Capricorn
Save your high-minded idealism for another day -- today is all about elemental efforts and humble results. Tasks such as washing the windows, cleaning out the garage and working in the garden will be very rewarding, and they will make you feel not only more connected with the world but also more content. Don't aim for major life changes right now. Revel in today's fleeting pleasures, and don't ask for more than you need.
Humph, well this is exactly what my head was telling me this morning, as I walked away from the bus station (walking through the adjacent La Cancha (the country's biggest marketplace - it seemed more placid than usual, in my projection to have the world in sorrow) shoe shiners didn't even ask, such was my disposition, hands shoved firmed and intentionally in my deep pockets more to help shield my mental environment from the outside than to keep the pickpockets at bay trudging grimly through the sparkly dirt of the familiar market streets, all huffy and James Dean, until I trip over my shoelace and land on my arse. People laugh very haughtily and I have to join in. I'm a dickhead sometimes...), found the first bus bound for home (I sat in the back seat, towering over a sea of white Cholita hats, my arms folded in similar protective vein), walked along my street, Uyuni. Aptly named for this is the destination of Fiona this morning, the bus pulling out of the station at 9.09am, pulling out my tears along with it, and minutes before she too late questions herself to me again as we hold each other tight among the constant screaming stream of offers to Santa Cruz and La Paz, why she's leaving me here.
Foder.
But the horrorscope is right. As I arrived home and looked in my bedroom, I saw that things should be done, if only to keep myself busy. A fleeting pleasure at a test marked, clothes folded, a blog to blurt my feelings.
So, Fiona's off to the Salar de Uyuni today... well, Uyuni at least, the Salar tomorrow she hopes. She'll see the incredible sights of the largest salt lake in the world that I saw as I came the opposite direction toward Cbba.
Then she's going to Santiago so she can take one of her free flights to Caracas, Venezuela to personally hand deliver my good wishes and suggestions to Mr. Chavez. Then off to Cuba. Fiona has worked so hard for her reward in this trip but I can't help but feel jealous. My goal remains as such. A goal, until I do the hard yards to ensure I can ... well, pay for the privilege.
So today I look for little pleasures - a dog to pat, an old man to help, a pretty girl to kiss.
Yep.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Monday, February 19, 2007
Some parade action.
Yep. Ariane. don't look at the last picture... those women freaked me out totally and there were LOTS of them! Reminded me of those creeps with the mask who taunt the Chinese Dragon in those other parades. They made me poo my pants. The dragons were o.k.
Anyway, some of the colourful crew that made up the 30-odd thousand.
There was SOME decorum on the day, regards foam and water balloons. When the dancers and so forth came past, people actually stopped throwing things about. Even the drunk ones. I, for one was surprised. The costumes can cost 100s of dollars to make so there was some respect there. Unusual for a Bolivian party atmosphere.
Anyway, some of the colourful crew that made up the 30-odd thousand.
There was SOME decorum on the day, regards foam and water balloons. When the dancers and so forth came past, people actually stopped throwing things about. Even the drunk ones. I, for one was surprised. The costumes can cost 100s of dollars to make so there was some respect there. Unusual for a Bolivian party atmosphere.
Water breaking everywhere and not a pregnant woman in sight.
Bloody hell! Carnival continues here in Bolivia, the long weekend after the celebrations in Oruro, the sleepiest (read for most people: boringest) little city in the country. Oruro is famous for its few days of mayhem at the request of the diablo (of whom the participants and observers idolise to no end!). Of course the Virgin Mary, in all her incarnations is heavily present but never without the love, adoration and terror toward the little devils who inhabit the filthy, deadly mines closeby.
(foderation! My ears ring and my heart pounds just now as more of the foolishly available fire crackers explode just outside this door. Man, they give me the shits!)
Anyway, the initial "bloody hell" was to represent that madness that ensued for Fiona and I when we saw it all in broad daylight in Oruro last Saturday. 30,000 parade performers, 10,000 musicians, 100s of thousands of partygoers, and at at guess 3 or 4 billion water balloons.
As you can see by the ponchoed photos it was terribly bad weather... (pause) not! Photo opportunities were at minimum as the chance of balloons crossing our paths and drenching our arses were at maximum. Our expensive seats in a fairly prime position for viewing most of the parade, was also fairly safe from watery projectiles but Fiona and I tried to emulate a wonderous experience Marty and I had last year in Urkupiña by walking against the parade between them and the crowd. I thought it wouldn't be possible due to the more highly organised ... organisers, but the idea was rendered impossible by the hopelessness that was water-balloon-and-foam-spraycan-sitting-duck-"Look!-Gringos!!"-prime-positionness. We couldn't walk even two minutes before the visionless dodging and at times painfully large bustery balloons and in-yer-face foam (often used as a distraction from your pockets...) 
forced us to turn and retreat to our seats. We knew that the walking wouldn't get any easier ahead and yet sadly had to admit the certaintly of reexperiencing the previous two minutes crowd... When we got back to our seats people wanted photographs of US, the dripping christmas tree duo...
It was at a moment between the pain and the embarrassment that I turned... My stance on water balloons went from "If you live by the balloon, you die by the balloon" to "The balloon is mightier than than the boring killjoy" and bags of ready-made water bombs were aquired solely for revenge, which was got.
A pleasant time was had, yet we were only there for the day. Overnight accommodation was practically non-existant and if it did exist hotel prices for Carnival can rise 5-fold, especially for us yankee lookin' types.
Never mind. On the Monday (yesterday) Fiona and I wandered down The Prado to have a quiet coffee (pause) NOT! My new stance decried the old "give 'em a filthy look, get them upset with you, get you in a bad mood with everyone" belief system and heralded in the new "right! That's it! Where's them balloons?!" kind of ... what's that word again... oh yes, FUN!
Janice would be proud of me - my projectiles were often nicely executed. I'm sure if Carnival was all about spitting contests I'd be still sitting at home watching it on telly.
(foderation! My ears ring and my heart pounds just now as more of the foolishly available fire crackers explode just outside this door. Man, they give me the shits!)
Anyway, the initial "bloody hell" was to represent that madness that ensued for Fiona and I when we saw it all in broad daylight in Oruro last Saturday. 30,000 parade performers, 10,000 musicians, 100s of thousands of partygoers, and at at guess 3 or 4 billion water balloons.
As you can see by the ponchoed photos it was terribly bad weather... (pause) not! Photo opportunities were at minimum as the chance of balloons crossing our paths and drenching our arses were at maximum. Our expensive seats in a fairly prime position for viewing most of the parade, was also fairly safe from watery projectiles but Fiona and I tried to emulate a wonderous experience Marty and I had last year in Urkupiña by walking against the parade between them and the crowd. I thought it wouldn't be possible due to the more highly organised ... organisers, but the idea was rendered impossible by the hopelessness that was water-balloon-and-foam-spraycan-sitting-duck-"Look!-Gringos!!"-prime-positionness. We couldn't walk even two minutes before the visionless dodging and at times painfully large bustery balloons and in-yer-face foam (often used as a distraction from your pockets...) forced us to turn and retreat to our seats. We knew that the walking wouldn't get any easier ahead and yet sadly had to admit the certaintly of reexperiencing the previous two minutes crowd... When we got back to our seats people wanted photographs of US, the dripping christmas tree duo...It was at a moment between the pain and the embarrassment that I turned... My stance on water balloons went from "If you live by the balloon, you die by the balloon" to "The balloon is mightier than than the boring killjoy" and bags of ready-made water bombs were aquired solely for revenge, which was got.
