whole feeling of longing that that song is meant to invoke in Australians abroad, but I reckon the change is due to the decision by some poncy suit that Rio is not a child's city. Well, on the contrary the city is bloody full of them, easily seen, if not heard, because so many of them are living on the street.
Who wants to go to Rome anyway?
Here's a link from the BBC on a photo exhibition project by Rio's street kids (similar to the one created by participants at the North Carlton Railway Station Neighbourhood House not long ago) that proves that Rio is indeed a child's city.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/shared/spl/hi/pop_ups/06/in_pictures_shooting_rio/html/1.stm
Happy 21st Todd. I miss you, particularly today. Have a very special night. I love you.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
¿Quéué?
Capricorn
Be very careful with your spelling and punctuation today. Often, the style of your written communication speaks before you can speak, and you run a small risk of making a bad first impression unless you double- and triple-check your work. Go over your resume one more time, reread that email to a friend, and make spell-check your best friend today! Making mistakes is natural, but making an extra effort to keep them to a minimum will be worthwhile.
Stoopid stersighns,! What are troyin' ta toll me?
Be very careful with your spelling and punctuation today. Often, the style of your written communication speaks before you can speak, and you run a small risk of making a bad first impression unless you double- and triple-check your work. Go over your resume one more time, reread that email to a friend, and make spell-check your best friend today! Making mistakes is natural, but making an extra effort to keep them to a minimum will be worthwhile.
Stoopid stersighns,! What are troyin' ta toll me?
Friday, November 03, 2006
Now I'm in for it...
Now, for all those readers of my blog out there who are believers, you'll just have to bear with me... because as you may already know I have a healthy disbelief in the Catholic and related religions (which include all monotheistic ones for a start). Or I should say I USED to have. I have found a wonderful new religion called Pastafarianism - the belief in the Flying Spaghetti Monster deity.
http://www.venganza.org/
In reality, this god was created (or WAS it?) to oppose the Kansas State Board of Education's decision to teach Intelligent Design (the new, very attractive term for the existence of god) in schools as an alternative to biological evolution... Whew! As others have commented I also LOVE the depiction of His creation of the mountains, and midgets... teehee... very good.
What is the point of the blog entry and the cause of it's content (being so banal (or IS it???!))? A healthy state of panic, that has resulted in a terrible knot in my stomach. I have to make a number of important phone calls - to immigration, those that can help me at immigration, students, others... but I can't bring myself to do it, as self destructive as it bloody is... In fact, yes, I believe I'm being self destructive... what other reason could I have to put off the absolute necessary? I dreamed I went home last night. I arrived, with a terrible panic about not having a complete Halloween IMF costume (getting the eyeshadow was a hell of a chore!!) (see previous blog entry) and I tapped Fiona on the shoulder and when she turned around the blank dismissive look on her face (which was a neutrality caused by interminable glee and a high degree of anger) classified the dream as a nightmare. Is this a prophetic part of my current feelings? Am I about to book a ticket home? Am I about to be thrown out of the country, without my IMF costume (heaven forbid!)?
Oohhhh! *tries to stifle groan in the public internet cafe*
Oh! Now I SEE what comes of those who follow false deities... a knotty stomach that could restrain The Hulk.
Bother...
http://www.venganza.org/
In reality, this god was created (or WAS it?) to oppose the Kansas State Board of Education's decision to teach Intelligent Design (the new, very attractive term for the existence of god) in schools as an alternative to biological evolution... Whew! As others have commented I also LOVE the depiction of His creation of the mountains, and midgets... teehee... very good.
What is the point of the blog entry and the cause of it's content (being so banal (or IS it???!))? A healthy state of panic, that has resulted in a terrible knot in my stomach. I have to make a number of important phone calls - to immigration, those that can help me at immigration, students, others... but I can't bring myself to do it, as self destructive as it bloody is... In fact, yes, I believe I'm being self destructive... what other reason could I have to put off the absolute necessary? I dreamed I went home last night. I arrived, with a terrible panic about not having a complete Halloween IMF costume (getting the eyeshadow was a hell of a chore!!) (see previous blog entry) and I tapped Fiona on the shoulder and when she turned around the blank dismissive look on her face (which was a neutrality caused by interminable glee and a high degree of anger) classified the dream as a nightmare. Is this a prophetic part of my current feelings? Am I about to book a ticket home? Am I about to be thrown out of the country, without my IMF costume (heaven forbid!)?
Oohhhh! *tries to stifle groan in the public internet cafe*
Oh! Now I SEE what comes of those who follow false deities... a knotty stomach that could restrain The Hulk.
Bother...
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Drowning in Saints, but no water...
CapricornYou don't have to be a poet, songwriter or novelist to know how to be creative with your words. Creative writing is a gift everyone has -- and everyone should develop. So today, try to do the unexpected in your written words. Throw a rhyming scheme into your emails, achieve a lot of alliteration in an agenda, and see what happens if you begin a memo with 'Once upon a time.' It might seem silly, but creativity is supposed to be fun!
For god's sake. To whom do they think they propose this advice? ... alright, alright...
Once apon a time there was a fellow in a strange land. He liked it there, he liked it there a lot. There were incredible, funny, insightful people, there were colourful psychadelic buses, there were public holidays every week, but a lot of various (albeit connected) phenomena that began to really give him the shits...
Hmm... nevermind.
I must say, my tolerance for absent things I have come to expect to be there has waaaay shortened. Water for example... now I also know that heaps of people on the south side of town don't get ANY running water. And when I say I didn't have water (this morning when I wanted to have a shower, brush my teeth, and have a cup of tea (poor baby!)) I don't mean that there wasn't water in the underground tank. It just wasn't coming up to the tap and I couldn't bare to reach in there past las cucarachas and webbing (even though I am Spiderman) and get myself a teapot full of interestingly coloured water. Certainly made me wonder what sort of filtering system the house has between the tank and my teapot...
I survived of course, and have had a shower now.
It's a holiday tomorrow. No work, meaning, primarily, no money. Most of you know what I think of public holidays...
The holiday is All Saints Day - an important one for the Bolivians, at least. Today, at 12 noon preferably, they choose a black tablecloth for the table and place on this various types of breads, in various shapes, along with symbols and memories of their dead. More importance of course is place on those recently deceased.
The next day all the bread is taken to the cemetary. The procession, or the "show" as such isn't to be missed, as I'm told by the Bolivians themselves. The bread is given to the boys (and girls? not sure) who will be tending the flowers and cleaning the tombstones for the occasion.
I'm curious about the coincidence of All Saints falling so close to All Hallows (Halloween).
English class. Chau todos.
Love, Your friendly Neighbourhood Bolivian Correspondant.
Oh and check this out - brought to my attention by a wondrous soul indeed:
http://www.globalcommunity.org/flash/wombat.shtml
For god's sake. To whom do they think they propose this advice? ... alright, alright...
Once apon a time there was a fellow in a strange land. He liked it there, he liked it there a lot. There were incredible, funny, insightful people, there were colourful psychadelic buses, there were public holidays every week, but a lot of various (albeit connected) phenomena that began to really give him the shits...
Hmm... nevermind.
I must say, my tolerance for absent things I have come to expect to be there has waaaay shortened. Water for example... now I also know that heaps of people on the south side of town don't get ANY running water. And when I say I didn't have water (this morning when I wanted to have a shower, brush my teeth, and have a cup of tea (poor baby!)) I don't mean that there wasn't water in the underground tank. It just wasn't coming up to the tap and I couldn't bare to reach in there past las cucarachas and webbing (even though I am Spiderman) and get myself a teapot full of interestingly coloured water. Certainly made me wonder what sort of filtering system the house has between the tank and my teapot...
I survived of course, and have had a shower now.
It's a holiday tomorrow. No work, meaning, primarily, no money. Most of you know what I think of public holidays...
The holiday is All Saints Day - an important one for the Bolivians, at least. Today, at 12 noon preferably, they choose a black tablecloth for the table and place on this various types of breads, in various shapes, along with symbols and memories of their dead. More importance of course is place on those recently deceased.
