Pic one: A bit of the vibrant colour that I keep talking about. This guy was selling wool... of course.

Pic two: Look mum! I'm a dinosaur. I can't believe I resisted the temptation to run up to the butcher's yelling "Grr! I'm a dinosaur!!" (Dinosaur tracks heading uphill, due to the movements in the earth pushing the rock upwards. These tracks were make by one of those huge 20metre herbivores, with the long neck and tail. There were other tracks made by the ones about 2metres tall that ran on two legs and ate all of Sam Neill's friends.

Pic three: Me not resisting the gloriously communal tradition of Chicha drinking (I resisted most of the time, at times - in desperation - even letting the Bacchanalian revellers know about my medication issues.

A Festival with Class.

I'd like to point out that in the land of colour and short skirts (of which I expostulate often) I am not too critical of Bolivia. I always either a) put my sarcasm and negative experiences into a humourous jack-in-the-box (like inventing a stupid joke) or b) put them in the context of Bolivia’s political history that screwed it up so much. If Bolivians were allowed to live their culture, breath their own air and reap their own labour's rewards, one - that is, the USA - would have a hell of a time getting the best of such a strong, beautiful, resourceful place. Saying that, I just came back from the Torotoro Tinku Festival, a 5hr bus trip (which I think was VERY comfortable: the gruelling 7hr trip there would have been improved by not having to stand up the whole way, in a crowded isle - the direct impact of a greedy few getting more than they deserve (see? political!)). I went specifically to see the Tinku fighting that still exists to fulfill the tradition of spilling blood for Pachamama. I got some fantastic photos of the colour and genuineness, the resistance and the strength of the local people and places, but I have to claim cultural ignorance on the fighting. And in that pretext I think it's a stupid tradition (I know, I KNOW!!!). People get their noses broken, concussion, lose their teeth and often pass out on the street to recover if at all possible. Why can't they symbolically give themselves a blood nose, or get a paper cut or do some sewing when they're really drunk on the plentiful (and FREE!) Chicha? In my ‘umble western opinion, fighting doesn’t become such an otherwise friendly town. It’s just like boxing to me and that’s stupid too. And don’t anybody tell me that boxing is good for getting kids off the streets. What would be next? War isn’t hell? (see http://sirnosir.com/punkass.html) Excuse the harsh language and content of the site, but there’s a clear message there. Oops. Soapboxy.

I went to Torotoro with my Swiss housemate Ivo, my Alemanian housemate (for 4 days) Chantelle, and Ivo’s Swiss mate Simone. I put my foot in dinosaur footprints, impressed with, and finetuned my Chicha drinking finesse, gave the locals a new recipe (ordering an egg and salad sandwich from one woman’s stall and while that’s frying away in the inch deep oil (and here I am forever cursing the egg sticking to my pans!!) quickly running around the corner for some anticucho (cow heart) and mani salsa (peanut sauce) for more filling – yes, a long explanation, but that’s because it’s genius mate! GENIUS!!), resisted the irresistable aguayos on sale (those colourful back wraps that are famous for the bebe carriers), and saw a spitting image of Claudia Carvan (except South American)!! I was going to ask if I could take her photo to show, but decided against it, because unlike Claudia, who smiles all the time, this woman’s look could kill, and certainly did that to my enthusiasm... nevermind.

One thing I noticed at Torotoro, as opposed to Cbba, was the distinct lack of beggers. None! Everyone had something to do it seemed. Even if it was to drink to excess and fall asleep in the gutter, which wasn't prevalent. What was prevalent was the extremely hard work of the women and often children (as usual) who "manned" the food stalls that fed us so well. In fact this morning, as we left the alojamento at 6am to catch the bus, our favourite fried bread woman hadn't quite made it to boiling point so we unintentionally disrupted a woman breastfeeding to order fried bread (what's it called??!) from her. Her 2 year old came out from sleeping under the tarp which was draped over ... um, not sure what, but it quite shocked me. Maybe it's just for the festival... probably not...

We also noticed the overly non-Anglo-touristy nature of the place and that most tourists were from other parts of the country. Many from Cbba, and a group, very keen to play the Get-the-gringo-to-drink-all-the-Chicha thing, who were touring from Sucre - a noble journey.

Dancing till we couldn't and then some. Oh, the times.


English lessons. More on Torotoro (with pics) later.

How many Bolivians does it take to steal a mobile phone and a wallet?

300 - one to sneak up and pickpocket the tall gringo, and 299 to spontaneously jostle for the bus back to Cochabamba.