A pleasant time was had, yet we were only there for the day. Overnight accommodation was practically non-existant and if it did exist hotel prices for Carnival can rise 5-fold, especially for us yankee lookin' types.
Never mind. On the Monday (yesterday) Fiona and I wandered down The Prado to have a quiet coffee (pause) NOT! My new stance decried the old "give 'em a filthy look, get them upset with you, get you in a bad mood with everyone" belief system and heralded in the new "right! That's it! Where's them balloons?!" kind of ... what's that word again... oh yes, FUN!
Janice would be proud of me - my projectiles were often nicely executed. I'm sure if Carnival was all about spitting contests I'd be still sitting at home watching it on telly.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
He's o.k. You're o.k.
Today is another day in Cochabamba. And probably another day in most other spots on this green and blue particle of some intergalactic nasal explosion.
Spending his days here, especially with Fiona regularly at his side, or not far from it, he gets the impression that his life is normal and that he may as well be in Melbourne. His meets with his friends regularly, he gets shat off at his... well, hardly his enemies, just people he gets shat off with. He makes lunch, or has it delivered to his table with the common global servility of restaurants after his money. He chats with the nurse he sees every month, now fairly fluently, about what he's reading. She's great. She called out to him by name this morning when he picked up his INR results. He feels welcomed at the hospital, at the places he frequents.
But some things get you. Some things get him.
Every now and then that little hollow-eternity visa chestnut of his grabs at the edges of his passportless stressy (it's a noun) and heads shake, usually his at the fact that he's now been without a visa and his passport for over 8 months. But he walks into the Immigration Centre ahead of those who've been waiting for hours for a chance at their passport this time round. And he's greeted cordially by name again - the whole extrañero office knows him now. They show pity for his plight, blaming the La Paz office for his visa woes, while La Paz blames Cochabamba. But they know I can just go home if worst comes to worst. And honestly, how could I regret being forced to see my family and friends sooner? These visa woes only grab him every now and then because of his everyday comfort. He works. He shouldn't. But he does. He doesn't have to show his passport or fear a 15 minute-rule firing squad because he's illegal. He laughs with his students. Things are normal. Yet, how in god's name, he incredulously muses, can the entire country be free of 2mg Warfarin tablets?! Cochabamba doesn't have them, La Paz doesn't have them, Santa Cruz and Sucre don't have them. Bolivia only has 5mg tablets. Well, he needs to take 7mg daily. He could... well, try to divvy up a 5mg Warfarin Tablet into... what... two portions of 2 and a 1? He's buggered if he knows. He reflects standing at the pharmacy counter that it's not her fault. He's pleasant, she's sorry. But as he turns away he can't help himself. He huffs in view of the pharmacist throwing up his hands and grumbling "Loco... LOCOness!!" and settles quickly in the comfort of her sympathy, and the humourous knowledge that his Spanglish still rules his inner dialogue.
Walking across the lawless hospital intersection (a fair place to have a dangerous crossroads) he is given a sincere apology from the 4WDriver coming the wrong way down a one way street who swerves to miss him, and he wonders what Peru's traffic is like. There's a Marfan Syndrome support group there and they may have 2mg Warfarin tablets. He could go get them from Peru if they have them, but he doesn't have a passport, or a visa...
Somebody should suggest to him that he might just need to take 5mgs daily with a jugful of spinach. He doesn't like spinach.
And it gets him every time the tattered woman in the street sends her grubby kids to him with their little hands outstretched and the heads tilted in desperate pleas. He doesn't know where they spent the previous rainy night. They look soggy, the familiar dust on their hats, their faces is muddy.
So, it's another day in Cochabamba. Fiona just called. Buy some rolls and cheese on the way home. Time for lunch.
Spending his days here, especially with Fiona regularly at his side, or not far from it, he gets the impression that his life is normal and that he may as well be in Melbourne. His meets with his friends regularly, he gets shat off at his... well, hardly his enemies, just people he gets shat off with. He makes lunch, or has it delivered to his table with the common global servility of restaurants after his money. He chats with the nurse he sees every month, now fairly fluently, about what he's reading. She's great. She called out to him by name this morning when he picked up his INR results. He feels welcomed at the hospital, at the places he frequents.
But some things get you. Some things get him.
Every now and then that little hollow-eternity visa chestnut of his grabs at the edges of his passportless stressy (it's a noun) and heads shake, usually his at the fact that he's now been without a visa and his passport for over 8 months. But he walks into the Immigration Centre ahead of those who've been waiting for hours for a chance at their passport this time round. And he's greeted cordially by name again - the whole extrañero office knows him now. They show pity for his plight, blaming the La Paz office for his visa woes, while La Paz blames Cochabamba. But they know I can just go home if worst comes to worst. And honestly, how could I regret being forced to see my family and friends sooner? These visa woes only grab him every now and then because of his everyday comfort. He works. He shouldn't. But he does. He doesn't have to show his passport or fear a 15 minute-rule firing squad because he's illegal. He laughs with his students. Things are normal. Yet, how in god's name, he incredulously muses, can the entire country be free of 2mg Warfarin tablets?! Cochabamba doesn't have them, La Paz doesn't have them, Santa Cruz and Sucre don't have them. Bolivia only has 5mg tablets. Well, he needs to take 7mg daily. He could... well, try to divvy up a 5mg Warfarin Tablet into... what... two portions of 2 and a 1? He's buggered if he knows. He reflects standing at the pharmacy counter that it's not her fault. He's pleasant, she's sorry. But as he turns away he can't help himself. He huffs in view of the pharmacist throwing up his hands and grumbling "Loco... LOCOness!!" and settles quickly in the comfort of her sympathy, and the humourous knowledge that his Spanglish still rules his inner dialogue.
Walking across the lawless hospital intersection (a fair place to have a dangerous crossroads) he is given a sincere apology from the 4WDriver coming the wrong way down a one way street who swerves to miss him, and he wonders what Peru's traffic is like. There's a Marfan Syndrome support group there and they may have 2mg Warfarin tablets. He could go get them from Peru if they have them, but he doesn't have a passport, or a visa...
Somebody should suggest to him that he might just need to take 5mgs daily with a jugful of spinach. He doesn't like spinach.
And it gets him every time the tattered woman in the street sends her grubby kids to him with their little hands outstretched and the heads tilted in desperate pleas. He doesn't know where they spent the previous rainy night. They look soggy, the familiar dust on their hats, their faces is muddy.
So, it's another day in Cochabamba. Fiona just called. Buy some rolls and cheese on the way home. Time for lunch.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Marfan Syndrome Awareness Month or The fish done it! (and me, an English teacher...)
I'm sure that many other people with many other causes and connections, relate February to many other "Awareness Month" issues.
But this month is also the Marfan Syndrome Awareness Month. I have the Syndrome (if regular readers haven't picked up on that yet) and everyone should check out the following website because I said so:
http://www.marfan.org/nmf/index.jsp
All quiet on the occidental front, except for the spew calls from Fiona's bedroom all yesterday after a delightfully romantic evening at Puerto Madero, a buffet all-you-can-eat joint with lots of seafood, Chinese, Bolivian, and crepe desserts. I think it was the fish...
Bongos!
Michael.
But this month is also the Marfan Syndrome Awareness Month. I have the Syndrome (if regular readers haven't picked up on that yet) and everyone should check out the following website because I said so:
http://www.marfan.org/nmf/index.jsp
All quiet on the occidental front, except for the spew calls from Fiona's bedroom all yesterday after a delightfully romantic evening at Puerto Madero, a buffet all-you-can-eat joint with lots of seafood, Chinese, Bolivian, and crepe desserts. I think it was the fish...