The next day all the bread is taken to the cemetary. The procession, or the "show" as such isn't to be missed, as I'm told by the Bolivians themselves. The bread is given to the boys (and girls? not sure) who will be tending the flowers and cleaning the tombstones for the occasion.
I'm curious about the coincidence of All Saints falling so close to All Hallows (Halloween).
English class. Chau todos.
Love, Your friendly Neighbourhood Bolivian Correspondant.
Oh and check this out - brought to my attention by a wondrous soul indeed:
http://www.globalcommunity.org/flash/wombat.shtml
Thursday, October 26, 2006
5. This is from my balcony during Cochabamba Day a while ago. (This doesn't happen on a daily basis). I was surprised that this posse of miltary posturing passed down my back street. I think some part of each section of the countless participants managed to marched down most of the streets in Cbba. Silly hats.
4. And I'll never tire of the constant curiosity exhibited by plaza-passers-by at the Red Tinku information/propaganda panels in the Plaza 14 Septiembre. Calls for volunteers, job offers, event listings but most of all the daily news articles that Red Tinku deem worthy of promotion. The panels are usually chock full of information, the picture here doesn't show Ramiro below sorting the new news.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Orange Juice, Naked Truths, and fancy troops.
3. Orange Juice. This woman's orange juice was fantastic. But then most street vendors' orange juice is fantastic. I particularly like the curls of rind there. That's all about that.
Bowlers and AWOLers.
A few dailies...
1. Coming home from La Cancha, the biggest and craziest market in the world (well, Bolivia) I never fail to be struck by the grand height of the bowler hats on the most-of-the-time stoic cholas.
2. This is pure, shameless self congratulation - The classroom of my favourite class ever, which I was unceremoniously transferred from a couple of weeks ago. I snuck up during my new class to take this photo. Could it be that the empty chairs are indicative of the apathy now I'm gone? I like to think so...
Instant schlock, just add shock.
I thought I hadn't a chance in hell (get it?) of getting a prize at the Halloween party at my favourite (but fast losing favour, not through lack of flavour) cafe last Saturday night. Entry was scary enough, not just for the $25B cover charge - ghouls and gremlins throughout the entry maze, and everyone dressed for duress!
My doubts about my fame and fortunes (dinner for twos, bottles of wine - sound familiar anybody?) came when people weren't quite sure what I was. Well, I was the IMF (the International Monetary Fund), the scariest thing I could think of for anybody in South America. I had a big fat IMF label on my pocket, with "Fondo Monetario Internaciónal" written on it, but still a need for explanation at times. So I even wrote on a second bit of paper IMF - International Moth... nevermind (It's true though!). And still the only response of "That's BRILLiant!" or some such came from an Irish chickadee I'd met months ago who just happened to be there and the thought struck me - "doesn't ANYbody in South America know what's happening to them?" Which was a grand overstatement of condescension that I spent time punishing myself over later. Regardless, there was much dancing and prancing and necromancing to the standard strains of techno-dance music. And much stalking, squawking and gawking at the plethora of clever costumes and sexy ensembles...
The photo here was taken at my house at pre-party drinks. From left: Luke as the "thing" that began to freak me out at times - Ariane would have NOT been in her element; Anny, Luke's fiance; Emily, the other, irrepressible Yanky housemate; me - my scythe reading "Anaquilador de Servicios Sociales" (Annihilator (or "slasher" as I would have preferred) of Social Services), and Romana the German second cousin of Luke's visiting for a couple of days.
As it turns out, I did win. Not sure what or whether I forfeited for not being there (even though ECLA screwed up the prize draw the first time, and we left with half of us in a huff about the poor running of the night). So there you go.
And as for other events of the days, nup. Nothin.
Michael.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Rights at Work
Will the only-dreamed-of happen in Melbourne?
So many times, I'm sure my friends can attest, I've grumbled about the distractions of the masses. Macchiavelli said it first and best with his bread and circuses analogy (even though I fundamentally disagree with his fundamental idea of wickedness in people, only diverted by another compulsion), but I always mourned that the MCG couldn't be filled to the brim for a cause that not only didn't involve watching grown men kicking leather around for "competition" (not that I'm opposed to fun per se), but for a collective reason that could really change the world. I'd even dream up scenarios where these people would fill the MCG every week for their desired collective goals; end to poverty, workers rights, indigenous rights...
Well, http://www.rightsatwork.com.au/campaigns/nov30rally!!!
Scroll down at the site, to Victoria's rally at the MCG and make my dreams come true! At least for one weekend...
Your FNBC.
So many times, I'm sure my friends can attest, I've grumbled about the distractions of the masses. Macchiavelli said it first and best with his bread and circuses analogy (even though I fundamentally disagree with his fundamental idea of wickedness in people, only diverted by another compulsion), but I always mourned that the MCG couldn't be filled to the brim for a cause that not only didn't involve watching grown men kicking leather around for "competition" (not that I'm opposed to fun per se), but for a collective reason that could really change the world. I'd even dream up scenarios where these people would fill the MCG every week for their desired collective goals; end to poverty, workers rights, indigenous rights...
Well, http://www.rightsatwork.com.au/campaigns/nov30rally!!!
Scroll down at the site, to Victoria's rally at the MCG and make my dreams come true! At least for one weekend...
Your FNBC.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Passerines101
Now, I don't know for sure, but I think I've figured out the meaning of the call of the common vendor de naranja. Every day, and for much of the day, one can hear the strains of this ever present fowl, who seems to lay the best oranges in town in his/her large basket that has cleverly been fashioned with big old wheels. The amplification available to this strange bird is enhanced by what looks like a megaphone of sorts... The other day I caught the sound again, very close and before I could whip out my binoculars, there was the vendor with his oranges (looking freshly laid) using the speaker for his until now unrecognisable task. It was only a second later that I heard, in the distance, what sounded like a reply. Sure enough, far down the road, there was another vendor de naranja showing off the wares of the day. Could this be...? Could this undecipherable and oft-called annoying squwark be the mating call of the vendor de naranja?
(Which reminds me of a joke: A baby bird arrived back at it's nest to find a squashed orange nestled at the edge. The bird sqwarked "WOW! Look at the orange mama-laid." Yep...)
Damn the non-existance (in Bolivia at any rate) of a Latin American bird guide.
Of course it could be the orange sellers that make their living roaming the streets calling out their message that there are oranges available (which I have on good local, indigenous authority cannot be understood by ANYbody - which always prompts me to long for the muffled and hilarious strains of Melbourne train drivers who say something about changing at Dandenong if you want to get to Bacchus Marsh, or something).
(Which reminds me of a joke: A baby bird arrived back at it's nest to find a squashed orange nestled at the edge. The bird sqwarked "WOW! Look at the orange mama-laid." Yep...)
Damn the non-existance (in Bolivia at any rate) of a Latin American bird guide.
Of course it could be the orange sellers that make their living roaming the streets calling out their message that there are oranges available (which I have on good local, indigenous authority cannot be understood by ANYbody - which always prompts me to long for the muffled and hilarious strains of Melbourne train drivers who say something about changing at Dandenong if you want to get to Bacchus Marsh, or something).
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Rock on!!
Sunday. It's Sunday afternoon. Michael is experiencing a late Sunday afternoon and he's all reflective, so reflective that his third person diatribe, always suggestive of a reflective mood, implodes into regular, non-head-up-his-arse first person mode, and with a little less vitriol.