Sunday lunchtime I found the strength in the throes of Sundayitis to hotfoot it out to the long awaited Cliza festival of the Virgen de Carmen (or more commonly known as the festival of colour and short skirts...). Had a great time, but while waiting for the bus got pickpocketed and lost my mobile and my wallet (all those people who told me so, don't say "I told you so" - I had my hands securely in my pockets at the time and as soon as I felt danger I grabbed my backpack to put my pocketed stuff in and zap, or pop, or pow, or something, they were gone. My wallet only had my show-and-tell $AU30, my drivers licence and the coolest pillbox this side of the Andes, but I WANT THEM BACK!! *he yells as if it will help...*

On the other hand, my private English lessons I've been picking up are great: much more money and ... and... yep. Much more money.

Almuerzo beckons, again.

Michael.

p.s. my profound apologies to Todd, and Michele and Janette, who were glorious enough to allow the taking of the phone and their gift of the wallet (respectively) to South Abloodymerica. I'll make up for the losses. At some stage...

p.p.s. These pictures were only second choice of those chosen by National Geographic for their Cliza spread, but I thought they captured a) the spirit of the day, the goblin type creatures a common occurance throughout, and b) the indigenous flag! That's the flag there, with the girl. Great huh! It is very VERY symbolic, as is Australia's, but with a few more colours...

Fit in? Never heard the term before!

Capricorn

For way too long, the misconception that you have to fit in has been dictating your behavior. Even if you haven't realized it, you've been subtly editing yourself and altering your attitude, thinking that will get you farther. What you may fail to realize is that who you are is defined in part by how you're different from everyone else. Do things your own way today -- you'll meet little, if any, resistance. Strike out and show everyone the real you.

Again, I know these things are for people who a keen to see SOMEthing in ANYthing, but again, it's bloody spot on. I was just thinking this morning how I wished I was like everyone else, even if only to do the rob-the-rich thing that everyone else seems to be doing (except that I'm not rich). I got over that ridiculous concept very quickly with the realisation that even if I was just like the Bolivian next door I'd feel like shit if I bag-snatched an old, rich gringo.

My own way? Which way is that?

Curiosity #12

As I gingerly walked past a punchbuggy this morning, all snuggled up in it's purpleness behind the security of it's owner's high fence, I spied through the bars a sticker on it's rear window which read "Baby on board!"

Now, I know what "baby" is in Spanish but the fact that I don't know what "on board" means, brought to my attention that the sticker's warning was in English. Why, when you live in a nation that can barely say hello in English, would you put such an important message on display in that language? Makes me think that the "cool" that comes with whatever she/he was attempting is more important than her/his baby. Or that he/she thinks that only gringos drive like maniacs in Bolivia.

It's sunny out, and lunch time. Bye.

Highs, lows and a few analogies to help them along the way...

Life is like a cat, it’s either running around after your shoelaces like an idiot or it’s lying in the sun on your bedside table giving you the greasiest look you can imagine.

I have been flowing up and down the scale of happiness lately, as you may have guessed, but it's certainly more to do with the experience of international culture which is sure to be translated into a good story once home again.

I was at the children´s burns centre the other day with Phoebe the Australian woman, who always seems to have other things to do when she’s helping me with my visa stuff, so I go along with her, to this place and that, where she has been helping people for the last 45 years. The centre was a hell of a traumatic half hour for me, which means that I can’t even imagine how traumatic it is for those kids, confused and in pain, with various injuries. One child of around 8 was having his burns massaged by 5 nurses, burns which covered his chest, neck, parts of his arms and face. He was clearly in pain, tears streaming down his face, but his lips pursed so tight, and his eyes looking so brave, that in seconds I was in tears myself.

Another lad of about 12, walking around with most of his face covered, and his right arm braced at a right angle prostrate from his body. He found the courage to be happy, immediately finding me out as a keen rubber ball bouncer and catcher, using his one arm and limited mobility to enjoy the few moments we had, between improptu hugs.

Of course none of these kids have private health cover, and god knows how they get through but Phoebe told me that one wealthy, anonymous benefactor had given two kids some tens of thousands for their treatment, out of the blue. Came in, asked what kids needed the most help and said “here you go” *slaps down the cash*. Phoebe says that sometimes God’s will is the only thing to believe in. I continue to say, to myself of course, that the will of the people is the key *as he flimsily clings to his anarchistic, godless beliefs*

And of course, after much Immigration hoo-ha-ing they still haven’t giving me my year-long volunteer visa. They tried to send me to La Paz for an interview and to pick the visa up from there, with the temptation of not having to pay the 25 days overdue fine (250Bs) but I got it out of them that they just didn’t have the cellos, the stamps of approval, here in Cbba yet. The buggers.