Bongos!
Michael.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Another photo opportunity? Yep.
Fiona and I love this little town, Torata, which I mentioned in an earlier blog when we visited there a couple weeks back. Its traditional back streets;
its decidedly rustic and inviting entrances;
its strong friendly women and men - here Filamena does what she's um... doing with that bright cotton (and with great charm and skill!) , while tending her quiet stall of flowers;
the tranquilo community;
and the typical plaza of central activity, brilliantly lit up at night;
its decidedly rustic and inviting entrances;its strong friendly women and men - here Filamena does what she's um... doing with that bright cotton (and with great charm and skill!) , while tending her quiet stall of flowers;the tranquilo community;and the typical plaza of central activity, brilliantly lit up at night;
Revolt among my birthday celebrations... or is that a birthday among the revolt...
Well, it's high time to get that comment of mine about the deaths in Cochabamba out of the way, should you not have heard the general truth about the whole situation. My Blog entry titled "Death Road, Death of the Incas and Death in Cochabamba" didn't really mention any of them. I followed with photos and detail about Death Road (or "Formally known as Death Road") but Death in Cochabamba came even more recently, in fact around January 10 as we tried to get our butts back to Cbba from La Paz. We couldn't get a bus as there were road blocks into Cbba at every point. If we'd taken a bus, been stopped and hauled out, Fiona and my American, pro-whitey appearance (being tall and white) could have landed us in trouble of the getting-beaten-up-or-killed kind.
So we flew... eventually. We waited over 16 hours at the TAM military airport after a harrowingly scary taxi ride into the depths of the altiplano (yep, that's a contradiction folks!) where the driver took an unexpected turn off the road in the midnight nothingness (after us reading in the hostel about La Pazzian nighttime airport taxis and all sorts of murderous robberies!!) to an unused railyard, drove along the railway line, and then, after Fiona and I resuscitated each other, he revealed the shortcut we were taking kept him from paying a multa toll on the road.
We waited at the military airport (TAM runs civilian flights around the country to bump up its military budget no doubt - glad to be of service!) which has the worst crash record (or is that the best) in the country, and watched the news live from Cochabamba on the airport "lounge" tv, the riotous thousands, the blockades EVERYwhere, and were told that the flight delays were due to Cochabamba's bad weather... Cochabamba NEVER has bad weather (except of course the terrifying thunderstorm we had last night... ahem, yep) so I was convinced they were talking about the political climate and was decidedly worried about our flight when it did happen...
It did happen, with delays aplenty, and Fiona commenting that TAM couldn't organise a proverbial in a brothel...
The protests in Cochabamba resulted in a Thursday of blood, injuries and death on both sides. The side that wants Morales out, and the side that wants Manfred, the Cochabamba District Prefectura (the State Premier) out. By the way, the "Premier" was instrumental in making the Water contracts a walk in on the golf course for the US Betchel corporation (look it up).
One young man from the "rich" side was slashed with a machete and hanged. One father from the poor side was shot and killed by an "unknown" assailant. I doubt whether, as usual, there'll be any justice for either family...
It all settled down for now and what does that mean? Morales is adamant that it's Manfred's fault and he should deal with it while Manfred, of course, is saying it's a matter of State and Evo should take responsibility. Looks like another palm off, until the inevitable worst comes to worst (and my in depth analysis dies in the bum - I gotta go to work) and I had my birthday party (two weekends later) and all. Spiderman Lemon Cake bought by Fiona who had the words "Felicidades Maicl" written on the top ("Congratulations Michael" that is), and she made the Australian rumball pile to the right. What a gal! My head was shoved into said cake in what I was told was a Bolivian tradition (perhaps for gullible Melbourne folk only...) and a pleasant evening regardless of the settling brew in the city square...
Yet the Prefectura offices are still a burned and broken mess by the looks of it (pictured). I suppose Manfred is trying to gain as much political leverage as possible from the attacks on his offices - "ooh! Look at me! Look at what they did to my place! See how barbarous they are! This is what I have to deal with!!" Course, he could just resign or at least give the people what they want which is a completely transparent government, given the evidence against his corruption and back-door deals is mounting ever so creepily.
So we flew... eventually. We waited over 16 hours at the TAM military airport after a harrowingly scary taxi ride into the depths of the altiplano (yep, that's a contradiction folks!) where the driver took an unexpected turn off the road in the midnight nothingness (after us reading in the hostel about La Pazzian nighttime airport taxis and all sorts of murderous robberies!!) to an unused railyard, drove along the railway line, and then, after Fiona and I resuscitated each other, he revealed the shortcut we were taking kept him from paying a multa toll on the road.
We waited at the military airport (TAM runs civilian flights around the country to bump up its military budget no doubt - glad to be of service!) which has the worst crash record (or is that the best) in the country, and watched the news live from Cochabamba on the airport "lounge" tv, the riotous thousands, the blockades EVERYwhere, and were told that the flight delays were due to Cochabamba's bad weather... Cochabamba NEVER has bad weather (except of course the terrifying thunderstorm we had last night... ahem, yep) so I was convinced they were talking about the political climate and was decidedly worried about our flight when it did happen...
It did happen, with delays aplenty, and Fiona commenting that TAM couldn't organise a proverbial in a brothel...
The protests in Cochabamba resulted in a Thursday of blood, injuries and death on both sides. The side that wants Morales out, and the side that wants Manfred, the Cochabamba District Prefectura (the State Premier) out. By the way, the "Premier" was instrumental in making the Water contracts a walk in on the golf course for the US Betchel corporation (look it up).
One young man from the "rich" side was slashed with a machete and hanged. One father from the poor side was shot and killed by an "unknown" assailant. I doubt whether, as usual, there'll be any justice for either family...
It all settled down for now and what does that mean? Morales is adamant that it's Manfred's fault and he should deal with it while Manfred, of course, is saying it's a matter of State and Evo should take responsibility. Looks like another palm off, until the inevitable worst comes to worst (and my in depth analysis dies in the bum - I gotta go to work) and I had my birthday party (two weekends later) and all. Spiderman Lemon Cake bought by Fiona who had the words "Felicidades Maicl" written on the top ("Congratulations Michael" that is), and she made the Australian rumball pile to the right. What a gal! My head was shoved into said cake in what I was told was a Bolivian tradition (perhaps for gullible Melbourne folk only...) and a pleasant evening regardless of the settling brew in the city square...
Yet the Prefectura offices are still a burned and broken mess by the looks of it (pictured). I suppose Manfred is trying to gain as much political leverage as possible from the attacks on his offices - "ooh! Look at me! Look at what they did to my place! See how barbarous they are! This is what I have to deal with!!" Course, he could just resign or at least give the people what they want which is a completely transparent government, given the evidence against his corruption and back-door deals is mounting ever so creepily.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Hmm... sure. That's all well and good to say...
Brahmanism: This is the sum of duty: Do naught unto others which would cause you pain if done to you.: Mahabharata 5:1517
Christianity: All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.: Matthew 7:12
Islam: No one of you is a believer until he desires for his brother what which he desires for himself. Sunnah
Buddhism: Hurt not others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful.: Udana Varga 5:18
Judaism: What is hateful to you, do not to your fellowmen. That is the entire Law; all the rest is commentary.: Talmud, Shabbat 31:a
Confucianism: Surely it is the maxim of loving-kindness: Do not unto others that you would not have them do unto you.: Analects 15:23
Taoism: Regard your neighbor's gain as your own gain, and your neighbor's loss as your own loss.: T'ai Shag Kan Ying P'ien
Zoroastrianism: That nature alone is good which refrains from doing unto another whatsoever is not good: for itself. : Dadistan-i-dinik 94:5
Thanks Paul.