Last night I experienced less reflective-related times at Kefren, the coolest (that non-cool coolest - in fact I'm changing that to "grooviest"... no, hang on... that's kind of dumb too. Hmm... well whatever, it's a great place) rock venue in Cochabamba. Some people may snigger or possibly even laugh without restraint when I say that something is the apex of Cochabamba, because they may know that Cbba isn't really up there with Santiago, or Buenas Aires, or even La Paz in terms of attractive attractions but some places here are really fun and unpretentious, possibly - and I can't comment with full authority here - but possibly difficult to find in other cities. Anyway we (three Bolivians, two Australians, two Septic Tanks, and a Pom (just to express cultural diversity) enjoyed the two fastest guitar players in Latin America. The first fellow, Marcos de Ros is a heavy set Brazilian who mixed his own music with various classical composers transforming Villa Lobos, Paganini and Bach's masterpieces into rock gems. And the next fellow, whose name I can't remember (because he didn't have an enormous 8 foot picture of his face on a poster with his name down the side next to the stage like de Ros...) was a long haired throwback to the seventies. Faster than de Ros, and who, after a dizzying array of loco antics, in one of his encores, doused his guitar with fuel and set it alight!
So, last night was a feast for the eyes and the ear (only one because the loud rock music prematurely killed the battery in my hearing aid...) Then our Bolivian fellow got the DJ to play Beds Are Burning, which when in a club and with an audience, after a 1 litre glass of beer is even more intoxicating than jumping around my bedroom with my MP3...
My blog was commented on recently from a fellow round these parts who suggested that I needn't worry about supporting the growth away from traditional culture here in Cbba, given that the city has been fully, irrepairably westernised. It might be true but I had fun last night, and the crowd certainly weren't advocates of mainstream North America. I dunno.
I had finishing up drinks at ECLA (to further bolster to that fellow's comments) on Friday after class with some of my students (pictured). The fellow in the rear is the wild-card Andrew, the Englishman taking over my class. I was surprised that so many came in... it IS just next door to the Institute, but still...
I particularly like the woman's excitement on the right, at the other table. She's cool!
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Things change, things stay the same...
Six and a bit months in, and what else is there to complain about?
I have to inform everyone of the very important news that the blackened, flattened, commercially unidentifiable spray can that I thought was cleaned up off the street, or used as some sort of missile, has been found, near the same spot I usually found my solace. For how long this tentative symbol of my content will last there I can't guess.
What is probably bigger news for me is that I finally have to say goodbye to my 7 to 9pm class at the Pan American English Centre. I am being transferred across the hall to another 7-9. I have long thought, and crowed at times, that the only reason I was still at the institute (and not taking more of the lucrative private classes) was for that class. I had so much fun and experienced so much growth (through them and me) in that class. It was the fun mostly - we never missed a good chuckle or two during the evening.
The reasoning is rational. Too long with one teacher isn't good for students independence or variety of English language accents. I'm still sad though even though they'll just be across the hall. I'm sure my new students will ... be just as fun.
I find myself struggling to exercise as much now that I have the fear of the road I never had back home, and therefore resist the idea of riding a bike anywhere. I'm going to start scaling the Cristo (de la Concordia) of which I've spoken at times (the largest statue of Christ in the world.. yep). It's a hell of a cardiovascular trip, unless you take the cable car. The photo shows one sunset from the top of the hill, the highest peak there is my beloved Mt. Tunari - of which I'm yet to climb. In time... in time...
Wonder what's for almuerzo today at La Villa, the friendlist little tucked-away courtyard restaurant this side of the Andes...
No photos from the K'oa festival last Friday (my favourite monthly outing), because I didn't go. Nobody wanted to come with. I refute the idea that it's too dangerous, while at the same time refuse to go by myself for my own safety.
LUNCHTIME!
Your FNBC.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Six months in.
The spray can is gone. The flattened blackened can that was one piece of garbage that hadn't moved from its ever-increasingly familiar spot at the end of his street since the day he arrived. The can that he looked for and found each of the days since (as if a salve for his emotional wounds, even though he couldn't for the retched life of him think of why that can, of all things, represented his daily salvation) was now no longer part of his life. It panicked him at first, one rare constant in his life unexpectedly scooped up and vanished. Then it saddened him. But he got over it.
The spray can, having long lost it's shiny visage (it was black with rusty, muddy, aged shit) was simply rubbish, a daily struggle for people here, or maybe just for him. He walked past a well dressed gentleman in a Hummer sucking out the hardboiled lolly from it's wrapper and he noted that the man didn't seem to be struggling for the window as he also didn't struggle to let the wrapper go and ignore it falling to the street. The number 35 bus passes and two people from either end of its cabin, one skinny young school boy, one old Chola woman, respectively toss out a Chicolac chocolate milk package and a number of very large, perhaps chicken-soaked napkins. He swears quite audibly in English, feeling the swirl of ethical issues violently masticate and swallow his staunch judgement toward ignorant litterbugs, again. And then realises that this judgement is familiar to many of his friends he left back in the land where lightning cracks over canefields and figures, in total self-absorbment, if his damnation is good enough for Australians then it's good enough for Bolivians.
Sitting in the Plaza Catorce de Septiembre, the spirit of revolt filtering through his bent nostrils (feeling more bent in this altitude after returning from the lowland jungles of the Chapare), he gleefully waits for something. He's not sure what. The last time he sat on one of the wooden benches getting his kicks from the Michael Jackson impersonator, he was accosted by a god-fearin' converter. Of course he couldn't be converted, but they enjoyed themselves, he practicing his religious Spanish (it dawns on him that "they" all have exactly the same vocabulary size, with exactly the same words), the converter walking away feeling that perhaps he'd planted a seed. He had, but on fallow ground. That's not true: his mind, body and soul had been fertile since he began his involvement with Red Tinku, an international voice of the Bolivian indigenous. Among other things he teaches Revolutionary English to the willing, of which there are many, keen to broaden their circles of rebellion. He first came across the group when he saw the inspirational information placades six months ago in the plaza where he now sits. The placades are usually crowded by readers of the days events; newspapers, public notices, promotion for Red Tinku Tours (the alternative city tour). He looks at the placades now and is proud to see his name there, but feels the pressure of having to teach both English and Quechuan (see first pic)!
So then, he's been here for 6 months now. A worthy effort, and realises it's a little more than six months since he left the bloodwoods and the desert oak (o.k. he's never seen either) and it's a month where the first Friday of the month lands late. Normally he celebrates his achievement at the K'oa ritual, silently acknowledging his own special presence along with the hundreds of revellers dancing the traditional dance, playing the traditional instruments, sucking on the traditional coca leaves and drinking the traditional Chicha (his favourite tradition, as it turns out). His reverie is disrupted when he pops down a narrow side street from Calle Ayacucho and is caught face-to-face with another show of military might as rifle-clad performers stomp more or less in unison toward his ever thinning, weakening body. He survives, laughing nervously, reminded that there is a protest to happen at lunchtime today - it started by just involving teachers and engineers perhaps, he can't remember who, city people. So there shouldn't be much disruption. Perhaps half an hour. But then he hears that farmers are coming in from the country. Not so easy for the car-less. And from much further afield than the local school. It might be pretty big afterall. He doesn't know why they're protesting and he should hang around to find out, but he's got English classes and those $10B almuerzo meals won't pay for themselves. He reflects on the fact that at least with military street performances you always get either marching girls or Caporales (see second pic).
Six months has flown by for him and he finds himself having changed. He now:
a) can communicate his desires to the masses
b) falls into regular patterns where somedays he'll even glance past the glorious surrounding hills, the towering Cristo or the determined and inspiriational woman in black on the bridge, all now devoid of the spray-can shiny visage of touristy exoticicm, and looking for other, more mundane but specific landmarks
c) can eat, walk through, touch and hardly smell the things that used to want to make him puke
d) feels like he'll be crying like a baby when he leaves, the way he was six months earlier in Melbourne
Monday, September 25, 2006
Please god, let this be true!
As golf is the single largest waste of space (according to the space used, and by whom, and their numbers), maybe aside from Ikea stores, I applaud the following:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/5297246.stm
Venezuela to seize golf courses
The mayor of Venezuela's capital Caracas says he plans to expropriate two exclusive golf courses and use the land for homes for the city's poor.
Mayor Juan Barreto has said playing golf on lavish courses within sight of the city's slums is "shameful".
Mr Barreto, an ally of President Hugo Chavez, has been trying to address a dramatic housing shortage in Caracas.
But critics say property rights are being eroded in Venezuela, where farms and ranches have also been seized.
