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?
Thursday, August 24, 2006
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.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Are you a virgin? (Monty Python (to dispell any offense, or to exacerbate it...))
When you get up at 2am to carry a stone you cut out of a mountain 12ks for a virgin and her blessings for money, a new car, a healthy family, a visa, happiness, a job, money, then you surely are getting into the spirit of things. Even though one Bolivian fella called this Fiesta del Vergen de Urkupiña this Monday to Wednesday another excuse for a three day piss-up. Course, that brings up the question of what spirits you're getting into... hell, something's gotta keep you going at 2am, but I think a stiff rum will just send me off to lala land.
I'll take the visa *still running on his illegal alien status*
I'll take the visa *still running on his illegal alien status*
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Bad vocals through Bolivia Day!
Can't go letting that last little bitch be the first thing people see when they log on for their slice of Bolivian life, so...
One word: Karaoke. More words: As many of you already know, I like it.
Bolivians like their Karaoke (there's a broad statement that I'm sure is harmless enough), and consequently there are a number of said bars stooping in their daggyness enduring countless hours of pain and suffering to the emotions and eardrums, at least on the northside.
I have had a drought of Karaokelessness since I left Australia, yet last Wednesday began a spate of disgusting regularity at four different bars in six nights, Monday's bar wasn't rid of our strains until 4.30am... naughty. Of course, there are many, MANY more Spanish language songs over the spattering of songs in English, but although Jackie would have been proud of my "Living on a Prayer", I'm building up to singing my aria of Spanish canciones, even if it does just end up being
La Bamba...
In other news, it was The National Day of Bolivia on the 6th (...and perhaps I should just forget the National Day of Bolivia 'cos I've written about it twice now, to be blessed with the opportunity of some Zen practice when the computer rebooted each time before I could post! A sign, or just a shit computer).
Either way, in the etherless posts I wax on generally about the contrast between the pride of this country, or at least this city, and the shit conditions it is in, and of course I then continue to relate that to generations of colonial and religious trauma (which didn't tangentiate into a discussion of the Morales government's attempts to separate religion from schools (overall a positive move in my 'umble opinion)). The exacerbation of my consternation was met yesterday with a long explanation to me (really really long!) about it all, to which most of my responses consisted only of that essential smile and nod routine (with the occasional positive affirmational grunt) - she was Brazilian, with much Spanish, but no English and I might have picked up the spirit of her words... it certainly looked like she had it all worked out...
Thousands of people lined the streets as even more thousands paraded between us to celebrate their flag-choked enthusiastic patriotism. The military might was scary, the marching girls tranquilo-ed that scaryness (as you can see I'm not only Spanglishing my language, but I'm doing it with poor grammar...)
So, save and go, save and go. A wise mantra.
Love to all.
One word: Karaoke. More words: As many of you already know, I like it.
Bolivians like their Karaoke (there's a broad statement that I'm sure is harmless enough), and consequently there are a number of said bars stooping in their daggyness enduring countless hours of pain and suffering to the emotions and eardrums, at least on the northside.
I have had a drought of Karaokelessness since I left Australia, yet last Wednesday began a spate of disgusting regularity at four different bars in six nights, Monday's bar wasn't rid of our strains until 4.30am... naughty. Of course, there are many, MANY more Spanish language songs over the spattering of songs in English, but although Jackie would have been proud of my "Living on a Prayer", I'm building up to singing my aria of Spanish canciones, even if it does just end up being
La Bamba...
In other news, it was The National Day of Bolivia on the 6th (...and perhaps I should just forget the National Day of Bolivia 'cos I've written about it twice now, to be blessed with the opportunity of some Zen practice when the computer rebooted each time before I could post! A sign, or just a shit computer).
Either way, in the etherless posts I wax on generally about the contrast between the pride of this country, or at least this city, and the shit conditions it is in, and of course I then continue to relate that to generations of colonial and religious trauma (which didn't tangentiate into a discussion of the Morales government's attempts to separate religion from schools (overall a positive move in my 'umble opinion)). The exacerbation of my consternation was met yesterday with a long explanation to me (really really long!) about it all, to which most of my responses consisted only of that essential smile and nod routine (with the occasional positive affirmational grunt) - she was Brazilian, with much Spanish, but no English and I might have picked up the spirit of her words... it certainly looked like she had it all worked out...
Thousands of people lined the streets as even more thousands paraded between us to celebrate their flag-choked enthusiastic patriotism. The military might was scary, the marching girls tranquilo-ed that scaryness (as you can see I'm not only Spanglishing my language, but I'm doing it with poor grammar...)