Christianity: All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.: Matthew 7:12
Islam: No one of you is a believer until he desires for his brother what which he desires for himself. Sunnah
Buddhism: Hurt not others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful.: Udana Varga 5:18
Judaism: What is hateful to you, do not to your fellowmen. That is the entire Law; all the rest is commentary.: Talmud, Shabbat 31:a
Confucianism: Surely it is the maxim of loving-kindness: Do not unto others that you would not have them do unto you.: Analects 15:23
Taoism: Regard your neighbor's gain as your own gain, and your neighbor's loss as your own loss.: T'ai Shag Kan Ying P'ien
Zoroastrianism: That nature alone is good which refrains from doing unto another whatsoever is not good: for itself. : Dadistan-i-dinik 94:5
Thanks Paul.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Would You “Support the Troops” in Bolivia?
Would You “Support the Troops” in Bolivia?
By Jacob G. Hornberger
12/28/06
Soldiers who join the military voluntarily sign a very unusual contract with the federal government. It is a contract that effectively obligates the soldier to go anywhere in the world on orders of the president and kill people as part of an invasion force against other countries. It doesn’t matter whether the intended victims deserve to die or not. That issue is irrelevant as far as the soldier is concerned. His job is not to question why people he is ordered to kill should be killed; his job is simply to invade and carry out the killing, no questions asked.
For example, let’s say that President Bush orders U.S. troops to invade and occupy Bolivia. The order would reach the Pentagon, which then would pass the order downward to generals, colonels, majors, captains, sergeants, and privates in America’s standing army. With perhaps one or two exceptions, no soldier would challenge the president’s decision to invade Bolivia, because that’s not part of the employment contract he has signed with the military. The soldier’s duty would simply be to carry out the president’s order to invade Bolivia.
Suppose a soldier says, “Mr. President, I can’t carry out this order because it would involve killing innocent people wrongfully, including the people who are going to defend their nation from this attack. You have no moral right to order an invasion of Bolivia because neither the Bolivian people nor their government has attacked the United States. Moreover, the invasion would be illegal under our form of government because you haven’t secured the constitutionally required congressional declaration of war. My conscience will not permit me to kill any Bolivians as part of this operation, including Bolivian soldiers defending their nation from this attack. Therefore, I simply cannot participate in this invasion. ”
That soldier would be taken aside by a few superior officers for a very candid and direct conversation. His superiors would explain to him that it is not within his job description to second-guess the president’s decision to attack Bolivia. The soldier’s job, he would have carefully explained to him, is to trust that his commander in chief is making the right decision and to carry out his order. The soldier’s superiors would also explain to him that if he persists in his refusal to participate in the operation, he will be court-martialed and severely punished.
What about conscientious-objector status? Wouldn’t that relieve the soldier from participating in the attack on Bolivia?
No, because under military rules conscientious-objector status applies only if a soldier objects on moral or religious grounds to all war. A soldier is not permitted to gain conscientious-objector status if he happens to object to a particular war as being illegal, unjust, or immoral.
Back to our Bolivia example. To make it easy on U.S. soldiers who might feel a bit squeamish about killing Bolivians, the president could announce that they were invading Bolivia in order to oust the recently elected socialist president, a man who has close ties to Venezuela’s president, Hugo Chavez, who is another socialist and who has close ties to Fidel Castro, who is both a socialist and a communist and who had close ties to the communist Soviet Union, which had once promised to bury America.
Thus, by invading Bolivia, the president would argue, the troops would be helping bring freedom and stability to Latin America and also be protecting the United States from the threat of communism. Moreover, U.S. troops occupying Bolivia would be serving as a magnet for attracting Latin American communists and terrorists that U.S. troops could then exterminate. Finally, the president could provide another rationale for the invasion: that by invading Bolivia, U.S. troops would actually be defending the United States from an invasion by undocumented Bolivian immigrants.
It would be all the troops would need to go forward with a clear conscience. Undoubtedly, 99 percent of U.S. troops would obey the orders of the president to invade Bolivia, even if they felt a bit uneasy about killing people in the process. They would faithfully fulfill the terms of their employment contract.
How do we know that this is true — that U.S. troops would faithfully do their duty by carrying out the orders of their commander in chief to invade Bolivia? Easy — because we know that they followed the president’s order to invade Iraq, a country that never attacked the United States or even threatened to do so. And on invasion day, they would dutifully drop 500-pound bombs on Bolivia, fire missiles into cars and buildings, and shoot Bolivian soldiers who resisted the invasion. Women and children who would be killed as part of the operation would be considered the unfortunate collateral damage of war. And the more the Bolivian military resisted the invasion, the more it would be held morally responsible for Bolivian casualties.
Throughout the operation, the troops would be reporting back on how they’re killing the “bad guys.” American reporters, donning military helmets and embedding themselves with the troops, would dutifully attend Pentagon briefings, after which the U.S. press would breathlessly exalt the heroic exploits of the troops. Bronze and silver stars would be awarded soldiers who fought courageously against Bolivian soldiers and insurgents.
No one would keep count of how many Bolivians were killed in the operation because no one would want to know and no one would care. Only the deaths of American soldiers would count and be counted.
The American people would be infected with war fever. Dissidents would be challenged with “Now is not the time to debate whether we should have gone to war against Bolivia. The fact is that we are at war and so we’ve got to support the troops.” The FBI would monitor anti-war protests for threats to national security from socialists, communists, and terrorists. The country would be rife with anti-immigrant hysteria, and there would be raids, round-ups, and deportations of Hispanic immigrants.
Protestant ministers and Catholic priests would exhort their parishioners to support the troops in harm’s way. Those ministers and priests serving in military reserve units as chaplains would accompany the troops to Bolivia and explain to them that war is in the Old Testament, that as soldiers they could trust the judgment of the president, and that they could kill Bolivians with clear consciences. Church newspapers and bulletins would wax eloquent on how this was a “just” war, especially given that it would be protecting the national security of the United States from communism and also liberating the Bolivian people from the horrors of socialism and the threat of communism. The American flag would be displayed proudly in church altars, especially during Sunday service or mass (except, of course, in churches in Bolivia, where Protestant ministers and Catholic priests would be proudly displaying the Bolivian flag.)
People who came to the assistance of the Bolivians from Colombia, Ecuador, and other Latin American countries would be considered “terrorists” or “bad guys.” Those who came from Cuba would be called “communist terrorists.” And U.S. troops would kill them all, especially if they were trying to kill U.S. troops.
But what about the morality of the entire operation? Where is the morality of killing people who have never attacked the United States and who have done nothing worse than try to defend their country from a wrongful invader? Where is the morality in killing in “self-defense” when you don’t have a right to be there killing people in the first place? Does a burglar who has entered someone’s home in the middle of the night have the moral (or legal) right to claim self-defense if he kills the homeowner who shot at him while he was burglarizing the homeowner’s home in the middle of the night?
Indeed, where is the morality in signing a contract that obligates a person to go kill people who haven’t attacked his country?
“But we signed the employment contract thinking that we were defending America,” soldiers say. “We’re just trying to be patriots.”