Three years ago Mr Chavez's left-wing government started redistributing agricultural land that it said was underused to help landless peasants.
But this is the first time officials have announced plans to expropriate privately-owned urban land to make way for public housing, says the BBC's Greg Morsbach in Caracas.
Affluent suburbsMr Barreto had ordered the "forced acquisition" of the golf courses, city attorney Juan Manuel Vadell told the Associated Press.
He said compensation would be paid, at a level decided by an appraisal commission.
The golf courses - the Country Club and Valle Arriba club - are in the city's most affluent suburbs, home to millionaires, foreign diplomats and celebrities, and are seen by some as a haven for the rich.
They are also in districts run by the opposition.
Mr Chavez has not yet said whether he supports the move.
But opposition city council member Carlos Ciordia called the plans "electoral demagoguery" by Mr Chavez, who is hoping for re-election in December.
Fernando Zozaya, president of the Caracas Country Club, said "this has created great concern" among his club's members.
But Mr Barreto said: "It's shameful to see people playing golf and just right there in front of them is a shantytown."
"We are following the policies laid out by President Chavez... to give a new social direction to the city, so the city can be enjoyed by everyone," he said in a television interview.
Mr Barreto has said 5,000 people could be housed in the space taken up by a single golf course.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/5297246.stm
Venezuela to seize golf courses
The mayor of Venezuela's capital Caracas says he plans to expropriate two exclusive golf courses and use the land for homes for the city's poor.
Mayor Juan Barreto has said playing golf on lavish courses within sight of the city's slums is "shameful".
Mr Barreto, an ally of President Hugo Chavez, has been trying to address a dramatic housing shortage in Caracas.
But critics say property rights are being eroded in Venezuela, where farms and ranches have also been seized.
Three years ago Mr Chavez's left-wing government started redistributing agricultural land that it said was underused to help landless peasants.
But this is the first time officials have announced plans to expropriate privately-owned urban land to make way for public housing, says the BBC's Greg Morsbach in Caracas.
Affluent suburbsMr Barreto had ordered the "forced acquisition" of the golf courses, city attorney Juan Manuel Vadell told the Associated Press.
He said compensation would be paid, at a level decided by an appraisal commission.
The golf courses - the Country Club and Valle Arriba club - are in the city's most affluent suburbs, home to millionaires, foreign diplomats and celebrities, and are seen by some as a haven for the rich.
They are also in districts run by the opposition.
Mr Chavez has not yet said whether he supports the move.
But opposition city council member Carlos Ciordia called the plans "electoral demagoguery" by Mr Chavez, who is hoping for re-election in December.
Fernando Zozaya, president of the Caracas Country Club, said "this has created great concern" among his club's members.
But Mr Barreto said: "It's shameful to see people playing golf and just right there in front of them is a shantytown."
"We are following the policies laid out by President Chavez... to give a new social direction to the city, so the city can be enjoyed by everyone," he said in a television interview.
Mr Barreto has said 5,000 people could be housed in the space taken up by a single golf course.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Happy Cochabamba Day!
It's Cochabamba Day, for want of a better term. It's a little awkward and some Cbbambinos have chuckled with a shrugful concurrance at my naming it thus, but it's Cochabamba Day for me because it seems that people are unsure what to call it.
The day marks the moment somebody signed something some years ago to recognise Cbba as a city. The Founding day perhaps. It is a day left unnoticed by the rest of the country but it's very quiet here - not a big band drum to be heard, unlike yesterday's performance from 7am to at least 9.30pm when that drum's sound resonated off every city wall, tree and body.
And of course, in true Bolivian style there were many MANY bodies marching around in school uniforms and marching girl/boy outfits and officialdom spouting their much sought after words from various podiums around the city, all displaying that pride that I think I've already mentioned.
"That pride" I use with confused feelings, as Bolivia both valiantly struggles to pull itself out of it's enforced slump while giving in time and again in little ways - negativity and defeatedness a regular bandana flown. I don't know - leave me here for the remainder of the decade for time to get to know the real Bolivia.
Either way, I celebrated the eve of Cochabamba Day with gusto last night playing pool, rocking on at a civil hard-rock venue (they exist!) and of course, Karaoke-ing. Is there no end to my Western values (although all those events took place surrounded by the Bolivian masses)?
I think I'm bored. Better teach some of the Imperial Language.
Your FNBC.
The day marks the moment somebody signed something some years ago to recognise Cbba as a city. The Founding day perhaps. It is a day left unnoticed by the rest of the country but it's very quiet here - not a big band drum to be heard, unlike yesterday's performance from 7am to at least 9.30pm when that drum's sound resonated off every city wall, tree and body.
And of course, in true Bolivian style there were many MANY bodies marching around in school uniforms and marching girl/boy outfits and officialdom spouting their much sought after words from various podiums around the city, all displaying that pride that I think I've already mentioned.
"That pride" I use with confused feelings, as Bolivia both valiantly struggles to pull itself out of it's enforced slump while giving in time and again in little ways - negativity and defeatedness a regular bandana flown. I don't know - leave me here for the remainder of the decade for time to get to know the real Bolivia.
Either way, I celebrated the eve of Cochabamba Day with gusto last night playing pool, rocking on at a civil hard-rock venue (they exist!) and of course, Karaoke-ing. Is there no end to my Western values (although all those events took place surrounded by the Bolivian masses)?
I think I'm bored. Better teach some of the Imperial Language.
Your FNBC.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
The Crocodiles are crying (as they always were)
Steve Irwin is dead. He's well missed. But some other points are also being well missed.
Here's a poem from popular poet Rupert McCall about the crocodile hunter.
Then I wrote a little something as an addendum.
THE CROCODILES ARE CRYING
Endless visions fill my head – this man – as large as life
And instantly my heart mourns for his angels and his wife
Because the way I see Steve Irwin – just put everything aside
It comes back to his family – it comes back to his pride
His animals inclusive – Crikey – light the place with love!
Shine his star with everything he fought to rise above
The crazy-man of Khaki from the day he left the pouch
Living out his dream and in that classic ‘Stevo’ crouch
Exploding forth with character and redefining cheek
It’s one thing to be honoured as a champion unique
It’s one thing to have microphones and spotlight cameras shoved
It’s another to be taken in and genuinely loved
But that was where he had it right – I guess he always knew
From his fathers’ modest reptile park and then Australia Zoo
We cringed at times and shook our heads – but true to natures call
There was something very Irwin in the make up of us all
Yes the more I care to think of it – the more he had it right
If you’re going to make a difference – make it big and make it bright!
Yes - he was a lunatic! Yes - he went head first!
But he made the world feel happy with his energetic burst
A world so large and loyal that it’s hard to comprehend
I doubt we truly count the warmth until life meets an end
To count it now I say a prayer with words of inspiration
May the spotlight shine forever on his dream for conservation
…My daughter broke the news to me – my six year old in tears
It was like she’d just turned old enough to show her honest fears
I tried to make some sense of it but whilst her Dad was trying
His little girl explained it best…she said “The crocodiles are crying”
Their best mate’s up in heaven now – the crocs up there are smiling!
And as sure as flowers, poems and cards and memories are piling
As sure as we’ll continue with the trademarks of his spiel
Of all the tributes worthy – he was rough…but he was real
As sure as ‘Crikey!’ fills the sky
I think we’ll miss ya Steve…goodbye
RUPERT McCALL 2006
THE CROCODILES ARE (still) SHITTING THEMSELVES
There’s a slate of sorrow here that sees him running after crocs,
There’s also one of admiration: I can’t run two blocks.
There’s thoughts toward his family. It always hurts to lose
A father or a friend, no matter what their views.
The way I see Steve Irwin, I can’t put everything aside,
Do we hide the wrongs of World War II just cos Germany had pride?
The treatment of his employees up at Australia Zoo,
Ask how hard he worked to put their pride in crocodile poo.