And of course, Cochabamba continues to notice the winds of Michael-needs-a-pick-me-up, when on Thursday night I found, thanks to my Aussie friends, a really cool pool hall, which gave me my first “what’s down” after a three month “break” (get it?). Then on Friday (as pictured) Marty and Ivo were happily dragged along to the monthly K’owa festival where the K’owa is burned (as pictured and mentioned in previous entries) and lots of dancing ensues, and of course, embibing (as seen by the big old bucket of Chicha in front of us (13Bs for the bucket! That’s only $2 for some heavy, dangerous, sweet sweet stuff!)

Then on Saturday I caught up with my blog friend Patricia, who as it turns out (and not surprisingly) is much like she is on her blog, and more! She’s intelligent, funny, controversial at times and we talked for hours, (but only some 30 mins inSpanish...). It was difficult to leave, but fatigue of not enough sleep was dictating, almost...

I was going home to a much needed sleep, but Ivo, in his greediness forced me at gunpoint to go to the Secret Club with him. That was, again, an eyeful of sexy dancing and more, which made me just miss Fiona quite a bit more than I already do.

THEN on Sunday the Mundial finished (with a yummy Argentinean sausage bbq at Luke and Marty’s), which left us all wondering what we were going to do now!

On my way to work my first private English lesson this morning I had a skip in my step, unsure of whether it was due to the good sleep I had (which included a dream of how to make more money!), the midnight oil smoothing my path, the prospect of higher paid English classes, or just the fact that I was feeling really comfortable and safe in my little city.

"Death of a Jammer"

This from Jammer Paul: I want people to look at Dan's web site and get inspired.



Death of a Jammer.

I am the defacto leader of a group called the Melbourne Culture Jammers, which grew out of the work of Adbusters magazine.One of our hardest working foot soldiers - a stenciler, graphic designer, website maker and seriously hard working jammer, a guy called Dan Mckay, was taken from us on Friday June 23rd. Thanks to a wet road, a car and a tree.

Dan hated cars, rode his bike everywhere, it is a cruel irony that a car should be so brutal to him.Dan (known online simply as "why?") was also the guy who spent a lot of his time taping up sheets with the words "Why? Why? Why?" all over town. It used to give me a big smile seeing them covering ads on Bourke street or wrapped on poles in the CBD.

It took us a few days to find out what had happened. evildoom_bunny received a short email from Dan's account, written by his dad. It said "Dan was in an accident last night, and you won't be hearing from him again." There was the shortest snippet in the paper about a "young man was killed Friday when his car left the road near Wallen" - which was Dan's home town. Not good. Then stillbeing found a funeral notice in the paper. But right up until the moment I was handed a program for the funeral, which had a big smiling picture of Dan on the front, I was trying to convince myself it wasn't him. Of all the people in the world, why this talented, bike riding, staunchly anti-capitialist caring guy? I think I'm still struggling to believe it.evildoom_bunny, stillbeing and I made our way out to a tiny church in Wallan for the funeral on Friday. It looked like a small town from the map, and it really looked like most of the town where there. The chapel itself was full, the similar sized room behind it was also full, and people stood three rows deep at the back of the room and around the door. The saddest part was, as I mentioned, finally having it confirmed that it wasn't just a mistake on our part - we hadn't misheard. Seeing his entire family choking back tears was hard, but the hardest part was his little dog. They brought her along to the ceremony - a little mixed black and white mutt - and she looked the saddest of all, utterly perplexed and struggling to make sense of all the people. I gave her a quick pat on the way out.

Dan was in fact a far more interesting guy than even we had heard. It was actually really, really, really interesting to hear about the rest of his life. He was about to embark on becoming a child care worker, ran every day with his dog, madly followed a certain football team. And a had lot of friends in the town, all of whom looked utterly downcast. He was also quite a well known stenciler, not just on the streets of Melbourne or at the recent stencil festival.The procession to the cemetery was at least fifty cars long. Two of the local police came to the funeral - they looked like friends - and blocked the highway which passes through Wallen to let them all through. We took our leave at that point, headed east because we saw some mountains in that direction. We ended up in King Lake, and took some very curvy roads out of the hills back to Melbourne. It was actually nice to see some forest, trees and mountains after the sad ceremony of the early afternoon.Dan's site it still up, I recommend it: Ask Why Why?.We are still getting used to the loss.He was only 21... :-(

What WAS that low flying piece of extrañar-ness??!