But everyone knows that presidents don’t use their standing army to defend America. They use it to attack countries that haven’t attacked the United States. After all, how many times has America been invaded by a foreign army in the last 50 years? (Answer: None!) What country in the world today has the military capability of invading the United States? (Answer: None!)
By signing a contract that obligates the soldier to kill people in the process of obeying the president’s order to invade other nations, the soldier effectively agrees to surrender his conscience to the will of the president. After killing people pursuant to that contract, he effectively says to himself and to God, “I’m not responsible for killing that person I just shot or bombed because I signed a contract with my employer that obligates me to kill people on his command and that relieves me of having to decide whether my employer’s order was right or wrong.”
But the troops aren’t the only ones who surrender their consciences. As soon as the troops are committed to battle, many citizens also surrender their consciences, rallying to support the troops and cheering them to victory, praying that God bring an end to the violence and the “terrorism” in the country that the troops have invaded, without heed to whether the troops have the moral right to be in the invaded nation killing people.
How wise is the surrender of conscience, both among the troops and the citizenry, in both the short term and long term, especially in a country that prides itself on Judeo-Christian principles?
In my opinion, not wise at all.
Jacob Hornberger is founder and president of The Future of Freedom Foundation. He is one of 23 speakers at The Future of Freedom Foundation's upcoming June 1-4 conference “Restoring the Republic: Foreign Policy and Civil Liberties” in Reston, Virginia. Send him email.
By Jacob G. Hornberger
12/28/06
Soldiers who join the military voluntarily sign a very unusual contract with the federal government. It is a contract that effectively obligates the soldier to go anywhere in the world on orders of the president and kill people as part of an invasion force against other countries. It doesn’t matter whether the intended victims deserve to die or not. That issue is irrelevant as far as the soldier is concerned. His job is not to question why people he is ordered to kill should be killed; his job is simply to invade and carry out the killing, no questions asked.
For example, let’s say that President Bush orders U.S. troops to invade and occupy Bolivia. The order would reach the Pentagon, which then would pass the order downward to generals, colonels, majors, captains, sergeants, and privates in America’s standing army. With perhaps one or two exceptions, no soldier would challenge the president’s decision to invade Bolivia, because that’s not part of the employment contract he has signed with the military. The soldier’s duty would simply be to carry out the president’s order to invade Bolivia.
Suppose a soldier says, “Mr. President, I can’t carry out this order because it would involve killing innocent people wrongfully, including the people who are going to defend their nation from this attack. You have no moral right to order an invasion of Bolivia because neither the Bolivian people nor their government has attacked the United States. Moreover, the invasion would be illegal under our form of government because you haven’t secured the constitutionally required congressional declaration of war. My conscience will not permit me to kill any Bolivians as part of this operation, including Bolivian soldiers defending their nation from this attack. Therefore, I simply cannot participate in this invasion. ”
That soldier would be taken aside by a few superior officers for a very candid and direct conversation. His superiors would explain to him that it is not within his job description to second-guess the president’s decision to attack Bolivia. The soldier’s job, he would have carefully explained to him, is to trust that his commander in chief is making the right decision and to carry out his order. The soldier’s superiors would also explain to him that if he persists in his refusal to participate in the operation, he will be court-martialed and severely punished.
What about conscientious-objector status? Wouldn’t that relieve the soldier from participating in the attack on Bolivia?
No, because under military rules conscientious-objector status applies only if a soldier objects on moral or religious grounds to all war. A soldier is not permitted to gain conscientious-objector status if he happens to object to a particular war as being illegal, unjust, or immoral.
Back to our Bolivia example. To make it easy on U.S. soldiers who might feel a bit squeamish about killing Bolivians, the president could announce that they were invading Bolivia in order to oust the recently elected socialist president, a man who has close ties to Venezuela’s president, Hugo Chavez, who is another socialist and who has close ties to Fidel Castro, who is both a socialist and a communist and who had close ties to the communist Soviet Union, which had once promised to bury America.
Thus, by invading Bolivia, the president would argue, the troops would be helping bring freedom and stability to Latin America and also be protecting the United States from the threat of communism. Moreover, U.S. troops occupying Bolivia would be serving as a magnet for attracting Latin American communists and terrorists that U.S. troops could then exterminate. Finally, the president could provide another rationale for the invasion: that by invading Bolivia, U.S. troops would actually be defending the United States from an invasion by undocumented Bolivian immigrants.
It would be all the troops would need to go forward with a clear conscience. Undoubtedly, 99 percent of U.S. troops would obey the orders of the president to invade Bolivia, even if they felt a bit uneasy about killing people in the process. They would faithfully fulfill the terms of their employment contract.
How do we know that this is true — that U.S. troops would faithfully do their duty by carrying out the orders of their commander in chief to invade Bolivia? Easy — because we know that they followed the president’s order to invade Iraq, a country that never attacked the United States or even threatened to do so. And on invasion day, they would dutifully drop 500-pound bombs on Bolivia, fire missiles into cars and buildings, and shoot Bolivian soldiers who resisted the invasion. Women and children who would be killed as part of the operation would be considered the unfortunate collateral damage of war. And the more the Bolivian military resisted the invasion, the more it would be held morally responsible for Bolivian casualties.
Throughout the operation, the troops would be reporting back on how they’re killing the “bad guys.” American reporters, donning military helmets and embedding themselves with the troops, would dutifully attend Pentagon briefings, after which the U.S. press would breathlessly exalt the heroic exploits of the troops. Bronze and silver stars would be awarded soldiers who fought courageously against Bolivian soldiers and insurgents.
No one would keep count of how many Bolivians were killed in the operation because no one would want to know and no one would care. Only the deaths of American soldiers would count and be counted.
The American people would be infected with war fever. Dissidents would be challenged with “Now is not the time to debate whether we should have gone to war against Bolivia. The fact is that we are at war and so we’ve got to support the troops.” The FBI would monitor anti-war protests for threats to national security from socialists, communists, and terrorists. The country would be rife with anti-immigrant hysteria, and there would be raids, round-ups, and deportations of Hispanic immigrants.
Protestant ministers and Catholic priests would exhort their parishioners to support the troops in harm’s way. Those ministers and priests serving in military reserve units as chaplains would accompany the troops to Bolivia and explain to them that war is in the Old Testament, that as soldiers they could trust the judgment of the president, and that they could kill Bolivians with clear consciences. Church newspapers and bulletins would wax eloquent on how this was a “just” war, especially given that it would be protecting the national security of the United States from communism and also liberating the Bolivian people from the horrors of socialism and the threat of communism. The American flag would be displayed proudly in church altars, especially during Sunday service or mass (except, of course, in churches in Bolivia, where Protestant ministers and Catholic priests would be proudly displaying the Bolivian flag.)
People who came to the assistance of the Bolivians from Colombia, Ecuador, and other Latin American countries would be considered “terrorists” or “bad guys.” Those who came from Cuba would be called “communist terrorists.” And U.S. troops would kill them all, especially if they were trying to kill U.S. troops.
But what about the morality of the entire operation? Where is the morality of killing people who have never attacked the United States and who have done nothing worse than try to defend their country from a wrongful invader? Where is the morality in killing in “self-defense” when you don’t have a right to be there killing people in the first place? Does a burglar who has entered someone’s home in the middle of the night have the moral (or legal) right to claim self-defense if he kills the homeowner who shot at him while he was burglarizing the homeowner’s home in the middle of the night?