“May the spotlight shine forever on his dream for conservation”
I hope that spotlight fades away like forests ‘round the nation
If Irwin thinks that Little John is our history’s greatest leader
The crocs will die - wildlife needs every drop, each plain, each cedar.
Uranium, dams, reactors, and all things quite reviling
Are created around the country, no croc – anywhere – is smiling
Have you heard about big industry, the scourge of Yorta Yorta
You won’t see John at Barmah-Millewa. Heard of it? You oughta.
Natural resources for crocs, and fish and forests take the brunt
And are fast commodified by Free Trade – another of Johnny’s courageous stunts
Yes, if one regards our Johnny as the greatest, let me mention
That any call for “conservation” is probably just for attention.
Michael McMahon 2006
Here's a poem from popular poet Rupert McCall about the crocodile hunter.
Then I wrote a little something as an addendum.
THE CROCODILES ARE CRYING
Endless visions fill my head – this man – as large as life
And instantly my heart mourns for his angels and his wife
Because the way I see Steve Irwin – just put everything aside
It comes back to his family – it comes back to his pride
His animals inclusive – Crikey – light the place with love!
Shine his star with everything he fought to rise above
The crazy-man of Khaki from the day he left the pouch
Living out his dream and in that classic ‘Stevo’ crouch
Exploding forth with character and redefining cheek
It’s one thing to be honoured as a champion unique
It’s one thing to have microphones and spotlight cameras shoved
It’s another to be taken in and genuinely loved
But that was where he had it right – I guess he always knew
From his fathers’ modest reptile park and then Australia Zoo
We cringed at times and shook our heads – but true to natures call
There was something very Irwin in the make up of us all
Yes the more I care to think of it – the more he had it right
If you’re going to make a difference – make it big and make it bright!
Yes - he was a lunatic! Yes - he went head first!
But he made the world feel happy with his energetic burst
A world so large and loyal that it’s hard to comprehend
I doubt we truly count the warmth until life meets an end
To count it now I say a prayer with words of inspiration
May the spotlight shine forever on his dream for conservation
…My daughter broke the news to me – my six year old in tears
It was like she’d just turned old enough to show her honest fears
I tried to make some sense of it but whilst her Dad was trying
His little girl explained it best…she said “The crocodiles are crying”
Their best mate’s up in heaven now – the crocs up there are smiling!
And as sure as flowers, poems and cards and memories are piling
As sure as we’ll continue with the trademarks of his spiel
Of all the tributes worthy – he was rough…but he was real
As sure as ‘Crikey!’ fills the sky
I think we’ll miss ya Steve…goodbye
RUPERT McCALL 2006
THE CROCODILES ARE (still) SHITTING THEMSELVES
There’s a slate of sorrow here that sees him running after crocs,
There’s also one of admiration: I can’t run two blocks.
There’s thoughts toward his family. It always hurts to lose
A father or a friend, no matter what their views.
The way I see Steve Irwin, I can’t put everything aside,
Do we hide the wrongs of World War II just cos Germany had pride?
The treatment of his employees up at Australia Zoo,
Ask how hard he worked to put their pride in crocodile poo.
“May the spotlight shine forever on his dream for conservation”
I hope that spotlight fades away like forests ‘round the nation
If Irwin thinks that Little John is our history’s greatest leader
The crocs will die - wildlife needs every drop, each plain, each cedar.
Uranium, dams, reactors, and all things quite reviling
Are created around the country, no croc – anywhere – is smiling
Have you heard about big industry, the scourge of Yorta Yorta
You won’t see John at Barmah-Millewa. Heard of it? You oughta.
Natural resources for crocs, and fish and forests take the brunt
And are fast commodified by Free Trade – another of Johnny’s courageous stunts
Yes, if one regards our Johnny as the greatest, let me mention
That any call for “conservation” is probably just for attention.
Michael McMahon 2006
Friday, September 08, 2006
Boy if this isn't relevent everywhere... not looking at anybody... JOHN!
I just can't help myself when this sort of stuff comes through. Paul, you keep me alive (among other people and doctors and medicine and things):
We will bankrupt ourselves in the vain search for absolute security: Dwight David Eisenhower : 34th president of the United States, 1890-1969
I have named the destroyers of nations: comfort, plenty, and security - out of which grow a bored and slothful cynicism, in which rebellion against the world as it is, and myself as I am, are submerged in listless self-satisfaction : John Steinbeck: American novelist, Nobel Prize for Literature for 1962, 1902-1968
The only security for the American people today, or for any people, is to be found through the control of force rather than the use of force : Norman Cousins: American essayist and editor, long associated with the Saturday Review, 1912-1990
Power always has to be kept in check; power exercised in secret, especially under the cloak of national security, is doubly dangerous : William Proxmire
Military justice is to justice what military music is to music.: Groucho Marx: American comedian, actor and singer, 1890-1977
In war, there are no unwounded soldiers: Jose Narosky
If my soldiers were to begin to think, not one would remain in the ranks: Frederick The Great
Read this newsletter online http://www.informationclearinghouse.info/
We will bankrupt ourselves in the vain search for absolute security: Dwight David Eisenhower : 34th president of the United States, 1890-1969
I have named the destroyers of nations: comfort, plenty, and security - out of which grow a bored and slothful cynicism, in which rebellion against the world as it is, and myself as I am, are submerged in listless self-satisfaction : John Steinbeck: American novelist, Nobel Prize for Literature for 1962, 1902-1968
The only security for the American people today, or for any people, is to be found through the control of force rather than the use of force : Norman Cousins: American essayist and editor, long associated with the Saturday Review, 1912-1990
Power always has to be kept in check; power exercised in secret, especially under the cloak of national security, is doubly dangerous : William Proxmire
Military justice is to justice what military music is to music.: Groucho Marx: American comedian, actor and singer, 1890-1977
In war, there are no unwounded soldiers: Jose Narosky
If my soldiers were to begin to think, not one would remain in the ranks: Frederick The Great
Read this newsletter online http://www.informationclearinghouse.info/
Boy if this isn't relevent everywhere... not looking at anybody... JOHN!
I just can't help myself when this sort of stuff comes through. Paul, you keep me alive (among other people and doctors and medicine and things):
We will bankrupt ourselves in the vain search for absolute security: Dwight David Eisenhower : 34th president of the United States, 1890-1969
I have named the destroyers of nations: comfort, plenty, and security - out of which grow a bored and slothful cynicism, in which rebellion against the world as it is, and myself as I am, are submerged in listless self-satisfaction : John Steinbeck: American novelist, Nobel Prize for Literature for 1962, 1902-1968
The only security for the American people today, or for any people, is to be found through the control of force rather than the use of force : Norman Cousins: American essayist and editor, long associated with the Saturday Review, 1912-1990
Power always has to be kept in check; power exercised in secret, especially under the cloak of national security, is doubly dangerous : William Proxmire
Military justice is to justice what military music is to music.: Groucho Marx: American comedian, actor and singer, 1890-1977
In war, there are no unwounded soldiers: Jose Narosky
If my soldiers were to begin to think, not one would remain in the ranks: Frederick The Great
Read this newsletter online http://www.informationclearinghouse.info/
We will bankrupt ourselves in the vain search for absolute security: Dwight David Eisenhower : 34th president of the United States, 1890-1969
I have named the destroyers of nations: comfort, plenty, and security - out of which grow a bored and slothful cynicism, in which rebellion against the world as it is, and myself as I am, are submerged in listless self-satisfaction : John Steinbeck: American novelist, Nobel Prize for Literature for 1962, 1902-1968
The only security for the American people today, or for any people, is to be found through the control of force rather than the use of force : Norman Cousins: American essayist and editor, long associated with the Saturday Review, 1912-1990
Power always has to be kept in check; power exercised in secret, especially under the cloak of national security, is doubly dangerous : William Proxmire
Military justice is to justice what military music is to music.: Groucho Marx: American comedian, actor and singer, 1890-1977
In war, there are no unwounded soldiers: Jose Narosky
If my soldiers were to begin to think, not one would remain in the ranks: Frederick The Great
Read this newsletter online http://www.informationclearinghouse.info/
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar-free!!!!!!! and Curiosity #16
I reckon this photo's worth a look. Every main intersection in the entire city looked like this on Sunday, I swear! I discovered that it's an edict from the Environment Authority here in Cochabamba. I find this hard to believe given that they can't get the lake to stay clean from dangerous (but pretty, green) algae.