So, save and go, save and go. A wise mantra.
Love to all.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Curiosity # 13
Why is it that Bolivians need to be so late for every damn thing. Or not turn up at all? Now, this isn't the case for EVERYone. Most of my English students turn up. But this is third who hasn't turned up in two days (letting me email in this spare hour). Maybe it's me *checks his armpits*.
Anyone got any genuine (or not) historical or cultural explanations for "Bolivian time"?
Your FNBC.
Anyone got any genuine (or not) historical or cultural explanations for "Bolivian time"?
Your FNBC.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Banality # 12
How long does it take before I get used to the water taps saying "C" for "Crikey! That's not cold! That's hot!" and "F" for "Faaaaar out! That's Freezing!"
Un poco insight(o) en(to) cadadia Miguel
Capricorn
While this day is going to ultimately be a successful one, there are some business-related problems brewing that will affect your lifestyle. These problems could be coming out of your workplace, but they could also be at a store or restaurant you visit frequently. Delays and disruptions might slow you down and make you think twice. Where you spend your money and your time in the future will be affected. Nothing will invade your peaceful attitude, though.
I know, I know. But I can't resist. My three new English classes today will hopefully be successful: so far so good, except for one absent student which affected my lifestyle heaps! (I didn't get to spend as much time on the net!!). And I always get comments on my peaceful attitude, especially in the face of my robberies - of course I have every reason to be calm in comparison: I'd be far less peaceful if I was living on the streets of Cochabamba, or having to eke out a living selling fake rolex's...
On a Let's-make-Michael-feel-at-home note - I went to the cinema on Sunday night to see the "Pirates of the Carribean - Dead Man's Chest". While Johnny Depp just isn't the same when his lips don't make the shape of the words that he's not saying (I was helped along by the ample action scenes and by my companion who had very good Spanish), it was the first time I'd been to the cinema since leaving Australia and it took me a little by surprise when the lights came back up and I was surrounded by Bolivians "again". Left homesick... but don't send La Paz-Melbourne tickets yet! Like being turned into a newt - I got better (Python fans?).
Oh, and went out to the country with Luke, Marty and Annie to Annie's family's cute little cottage on Sunday too. Very pleasant - fed the geese, searched for fruit trees, drank some Taquiña and ate pollo sangas. Very colonial... yep.
Am holding my breath for the Virgin de Urkupiña festival coming up in two weeks, the biggest in the entire... region. The dancers are all practicing, the fever is reaching... fever pitch...
Chow time. So, chau,
Your FNBC.
While this day is going to ultimately be a successful one, there are some business-related problems brewing that will affect your lifestyle. These problems could be coming out of your workplace, but they could also be at a store or restaurant you visit frequently. Delays and disruptions might slow you down and make you think twice. Where you spend your money and your time in the future will be affected. Nothing will invade your peaceful attitude, though.
I know, I know. But I can't resist. My three new English classes today will hopefully be successful: so far so good, except for one absent student which affected my lifestyle heaps! (I didn't get to spend as much time on the net!!). And I always get comments on my peaceful attitude, especially in the face of my robberies - of course I have every reason to be calm in comparison: I'd be far less peaceful if I was living on the streets of Cochabamba, or having to eke out a living selling fake rolex's...
On a Let's-make-Michael-feel-at-home note - I went to the cinema on Sunday night to see the "Pirates of the Carribean - Dead Man's Chest". While Johnny Depp just isn't the same when his lips don't make the shape of the words that he's not saying (I was helped along by the ample action scenes and by my companion who had very good Spanish), it was the first time I'd been to the cinema since leaving Australia and it took me a little by surprise when the lights came back up and I was surrounded by Bolivians "again". Left homesick... but don't send La Paz-Melbourne tickets yet! Like being turned into a newt - I got better (Python fans?).
Oh, and went out to the country with Luke, Marty and Annie to Annie's family's cute little cottage on Sunday too. Very pleasant - fed the geese, searched for fruit trees, drank some Taquiña and ate pollo sangas. Very colonial... yep.
Am holding my breath for the Virgin de Urkupiña festival coming up in two weeks, the biggest in the entire... region. The dancers are all practicing, the fever is reaching... fever pitch...
Chow time. So, chau,
Your FNBC.
Friday, July 28, 2006
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.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
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...
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
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?
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?
Sunday, July 16, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
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.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
"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... :-(
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... :-(
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