Indeed, where is the morality in signing a contract that obligates a person to go kill people who haven’t attacked his country?
“But we signed the employment contract thinking that we were defending America,” soldiers say. “We’re just trying to be patriots.”
But everyone knows that presidents don’t use their standing army to defend America. They use it to attack countries that haven’t attacked the United States. After all, how many times has America been invaded by a foreign army in the last 50 years? (Answer: None!) What country in the world today has the military capability of invading the United States? (Answer: None!)
By signing a contract that obligates the soldier to kill people in the process of obeying the president’s order to invade other nations, the soldier effectively agrees to surrender his conscience to the will of the president. After killing people pursuant to that contract, he effectively says to himself and to God, “I’m not responsible for killing that person I just shot or bombed because I signed a contract with my employer that obligates me to kill people on his command and that relieves me of having to decide whether my employer’s order was right or wrong.”
But the troops aren’t the only ones who surrender their consciences. As soon as the troops are committed to battle, many citizens also surrender their consciences, rallying to support the troops and cheering them to victory, praying that God bring an end to the violence and the “terrorism” in the country that the troops have invaded, without heed to whether the troops have the moral right to be in the invaded nation killing people.
How wise is the surrender of conscience, both among the troops and the citizenry, in both the short term and long term, especially in a country that prides itself on Judeo-Christian principles?
In my opinion, not wise at all.
Jacob Hornberger is founder and president of The Future of Freedom Foundation. He is one of 23 speakers at The Future of Freedom Foundation's upcoming June 1-4 conference “Restoring the Republic: Foreign Policy and Civil Liberties” in Reston, Virginia. Send him email.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink...
In response to a question from my sister regarding my comments on the Carnival lead up water balloon wars, yes, there IS a water shortage here, but SOME people (read: the overly affluent who couldn't give a shit about the poor, whom the water shortage really effects) not only continue to water their concrete, and the pristine lawns but they choose to do it by and large, in the middle of the afternoon, at the hottest time when water has least chance to absorb into the ground, so is wasted. STUPID people everywhere (well, the "some people" force their Cholitas to do the watering). Oh, and the Carnival "spirit" of water balloons (or globos de agua) is fostered (by and large) by the wealthy also, wouldn't you guess. I walked down Calle de Pando (Pando St., which houses a number of "look at me prancing and preening - I'm so beautiful" nightclubs, and the only 5star hotel in the city) only to have to dodge the most congested number of water ballooners in town, all well to do young teenagers who, again, couldn't give a shit about the water shortage. After all, it's only the Cholitas and their families whose wells will run dry before Summer's out.
Anyone care for a literary enlightenment quiz? Where is this subject line's quote from? (can you really do it without googling?)
I'll give you a hint - it belongs in a "rime".
Anyone care for a literary enlightenment quiz? Where is this subject line's quote from? (can you really do it without googling?)
I'll give you a hint - it belongs in a "rime".
Sunday, January 28, 2007
I knew it!
Fiona and I have just spent the darnedestly relaxing 24 hours in Torata, a small town 30-odd minutes drive from Cbba, which is perpetually tranquilo, and has few, if any western tourists at any one time. It's famous for being the birthplace of one of (!) Bolivia's mad presidents from the late 1800s (his palace is on display just out of town, but we didn't have the time nor inclination to see the grandiose pomposity of its architecture before leaving). We went to the artisania complex on the other side of town where the pottery is gorgeous (and the creating of which is like a sensuous dance... and sorry, yes I did think of Ghost) and at times humourously irreverent (e.g. one teapot's spout in the form of a penis and the accompanying milk jug in the shape of a breast. Brilliant!). Photos of pretty streets and seemingly happy people (we asked them!) to follow.
Talking of happy, it seems that the truth is out there... and published! To further add to my (very) informal research on happiness in a poor country, my friend Marty sent me this article about Sydney:
Intellectually bereft, obsessed with money and status ... they must be from Sydney
Brigid Delaney, LondonJanuary 27, 2007
Brigid Delaney, LondonJanuary 27, 2007
COULD Sydney be the saddest of cities — intellectually bereft, spiritually empty? Are its residents T.S. Eliot's proverbial Hollow Men — heads together but whispering nothing except deadening conversations about the latest movement of the property market or fad diet?
Sydney's culture of the relentless pursuit of property, perfect bodies and status has British psychologist and author Oliver James worried. As part of research for his recently released book, Affluenza, he travelled to seven countries to research the effect of consumerism on happiness.
He found the obsessive pursuit of money and possessions was not buying happiness. The affluenza virus was worst in Sydney, where he found interviewing locals a depressing experience. It was, he said, "the most vacuous of cities. The Dolly Parton of cities in Australia."
Adelaide and Melbourne had a "different vibe" and did not strike James as being as materialistic as Sydney. He had not been to Sydney before and expected a "philistine nation" of "jolly, uncomplicated fun-seekers". Instead, he found a city in thrall to American values and a puritan work ethic that robbed life of joy and meaning. Middle-class Sydney, he writes, is "packed with career-obsessed workaholics". When they are not working the longest hours in the developed world, they pursue perfect bodies through joyless fitness regimes, or obsess about property prices. Always, they are looking around anxiously, in the hope that others aren't doing better than them.
"(It was) full of people who place a high value on money, professional status and appearance," he said. The result? Sydneysiders have a "greater risk of suffering from mental illness — depression and anxiety".
"They (Sydneysiders) were like the tin man from the Wizard of Oz. They had no idea of the point of their lives, other than to get rich." James noted Bureau of Statistics figures highlighting a rise in depression that coincided with a bullish property market, which caused stress and anxiety — particularly among young Australians.
While Britain has "its Posh and Becks", — obvious examples of conspicuous consumption — cultural differences, including a more entrenched class system, has put the brakes on the spread of consumerism in Britain.
"The British, compared to the US or Aussies, are less easily convinced that money will get you further. The British elite have been around for an awfully long time and there is not the crassness of the Australian rich."
While he despaired about Sydney, he found "affluenza" was not as prevalent outside the Western world. "Shanghai has the virus pretty badly but the vaccine is Confucius. Your best is good enough." But in Sydney, a strong materialistic culture means that no one ever quite feels like they can "measure up". His advice to Sydneysiders? "Start reading." Starting with his book, perhaps?
Sydney's culture of the relentless pursuit of property, perfect bodies and status has British psychologist and author Oliver James worried. As part of research for his recently released book, Affluenza, he travelled to seven countries to research the effect of consumerism on happiness.
He found the obsessive pursuit of money and possessions was not buying happiness. The affluenza virus was worst in Sydney, where he found interviewing locals a depressing experience. It was, he said, "the most vacuous of cities. The Dolly Parton of cities in Australia."
Adelaide and Melbourne had a "different vibe" and did not strike James as being as materialistic as Sydney. He had not been to Sydney before and expected a "philistine nation" of "jolly, uncomplicated fun-seekers". Instead, he found a city in thrall to American values and a puritan work ethic that robbed life of joy and meaning. Middle-class Sydney, he writes, is "packed with career-obsessed workaholics". When they are not working the longest hours in the developed world, they pursue perfect bodies through joyless fitness regimes, or obsess about property prices. Always, they are looking around anxiously, in the hope that others aren't doing better than them.
"(It was) full of people who place a high value on money, professional status and appearance," he said. The result? Sydneysiders have a "greater risk of suffering from mental illness — depression and anxiety".