Either way, I was loving it. And the punch buggy on the left? Well, it's one of I reckon 15% of the vehicles in town.
I'm counting on it...
Capricorn
A person from your past may make a surprise appearance today, and you have no reason not to welcome them with open arms. No matter how things were left between the two of you, right now they're better (although this person may not realize it). Their ideas could push your ambitious plans forward toward action, so listen to what they want to do and try to help make it happen. This might be harder than it sounds, so take your time and move cautiously.
Alright, which of you buggers are going to rock up?
Your FNBC.
A person from your past may make a surprise appearance today, and you have no reason not to welcome them with open arms. No matter how things were left between the two of you, right now they're better (although this person may not realize it). Their ideas could push your ambitious plans forward toward action, so listen to what they want to do and try to help make it happen. This might be harder than it sounds, so take your time and move cautiously.
Alright, which of you buggers are going to rock up?
Your FNBC.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Jesus Christ Almighty, hedonistic Qu'oa, and more prophesies...
Well, climbing the 1,250 odd steps to the Cristo on a lazy Sunday afternoon in a city free of cars (yes, another one, where it's actually heavily enforced by police at junctions, and bikes bloody everywhere!!! *he drools*) was a great idea, but maybe not the perfect idea after needing a few more hours sleep. I can say "I did it" like everyone else now... whoopie.
Part of what made me so tired was the Qu'oa night on Friday. On the first Friday of every month almost every shop in town burns a ritualistic alter of incense, coca leaves, magical things, and hopes for the best of luck from Pachamama forthe coming month. So I went to the official fiesta with a Dutch girl and a Brazilian girl which made me look very cool. I really wanted another bloke to be there with us because it can get dangerous out where it was. There's lots of dancing and chicha ritual, as well as the several Qu'oa ritual moments throughout the night. The dancing caused an embarrassing moment at one point - part of the traditional idea is to hold hands with people, eventually forming a long line which zips surprisingly quickly around the venue... Well, I'm not sure how it happened but when I was zipping, and part of the same line was zapping under the arms of me and the girl whose hand I was holding, it came our turn to zap through, and after some sort of twist I was thrown off my balance, literally went arse up, and while all other pointy bits of my body found some concrete, my head decided to crash into the big band leaders drum. People weren't sure whether to laugh or offer help, and some did both. I was o.k. but my elbows are still a little tender...
I hear Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter died.
Crikey!
Capricorn Get ready to become a bigger part of your community -- either at work, in school or in your neighborhood. You're about to assume a larger role, and this is something you've been waiting for (whether you realized it or not). Step up and volunteer -- your ideas or your time. Making an impact is very much required for you to get the respect and opportunities you deserve. Keep in mind that the bigger your efforts, the bigger your impact. Now is not the time to look for excuses.
And about time! What happens - do I get a Spanish Language chip put in my head?
Part of what made me so tired was the Qu'oa night on Friday. On the first Friday of every month almost every shop in town burns a ritualistic alter of incense, coca leaves, magical things, and hopes for the best of luck from Pachamama forthe coming month. So I went to the official fiesta with a Dutch girl and a Brazilian girl which made me look very cool. I really wanted another bloke to be there with us because it can get dangerous out where it was. There's lots of dancing and chicha ritual, as well as the several Qu'oa ritual moments throughout the night. The dancing caused an embarrassing moment at one point - part of the traditional idea is to hold hands with people, eventually forming a long line which zips surprisingly quickly around the venue... Well, I'm not sure how it happened but when I was zipping, and part of the same line was zapping under the arms of me and the girl whose hand I was holding, it came our turn to zap through, and after some sort of twist I was thrown off my balance, literally went arse up, and while all other pointy bits of my body found some concrete, my head decided to crash into the big band leaders drum. People weren't sure whether to laugh or offer help, and some did both. I was o.k. but my elbows are still a little tender...
I hear Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter died.
Crikey!
Capricorn Get ready to become a bigger part of your community -- either at work, in school or in your neighborhood. You're about to assume a larger role, and this is something you've been waiting for (whether you realized it or not). Step up and volunteer -- your ideas or your time. Making an impact is very much required for you to get the respect and opportunities you deserve. Keep in mind that the bigger your efforts, the bigger your impact. Now is not the time to look for excuses.
And about time! What happens - do I get a Spanish Language chip put in my head?
Sunday, September 03, 2006
A breath of fresh air
The stirling couple I met on the way to Cochabamba, Nick and Auntie Jane, are now living somewhere between their respective homelands of New Zealand and Adelaide - Melbourne. They finally blog posted some of the startlingly good photos from their time (with me) from San Pedro de Atacama to Uyuni, post-Salar.
Check them out!
http://lostinthepats.blogspot.com/
Check them out!
http://lostinthepats.blogspot.com/
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
This, from the most helpful support group this side of the Andes...
Looks like you have to keep the time slot of 8 pm to 8.30 pm , either the 4th or the 11th of September, free of clutter.
Australian Story focussing on a family living with Marfan Syndrome (of a girl I know!) will most likely be broadcast on the 11th, but, it might just be earlier.
Australian Story focussing on a family living with Marfan Syndrome (of a girl I know!) will most likely be broadcast on the 11th, but, it might just be earlier.
I can't resist a good ethics bashing...
Who does this apply to? AFL or ARL
36 have been accused of spousal abuse
7 have been arrested for fraud
19 have been accused of writing bad checks
117 have directly or indirectly bankrupted at least 2 businesses
3 have done time for assault
71, repeat71 cannot get a credit card due to bad credit
14 have been arrested on drug-related charges
8 have been arrested for shoplifting
21 currently are defendants in lawsuits,
and 84 have been arrested for drunk driving in the last year! Can you guess which organization this is? Give up yet? . . .
Neither ... it's the 535 members of the AUSTRALIAN PARLIAMENT IN CANBERRA
36 have been accused of spousal abuse
7 have been arrested for fraud
19 have been accused of writing bad checks
117 have directly or indirectly bankrupted at least 2 businesses
3 have done time for assault
71, repeat71 cannot get a credit card due to bad credit
14 have been arrested on drug-related charges
8 have been arrested for shoplifting
21 currently are defendants in lawsuits,
and 84 have been arrested for drunk driving in the last year! Can you guess which organization this is? Give up yet? . . .
Neither ... it's the 535 members of the AUSTRALIAN PARLIAMENT IN CANBERRA
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
What's that sound...? Oh, it's quiet.
What does it mean when the teachers, the post office, and all public transport goes on strike at the same time? That someone's stuffing up royally. And who else could it be? It's not my fault, or is it?
It also means that my first English class of the day has cancelled because she can't get to my house - no buses.
And lucky I work for a private institute where they'll stay as open as a 7/11 (that's an insult by the way) regardless of a teacher's strike, and I get paid... maybe. Am I a scab? Well, not technically. Should I go out in sympathy for the Bolivians? Will it make a difference? Should I just use my English class to propogate my propoganda, as I always do? Will that salve my guilt? Better go find that street protest and take some pictures...
In other news, the streets will be even quieter this coming Sunday, when the Cochabambino masses actually enforce the "Car Free Day" call. Any unauthorised vehicles face the threat of being the target of missiles in the form rocks or tomatoes or eggs. So there'll be few cars on the road and much tranquilo-ing and street walking. Nullabor Simon would be in his element! And can you imagine a Dresses of Mass Seduction gig in Plaza 14 de Septiembre!!
Viva el mundo libre!
Your FNBC.
It also means that my first English class of the day has cancelled because she can't get to my house - no buses.