Capricorn If you're tossed into some particularly vexing situations today, you can figure out what you need to do with a little concentration. Your mission is to sort the pros from the cons, and the answer will be clear. This sounds a lot easier than it is, however; it may take a few tries before it sticks. Write a list if that helps -- sometimes scripting your options makes things easier. Overall, if you can stick with your favorite people, you'll enjoy a very mellow and relaxing day.



Now I know that horoscopes are designed to appeal to the largest of audiences with their generalisations and meaninglessness, and I KNOW that every day for me throws me into a vexing situation or two... but this was just stupid accurate. I had to run over here to get some comforting words (I hoped, and was satisfied) from my friends and loved ones (here I bloody go!) ... because I was all cry-baby just earlier and I didn't want my family to see my red eyes (cos I'm a man and have to be tough!... yep). This day wasn't particularly ... yes it was. I was going to say that my situations were just the last straw, but it was a little more than that. I didn't get robbed, I'm not injured, I'm not in any imminent danger, but my emotional state got a bashing from bureaucracy this morning and of course the lack of Spanish didn't help, however there were some good souls who, just for the warm fuzzy, decided to direct me and speak very slowly indeed. But one situation blew everything out of the water, which, when they happen, make me feel like coming home for a little while then I get a burst of clarity and strength and push through. AnyHOO! Just thought I'd share some obscurity with youse.

I'll be sure to get you some photos of my extraordinarily left actions with you soon.

Love,

Your overly sensitive FNBC.

Ahh, computer loves me today...

This is the favourite of mine with the kids playing soccer in the dust.
This is my kitchen table, where I'm about to go have almuerzo. Fatima, the matriarch and superbly hospitable jill-o-all-trades, about to carve up the Spinach and mince carne pie (bloody delicious - Fiona, Fatima is writing out the recipe for you... or me!), our 4 week Spanish learner from Switzerland (fine specimen of the Euros, we're fine friends!), Gonzalo, the very helpful, scientific, artistic fellow that Fiona thinks sounds very cute on the phone, and Gonzalito, a cool little fella with a hell of a brain. I usually sit at the end of the table near the fridge. How very convivial we all look don't you think?! We have another Bolivian fellow living with us; Fernando is a lawyer volunteering with the Quechuan communities - a really sincere, softly spoken guy who I like alot.

Now:
It starts...

What?

Michael's rekindled love affair... but where's Fiona!?? Well, she may not mind too much... one can't get this subject of desire drunk, nor take it to bed (actually you can do the latter, but with limited satisfaction). There's not much point giving flowers but I do think we'll be going everywhere together (so flexible and accessible!), such is my head-over-heelsness.

If anyone wants to contact me, my new mobile is as follows:

722 11 090

My estudiante works at Entel (the overpowering telecommunications company here) and got me a good deal with an easy-to-remember number. Ariane, I'll try to work out a word/phrase for you. Hmm... just realised that neither the 0s or the 1s have letters with them... PAC110Z0? 0HOW0K0JET was better.

Nup, the upload didn't work, but you DO get to hear me winge...

This is just an extra blog in the hope that the photos upload this time round.

The first is the beautiful looking roads that I discussed before, the second is the little kids playing "Look at me! I'm a bus driver!" on the safe (for once) roads, and the third is a favourite of mine, taken the same day, with sufferin' soccerations in the dust near the lake. We wondered how difficult it would be to run around on the hot day we had, let alone breath in all that dust as well, and it was generally agreed that it probably wasn't just good clean dirt either...

Well, that's all... NO it's not!

I've had a hell of a time getting this visa stuff in order (and I don't mean "hell of a time" to be "gee, look at how much fun I'm having at Immigration!"). I'm told just now to expect 21 days worth of 10Bolivianos/day fine when I was assured that it wouldn't be enforced, or got around. Far out (he says, wanting to use another delightful little English phrase). That's 210 Bolivianos that I could really use. I feel like I've been robbed again. And I STILL haven't got the bloody visa. I tell ya, it's lucky I'm still being civil, but I assume that screaming at officials or others won't help much. I'd better go meditate before I scratch somebody's eyes out.

