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.