And lucky I work for a private institute where they'll stay as open as a 7/11 (that's an insult by the way) regardless of a teacher's strike, and I get paid... maybe. Am I a scab? Well, not technically. Should I go out in sympathy for the Bolivians? Will it make a difference? Should I just use my English class to propogate my propoganda, as I always do? Will that salve my guilt? Better go find that street protest and take some pictures...
In other news, the streets will be even quieter this coming Sunday, when the Cochabambino masses actually enforce the "Car Free Day" call. Any unauthorised vehicles face the threat of being the target of missiles in the form rocks or tomatoes or eggs. So there'll be few cars on the road and much tranquilo-ing and street walking. Nullabor Simon would be in his element! And can you imagine a Dresses of Mass Seduction gig in Plaza 14 de Septiembre!!
Viva el mundo libre!
Your FNBC.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
This one's for Jackie... (check the lyrics)
... while - can you believe it - "Lay you down on a bed of roses" plays away at this internet cafe... in fact *he just realises* it's the whole damn album ("Blaze of Glory" now!).
Sometimes I feel I'm not even watching Bolivia from the tv (as suggested I was doing here now, by an esteemed fellow, because I don't have Spanish - true).
football, festivals and farewells.
Well now, where to start. Just me, me, me isn't it!
Back pedal to the footy game, between Aurora (my local team) and the other local team (can't remember the name but they're very good so it's the popular team - the underdog doesn't usually get a look in here...) in the National comp. The view of the field shows the Cbba mountains in the background, the scoreboard which ended as 1-1, the riot police - a regular feature to ensure the referees get off the field alive, and the players, of course. I was there with the other two Aussies, Luke who I move in with in a few weeks (there's the official broadcast), and Marty, who has flown the coop, leaving me almost karaoke partner-less...
The festive atmosphere you find me in is the Monday of that Urkupiña cafuffle that took place last week, where little sleep was had as opposed to much festivities, which is what a festival is all about. Thousands of participants in the parade, while Marty and I traipsed around like idiots through the parade, often being confused as part of the cross-cultural contingent according to the reaction from the gawking crowd. I swear some of the crowds on the bleachers looked just like an Australian Great Southern Stand moment, but smaller.
Don't worry about the girl in the parade with me there. She had nowhere to put anything she might have pickpocketed from me, so I think I was safe, in that regard...
And that's not a beer in my hand, it's a... um... you know, ... a light?
Phew.
Mirror, mirror on the wall...
Capricorn
A funny thing happens when the chaos of your life fades away: You suddenly notice things you never noticed before. Things are definitely throttling down today, so you might have a difficult time staying focused -- your eye will be distracted by items or people that everyone else has already become used to. It's important to take this day at face value -- don't go digging too deep for greater significance. Sometimes things just are what they seem to be.
What, like this star reading?
A funny thing happens when the chaos of your life fades away: You suddenly notice things you never noticed before. Things are definitely throttling down today, so you might have a difficult time staying focused -- your eye will be distracted by items or people that everyone else has already become used to. It's important to take this day at face value -- don't go digging too deep for greater significance. Sometimes things just are what they seem to be.
What, like this star reading?
One fish, two fish, red fish... (is that blood?), blue fish (is that ink?)
Yummy trucha for me! It didn't come from the skanky river that flowed all peaceful like past our table out the road a bit (at the bourgeois touristy strip, just to call a spade a spade) but it did melt in one's mouth. That's mine, front, third from the right (cos this information is really important!)
And a one, and a two... *smokey flashback shimmering...*
Just a little flashback to the tiny town of Toro Toro and the Tinku Festival for Tata Santiago (whoever he/she was...) back in late July.
This woman was full of chicha and not letting me get away without some samba in my bones.
(note the suspicious bucket of chicha in the bottom right corner, waiting to pounce on me... I mean, look at it - all innocent and consciousless looking.)
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Curiosity # 15 How many driver lessons does it take to drive this poorly...
Driving down Av. America (or being escorted again to be precise) I saw an unexpected sight. Not unexpected in a vacuum of information but if you read my blog in the past categorising the top ten driving shit-me's in Cochabamba, then, well... yep.
In front of me was a car with a driving instructor's sign on top, the inside looking to me like a driving lesson being taken place *raises eyebrows and shrugs shoulders, again*.
In front of me was a car with a driving instructor's sign on top, the inside looking to me like a driving lesson being taken place *raises eyebrows and shrugs shoulders, again*.
The fellow is as relevent as ever!
"Do not fear the enemy, for your enemy can only take your life. It is far better that you fear the media, for they will steal your Honor. That awful power, the public opinion of a nation, is created in America by a horde of ignorant, self-complacent simpletons who failed at ditching and shoemaking and fetched up in journalism on their way to the poorhouse"
-Mark Twain.
-Mark Twain.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Totally unrelated to Bolivia, and yet...
Now here I go getting myself into trouble again...
I got sent a political mp3 file certainly worth listening to. It covers alot of ground already heard, and perhaps discarded, but it's in the context of current events. Conspiracy theories are great, and remember, it's o.k. to be paranoid if it's really happening to you!! It runs for about 10 minutes.
http://www.conspiracypenpal.com/rants/new911-16-16.mp3
I got sent a political mp3 file certainly worth listening to. It covers alot of ground already heard, and perhaps discarded, but it's in the context of current events. Conspiracy theories are great, and remember, it's o.k. to be paranoid if it's really happening to you!! It runs for about 10 minutes.
http://www.conspiracypenpal.com/rants/new911-16-16.mp3
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Banality #14 Lebanon, more virgins, and my spraycan.
To view the scenes in the Information Clearing House videos (http://www.informationclearinghouse.info/article14616.htm) is depressing. For me, today at least, it only serves as a reminder that I don't understand anything, about Lebanon, the fighting, what I'm going to do about it all. Like the old man at the end of the video, this country is also asking for God to punish all oppressors. But I wonder how many people prayed to the Virgin de Urkupiña on Wednesday for that very thing. A lot of tiny trucks were sold as symbols of what people were praying for. I didn't see any tiny bombs, or little effigies of George Bush, or miniature guns. On the same token, I didn't see any miniscule peace signs either. What does this say? That people are more interested in their own personal material desires rather than more socially productive pursuits? Or does it mean that they've prayed to the good old Mother of God long enough for that social justice stuff and realise she's just not going to cough up. I'm still this very morning hearing stories of how the Virgin has assisted in times of need, but one woman told me of how she was told by her husband to walk to the shrine and ask for rain for the crops to grow, or dry for the trees to be cut: she couldn't remember. When she got there she tossed the metaphoric coin in the air and prayed for rain. It rained. Her husband was very angry at her for screwing up the request to the Big Virgin. I reckon if the Virgin's so good then she should've known what the lady's husband wanted. You can't go smiting people for having a poor memory.
Going to enjoy the Sunday sun (the real one, not the Murdoch one). There's still snow on Mt. Tunari. And my flattened spraycan is still as comfortingly there in the dirt at the end of the street as it was on the first day I got here. How about you? How's your aerosol?
Your FNBC.
Going to enjoy the Sunday sun (the real one, not the Murdoch one). There's still snow on Mt. Tunari. And my flattened spraycan is still as comfortingly there in the dirt at the end of the street as it was on the first day I got here. How about you? How's your aerosol?
Your FNBC.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Monkey, legless, and cultural immersion.
In the world before Monkey, primal chaos reigned. Heaven sought order, but the phoenix can fly only when it's feathers are grown. The four worlds formed again and yet again, as endless aeons wheeled and passed. Time and the pure essences of Heaven all worked upon a certain rock, old as creation. It became magically fertile. The first egg was named "Thought". Tathagata Buddha, the Father Buddha said "With our thoughts, we make the world". Elemental forces caused the egg to hatch. From it came a stone monkey. The nature of monkey was irrepressible!!
Well, as a sleep deprived adventurer in the South once said: "Who needs sleep! We're on an adventure!!"
Yep, well, he was sleep deprived - you can't expect him to have epiphanous moments all the time.
I was fully primed - like a Saturday Night Fever fan on a Sunday morning - to sleep in. Of course bloody culture got in the way and I had to have some o' the action.