"They (Sydneysiders) were like the tin man from the Wizard of Oz. They had no idea of the point of their lives, other than to get rich." James noted Bureau of Statistics figures highlighting a rise in depression that coincided with a bullish property market, which caused stress and anxiety — particularly among young Australians.
While Britain has "its Posh and Becks", — obvious examples of conspicuous consumption — cultural differences, including a more entrenched class system, has put the brakes on the spread of consumerism in Britain.
"The British, compared to the US or Aussies, are less easily convinced that money will get you further. The British elite have been around for an awfully long time and there is not the crassness of the Australian rich."
While he despaired about Sydney, he found "affluenza" was not as prevalent outside the Western world. "Shanghai has the virus pretty badly but the vaccine is Confucius. Your best is good enough." But in Sydney, a strong materialistic culture means that no one ever quite feels like they can "measure up". His advice to Sydneysiders? "Start reading." Starting with his book, perhaps?
And it appears the Big Day Out has raised its overpriced, overinflated head again already. My other friend, Paul Hogan,who sends me regular critiques and updates about John Howard and the legacy he has happily inherited, sent me these: funny if not so depressingly accurate:
All well otherwise. Going to spend the rest of the Sunday arvo with a Taquiña on the balcony to offset all the culture we just absorbed...
Love to all, Michael (and the ever-about-to-present-you-with-her-first-guest-blog Fiona).
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Tut tut, looks like rain...
*backtracks shamelessly*
So, we rode from La Cumbre to Coroico on December 23. It looked like rain as we started out. And it was. It pissed down, quite frankly. The gods were against us, from every religion (they went from jealousy to pure smite). Some of them, however, reconsidered their cruelty and decided to blow off the cloud in our face at times to afford us some spekky views.
Fiona agreeing with gusto with another rider that brakes are a good thing. Scarily enough, this opinion wasn't held too sternly by the operators of the ride, whose bike's brakes weren't very comfortable. In fact one rider's brakes failed completely as he rode slowly around a corner, the drop below looking convincingly like many hundred metres. He survived but said more than once "If you pay less, you get less". Our brakes didn't fail, but our chains did. Both of our chains fell off. Granted, in the heavy rain, but nevertheless...
The most dangerous part of the ride wasn't from the buses and trucks that used to scrape each other's side panels trying to pass one another (now relegated to the much less excitingly named "new road") but from the perillous rain and cloud. At times we couldn't see the chilling 1000 metre drops from the edges of the road. This is what Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking said about the wet season:
VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: Unfortunately, due to the arrival of the rains, our last ride of the 2006 season was Saturday December 9th. While it certainly is possible to ride to Coroico down the “World’s Most Dangerous Road” in late-December, January, and early February, we think that the heavy rain, mud, rock-slides, poor visibility and reduced braking performance make it far too dangerous and too uncomfortable. With more than eight years of experience and many thousands of descents down this road during the dry season, it is our professional opinion that it would be irresponsibly dangerous to take clients down this road during the rainy season. REMEMBER that people have died biking the “World's Most Dangerous Road ” (NONE WITH GRAVITY) and that there are NO MIMIMUM SAFETY STANDARDS here in Bolivia for biking tours. As such, while Gravity will not ride during these two months and uses that time to completely overhaul the bikes, travel around and re-charge our batteries for the next season, other less responsible companies may offer the tour preferring a quick buck to your safety.
So, there you go. We're goddamn crazy-arsed legends.
As an aside-ish, buses in Bolivia often display the darnedest things. A common theme is Jesus and his ilk with some seemingly random biblical quote, but sometimes you get a hell of a surprise like this one half way down the *doom doom doooooom* "Death ROOOOoooad":
So, we rode from La Cumbre to Coroico on December 23. It looked like rain as we started out. And it was. It pissed down, quite frankly. The gods were against us, from every religion (they went from jealousy to pure smite). Some of them, however, reconsidered their cruelty and decided to blow off the cloud in our face at times to afford us some spekky views.
Fiona agreeing with gusto with another rider that brakes are a good thing. Scarily enough, this opinion wasn't held too sternly by the operators of the ride, whose bike's brakes weren't very comfortable. In fact one rider's brakes failed completely as he rode slowly around a corner, the drop below looking convincingly like many hundred metres. He survived but said more than once "If you pay less, you get less". Our brakes didn't fail, but our chains did. Both of our chains fell off. Granted, in the heavy rain, but nevertheless...
The most dangerous part of the ride wasn't from the buses and trucks that used to scrape each other's side panels trying to pass one another (now relegated to the much less excitingly named "new road") but from the perillous rain and cloud. At times we couldn't see the chilling 1000 metre drops from the edges of the road. This is what Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking said about the wet season:
VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: Unfortunately, due to the arrival of the rains, our last ride of the 2006 season was Saturday December 9th. While it certainly is possible to ride to Coroico down the “World’s Most Dangerous Road” in late-December, January, and early February, we think that the heavy rain, mud, rock-slides, poor visibility and reduced braking performance make it far too dangerous and too uncomfortable. With more than eight years of experience and many thousands of descents down this road during the dry season, it is our professional opinion that it would be irresponsibly dangerous to take clients down this road during the rainy season. REMEMBER that people have died biking the “World's Most Dangerous Road ” (NONE WITH GRAVITY) and that there are NO MIMIMUM SAFETY STANDARDS here in Bolivia for biking tours. As such, while Gravity will not ride during these two months and uses that time to completely overhaul the bikes, travel around and re-charge our batteries for the next season, other less responsible companies may offer the tour preferring a quick buck to your safety.
So, there you go. We're goddamn crazy-arsed legends.
As an aside-ish, buses in Bolivia often display the darnedest things. A common theme is Jesus and his ilk with some seemingly random biblical quote, but sometimes you get a hell of a surprise like this one half way down the *doom doom doooooom* "Death ROOOOoooad":
Note that the American Eagle is tearing its talons through the flag that represents such opposing views of both the depicted rebels - Che Guevara and Osama Bin Laden. The side of the bus was full on too, with some quote about freedom or some such thing...
Nearing the end of the ride, soaked to the bone, muddy faced and still alive, you can see us posing on either side of Coroico, a little town nestled in the hills at 1,600 metres but we rode to Yolosa at 1,100 metres (from 4,700 metres. Goodness!).
Coroico is where we stayed for Christmas, the most incredibly romantic open air hut with views... More piccis to come.
Love,
Michael and (in a totally not here, but quickly being overwhelmed in her new Spanish classes kind of way) Fiona.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Quality on Idol? That's stretching it a bit... (get it?)
http://www.realitytvmagazine.com/blog/2007/01/anna_kearns_the.html
Just a link to let people know that I'm not totally out of the American Idol loop now I'm in Bolivia (cos I was sooooo into it when I was in Australia).
This woman is all over the Marfan email list. We all reckon she's got it. What a great awareness raiser! (Hang on! Is that me being all pro-American Idol?... bugger).
Michael.
Just a link to let people know that I'm not totally out of the American Idol loop now I'm in Bolivia (cos I was sooooo into it when I was in Australia).
This woman is all over the Marfan email list. We all reckon she's got it. What a great awareness raiser! (Hang on! Is that me being all pro-American Idol?... bugger).
Michael.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Death road, death of the Incas, and death in Cochabamba
Well!!!
What a ride!
Funny, I just checked my horrorscope and it says this:
Capricorn
You are very insightful right now, and your front door is a likely stop along the way for people who are looking for answers. You'll be quite in demand today, by folks who simply want to compare notes and by folks who need major life help. Yet the tone of your day will not be filled with hopelessness, crisis or sadness. It will be all about connecting with other people. There will be a lot of laughter and bonding.