Of course I know that I'm lucky to be not thrown out for overstaying (but they'd rather my money), and that I should forget about it and enjoy the movie night at Republik Cafe tomorrow night, and unfortunately my niño students copped the backlash a bit but then again, they shouldn't have been eating in class/kicking each other/cutting up their workbooks... ARRGGH! They have a test tomorrow that almost all of them will fail... crap.

Let's see if this computer does the uploading photos thing... it'd better if it knows what's good for it...

Love (*checks heart* I think there's some in there somewhere),

Michael.

Fresh air, or was it? A car(e)-free day of hot debate.

Yesterday was voting day. There was the selections of the 5 representatives in each department (there are nine)to sit on the Constituent Assembly, there was the selection of the ... hmm.. someone else in each department - can't remember - and there was the big referendum question (all Australians know how important those are, don't you? The questions that can completely change the direction of a country - Aboriginal voting rights, choosing the National Anthem, the Republic issue. They're extremely controversial and changes hardly ever happen - only 8 of 44 since Federation (see what you know when you pay attention in class!)). The question on whether Bolivia should be a united country governed solely from La Paz or whether the different departments should have autonomy has literally divided the country at this stage - the East preferring automony and the West going with Morales' option, critics accusing them of blindly swallowing the propaganda.

What was exciting for me yesterday was a law that seemed to me as foreign as the no grog before an election law (which given where I am, the term "foreign" should not be a surprising concept). On election day it is illegal to drive. Yes, I kid you not - car-free days actually exists here! I say "days" because I have been told that it happens a number of times a year! Now this was music to my ears and nerves (not having to dodge and swerve the dodging and swerving cars here) as we walked to Lake Alalay to take in the sights and smells; the lake is permanently afflicted by an green algae that fills the lake to make it a pretty green colour, but the numerous fisherpeople on the banks must have estómagos of steel to handle any living thing that they catch. Maybe it's just for sport. Either way, it was a pleasant walk, watching the model aeroplanes flying about at the aeromodelo club, the several soccer games being played in the dust by enthusiastic lads and taking in an egg and salad roll for 17c. along the way. Five of us went, three of us towering above 190cms, so therefore entertaining the cyclists and families that were enjoying the car-free atmosphere.

The vote has come in so far as a NO vote, favouring Marales, whose critics suggest will now create a new iron-fist Cuba, but we will have to wait for about a week until all the votes from the country come in before we get a difinitive answer.

For now, I'm going to spend my time dreaming of the next car-free day, giving the revolution an Aussie accent, and buying some patches for the ever holy nature of my pants.

Photo: This road is usually hell to cross, especially in peak hour. Today? Empty except for bikes and the occasionally allowed car (for the elderly, disabled, etc or for the excitingly present European Election Observers vehicles). The freeway in the rear is also emply, the footsteps on the road playing a usually unheard melody.

Love to you all,

Your FNBC.

A nation of Slim Dusty pubs.

I can't bear the thought of writing all this out again ("this" being what's still in my head but not on the blog that I wrote last night and lost due to keyboard dysfunction)...

I DID write that I found myself on this computer instead of at my favourite English class or failing that, at my favourite bar beering on a Friday... Why? It seemed my class decided en mass that they deserved a break after the last unit of work (Intermediate 2/I) before plunging into Intermediate 2/II where the excitement of English doesn't stop (look out for that continuous past tense!!)

And not at the pub? Now this will blow your socks off (I think I said that in the lost blog): the Bolivia, in their infinite past wisdom have a law that stipulates no drinking two days before an election, or at least it's illegal to sell the stuff. This I find, regardless of my alcohol intake limits, absolutely incredible. If this happened in Australia... well... it just wouldn't! Gobsmacked and incredulous. More and more adjectives of similar ilk crash around my head about this subject. I'm bamboozled! I have also come to the realisation that it's no bloody wonder there are so many riots and temper fraying and things around election time... The reason for the ban on drinking is (apparently) that it clouds one's decision making capabilities when voting... now check me if I'm wrong, but in my experience one's political standpoint is ANYthing but clouded when one is drunk. In fact it's probably when one's political position is most clear!

That's all about that.

I also wrote last night that I'd decided to ring Fiona and that I would do it straight away. When I finally got to the phone she had tried to call me at home... AT THE SAME TIME as I said I wanted to call her. That means something. There you are Millennium, more shit for you on my page. And I was being sarcastic with the politics comment. Of course it's all politics! That's what life essentially is, and should be, if we remain intelligent, thinking humans, and not drones to the queen. Humph!

Going to find a place where I can buy their silence in inchange for a drink. That sort of stuff is so easy to do here... I think.

Your FNBC.