Now, I can't say I scaled a 5000 metre summit, nor can I say I was witness to any great spiritual experiences, but I DID wake up at 1.50am this morning to start walking the 20ks from my house in Recoleta to the shrine of the Virgin de Urkupiña, along with at LEAST 250,000 others (they didn't all start from my house by the way). We thought this turn-out - after informal reports of gringoisation, and a disappointing no-show from a Boliviano who was going to join us – was going to resemble our whitey crew (Marty, Gesine, Luke and Anny (who IS Bolivian) and my good self).
We mused dejectedly as we scuttled along toward the main drag that there were not really any groups around walking (at least in the right direction). Hmm… not looking good – perhaps they all slept later (a desirable notion). Then, as we hit the intersection of Blanco Galindo, the main drag out of town and to Quillacollo, the entire concept of our walk evolved. We were engulfed immediately by hundreds, some walking serious and steadfast in search of that good ol’ final goal, others cajoling with their friends, the same (sort of) aim in mind. Poco a poco you couldn’t disguise our disbelief as the hundreds turned to thousands, nay, hundreds of thousands! Pilgrims from La Paz, Tarija, Santa Cruz, Potosi, Argentina, Peru, and closer to hand, and further afield.
By the eighth k. our escort became thick as we realised that our legs were now fully rebelling the lack of rest and their collective realisation that 4.30am was no time to be walking.
*Interlude*
A quote from a fellow … a fellow… yep.
>>“Oh, I also have a really good political joke involving the Virgen de Urkupiña (who's known for her faithfulness). It's from the 1989 election. The three major candidates all went to Quillacollo to ask the virgin to intercede on their behalf. Goni asked to win the election; Paz Zamora asked to become presidet; Banzer asked to rule Bolivia. All three had their wish granted.”
You either get it or you don’t. I’m not interpreting today.
The throng (for that’s what it had become by kilometre 12) was a sight as the realisation kept hitting us that all these people just walked for their faith, in the middle of the night to pray to their lady. As you know (and sorry mum) I'm just not into the praying business, but I did have a deep respect for the incredible faith, and hope - an important aspect of life!
We could only estimate numbers at the best of times but as we finally made our way past the countless stalls, selling any miniature version of your desire (including mini $1000 bills, mini passports, mini campervans, mini suitcases, mini houses, mini blocks of land, mini semi-trailers…) - down the main drag of Quillacollo and beyond up the hill (mountain, in my head) and to the spectacle of the crowds that presented itself there, we decided – at least 500,000 souls for the taking. The pope never had it so good. I looked around to be struck solidly by the beauty of Mt. Tunari (the highest peak in the mountainous border of Cochabamba), flaked heavily by it's first snow of the year. The early morning mist skirted the hills, the plains were dewy and sweet, and the thousands seemed to stare with me, drinking in the wonder.
One of the many traditions we came to see was the notion of sledging some rock from the virgin’s stronghold, taking it home for good luck, and returning it the following year. Seemed like fun, but I found myself thinking of my Australian friend and Zen guide, Adrian, who journeyed 800ks into the desert on his bike, absentmindedly picked up some beautiful rocks and rode back. He was told by an indigenous fellow that it wasn’t right to remove what belongs to the land (including Aboriginal people by the way!). That clicked and he got on his bike and put them back where they belonged. I prefer to leave the earth as undisturbed as I can. Sounds hoity-toity but there it is. No piccis of me with a sledge hammer. Oh, and the whole notion of sacred rocks reminded me of Monkey Magic (irrespective of the many chained monkeys up on the hill being tortured for money (that is, force the petrified monkey to do tricks, take people's willingly offered money - sickening).
All up, one of the most amazing days I've spent on this continent. Thank you Bolivia.
I gotta get a drink … I mean, some sleep.
Photos and more later,
Chou.
Your Friendly Neighbourhood Bolivian Correspondent.
Well, as a sleep deprived adventurer in the South once said: "Who needs sleep! We're on an adventure!!"
Yep, well, he was sleep deprived - you can't expect him to have epiphanous moments all the time.
I was fully primed - like a Saturday Night Fever fan on a Sunday morning - to sleep in. Of course bloody culture got in the way and I had to have some o' the action.
Now, I can't say I scaled a 5000 metre summit, nor can I say I was witness to any great spiritual experiences, but I DID wake up at 1.50am this morning to start walking the 20ks from my house in Recoleta to the shrine of the Virgin de Urkupiña, along with at LEAST 250,000 others (they didn't all start from my house by the way). We thought this turn-out - after informal reports of gringoisation, and a disappointing no-show from a Boliviano who was going to join us – was going to resemble our whitey crew (Marty, Gesine, Luke and Anny (who IS Bolivian) and my good self).
We mused dejectedly as we scuttled along toward the main drag that there were not really any groups around walking (at least in the right direction). Hmm… not looking good – perhaps they all slept later (a desirable notion). Then, as we hit the intersection of Blanco Galindo, the main drag out of town and to Quillacollo, the entire concept of our walk evolved. We were engulfed immediately by hundreds, some walking serious and steadfast in search of that good ol’ final goal, others cajoling with their friends, the same (sort of) aim in mind. Poco a poco you couldn’t disguise our disbelief as the hundreds turned to thousands, nay, hundreds of thousands! Pilgrims from La Paz, Tarija, Santa Cruz, Potosi, Argentina, Peru, and closer to hand, and further afield.
By the eighth k. our escort became thick as we realised that our legs were now fully rebelling the lack of rest and their collective realisation that 4.30am was no time to be walking.
*Interlude*
A quote from a fellow … a fellow… yep.
>>“Oh, I also have a really good political joke involving the Virgen de Urkupiña (who's known for her faithfulness). It's from the 1989 election. The three major candidates all went to Quillacollo to ask the virgin to intercede on their behalf. Goni asked to win the election; Paz Zamora asked to become presidet; Banzer asked to rule Bolivia. All three had their wish granted.”
You either get it or you don’t. I’m not interpreting today.
The throng (for that’s what it had become by kilometre 12) was a sight as the realisation kept hitting us that all these people just walked for their faith, in the middle of the night to pray to their lady. As you know (and sorry mum) I'm just not into the praying business, but I did have a deep respect for the incredible faith, and hope - an important aspect of life!
We could only estimate numbers at the best of times but as we finally made our way past the countless stalls, selling any miniature version of your desire (including mini $1000 bills, mini passports, mini campervans, mini suitcases, mini houses, mini blocks of land, mini semi-trailers…) - down the main drag of Quillacollo and beyond up the hill (mountain, in my head) and to the spectacle of the crowds that presented itself there, we decided – at least 500,000 souls for the taking. The pope never had it so good. I looked around to be struck solidly by the beauty of Mt. Tunari (the highest peak in the mountainous border of Cochabamba), flaked heavily by it's first snow of the year. The early morning mist skirted the hills, the plains were dewy and sweet, and the thousands seemed to stare with me, drinking in the wonder.
One of the many traditions we came to see was the notion of sledging some rock from the virgin’s stronghold, taking it home for good luck, and returning it the following year. Seemed like fun, but I found myself thinking of my Australian friend and Zen guide, Adrian, who journeyed 800ks into the desert on his bike, absentmindedly picked up some beautiful rocks and rode back. He was told by an indigenous fellow that it wasn’t right to remove what belongs to the land (including Aboriginal people by the way!). That clicked and he got on his bike and put them back where they belonged. I prefer to leave the earth as undisturbed as I can. Sounds hoity-toity but there it is. No piccis of me with a sledge hammer. Oh, and the whole notion of sacred rocks reminded me of Monkey Magic (irrespective of the many chained monkeys up on the hill being tortured for money (that is, force the petrified monkey to do tricks, take people's willingly offered money - sickening).
All up, one of the most amazing days I've spent on this continent. Thank you Bolivia.
I gotta get a drink … I mean, some sleep.
Photos and more later,
Chou.
Your Friendly Neighbourhood Bolivian Correspondent.
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