Realize that life is a crazy ride.
Yep. See the link with the "ride" thing... yep.
Hmm... My last blog entry was some time ago and that coincides pretty well with the long-awaited arrival in Bolivia of one hell of a critical part of my life - Fiona.
She is well, in short and shall be guest blogging soon. She likes my new house in Cochabamba, and is looking forward to long days of Spanish lessons, Cuban sunsets, and the sweet smell eucalypt to come.
Let's see. Now, as I write, there are three photos downloading from Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world at around 4000 metres, and nowhere near when Fiona arrived and over a week before today so those reading will have to do a bit of work chronologically (which is a bloody funny word in the end...)
This is what happened:
I couldn't sleep on December 19... which is pretty unprecedented as far as the "exciting or stressful things keeping Michael awake" category goes. Of course Fiona was arriving the following morning and that event was firmly in the subcategory of "exciting" with a toe or two crossing the line into "stressful" but only those one or two toes...
The idea of having the live music at the airport for Fiona fell directly and without ceremony on it's big fat stupid shaky-concept-in-the-first-place arse. But on the other hand, I loved just being able to just stand there and stare at her all smiles both of us, until she made it into my arms and our lips met with great ceremony, so there you are. It probably turned out for the best in the end.
I was feeling pretty cool being able to show Fiona how to fob off (in Spanish, and in the nicest possible way) taxi drivers wanting to charge us 45 Bolivianos to take us back into town from the very high altitude airport. And the tinge of cucumber was colouring my skin as I confidently arranged our minibus ride for 4B each.
La Paz remained as full of buzzing bits and pieces until our free breakfast at Adventurama from whom we booked our trip to Caroico. After breakfast we hopped their bus to La Cumbre (The Summit - 4700 metres) where the cloud cover and cold were ominous messages from the gods about what was to come as we... RODE BICYCLES DOWN THE MOST DANGEROUS ROAD ON THE ENTIRE PLANET!!!
Actually I have to openly admit to the world that the road should now be called "Formally known as the most dangerous road in the world" as the new, safer road opened up just weeks before our trip, so the 20 odd buses that fall down it's harrowingly gorgeous and gorge-ous drops were not really seen. What an anticlimax...
Hmm... come to think of it, probably should put the ride photos here instead of Titicaca if I'm going to go on about the ride...
So I'll talk about Titicaca first.
As many of you know I have already been to Copacabana, Titicaca and the Isla de Sol with my friends Krista and Sam (who I just realise are back home!! Wow!!! - *Jealousy sets in...*). I was excited to show Fiona the same brilliant scenery and culture that exists on the island and around the lake. The object for me was the Isla del Sol (Island of the Sun from where the Incas believe the sun rose out of the lake. The moon rose out of Isla de la Luna) because that's where the most stunning views are and where the culture is decidedly more interesting perhaps because of it's separation from the mainland.
Anyway, we walked across the top of the island, a ridge for the most part with those views on either side.
Here I am busily discovering the delights of the Inca trail that leads us to the North side of the island - what IS that ... thing... there...??
An absolute treat of a walk (near the north Ruins now) seeing as we walked South side to North, more down than up, and without packs as full as a goog, unlike last time I was here.
What a ride!
Funny, I just checked my horrorscope and it says this:
Capricorn
You are very insightful right now, and your front door is a likely stop along the way for people who are looking for answers. You'll be quite in demand today, by folks who simply want to compare notes and by folks who need major life help. Yet the tone of your day will not be filled with hopelessness, crisis or sadness. It will be all about connecting with other people. There will be a lot of laughter and bonding.
Realize that life is a crazy ride.
Yep. See the link with the "ride" thing... yep.
Hmm... My last blog entry was some time ago and that coincides pretty well with the long-awaited arrival in Bolivia of one hell of a critical part of my life - Fiona.
She is well, in short and shall be guest blogging soon. She likes my new house in Cochabamba, and is looking forward to long days of Spanish lessons, Cuban sunsets, and the sweet smell eucalypt to come.
Let's see. Now, as I write, there are three photos downloading from Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world at around 4000 metres, and nowhere near when Fiona arrived and over a week before today so those reading will have to do a bit of work chronologically (which is a bloody funny word in the end...)
This is what happened:
I couldn't sleep on December 19... which is pretty unprecedented as far as the "exciting or stressful things keeping Michael awake" category goes. Of course Fiona was arriving the following morning and that event was firmly in the subcategory of "exciting" with a toe or two crossing the line into "stressful" but only those one or two toes...
The idea of having the live music at the airport for Fiona fell directly and without ceremony on it's big fat stupid shaky-concept-in-the-first-place arse. But on the other hand, I loved just being able to just stand there and stare at her all smiles both of us, until she made it into my arms and our lips met with great ceremony, so there you are. It probably turned out for the best in the end.
I was feeling pretty cool being able to show Fiona how to fob off (in Spanish, and in the nicest possible way) taxi drivers wanting to charge us 45 Bolivianos to take us back into town from the very high altitude airport. And the tinge of cucumber was colouring my skin as I confidently arranged our minibus ride for 4B each.
La Paz remained as full of buzzing bits and pieces until our free breakfast at Adventurama from whom we booked our trip to Caroico. After breakfast we hopped their bus to La Cumbre (The Summit - 4700 metres) where the cloud cover and cold were ominous messages from the gods about what was to come as we... RODE BICYCLES DOWN THE MOST DANGEROUS ROAD ON THE ENTIRE PLANET!!!
Actually I have to openly admit to the world that the road should now be called "Formally known as the most dangerous road in the world" as the new, safer road opened up just weeks before our trip, so the 20 odd buses that fall down it's harrowingly gorgeous and gorge-ous drops were not really seen. What an anticlimax...
Hmm... come to think of it, probably should put the ride photos here instead of Titicaca if I'm going to go on about the ride...
So I'll talk about Titicaca first.
As many of you know I have already been to Copacabana, Titicaca and the Isla de Sol with my friends Krista and Sam (who I just realise are back home!! Wow!!! - *Jealousy sets in...*). I was excited to show Fiona the same brilliant scenery and culture that exists on the island and around the lake. The object for me was the Isla del Sol (Island of the Sun from where the Incas believe the sun rose out of the lake. The moon rose out of Isla de la Luna) because that's where the most stunning views are and where the culture is decidedly more interesting perhaps because of it's separation from the mainland.
Anyway, we walked across the top of the island, a ridge for the most part with those views on either side.
Here I am busily discovering the delights of the Inca trail that leads us to the North side of the island - what IS that ... thing... there...??An absolute treat of a walk (near the north Ruins now) seeing as we walked South side to North, more down than up, and without packs as full as a goog, unlike last time I was here.Doing my best impression of James Bond, doing the emerging-from-the-water scene with that cucumber hue again... Maybe James Bond with worms... Either way, here I am emerging from the bloody Lake!!! Can you believe!!? And why? Why am I swimming in freezing waters early morning at 4000 odd metres? Because it was my birthday, that's why. So now when I get asked "What did you do on your 34th birthday Michael?" I can say "Oh, nothing much, just WENT FOR A SWIM IN LAKE TITICACA!!!... ahem... and you?" Yep. Should hardly be an aside but given the ego trip of the whole notion, I think I even had a deep spiritual experience in that water... course, could have been the numbness setting in...
Right. More soon. Time to buy sugar and order water. Big chores for a Sunday.
Oh, and for those who've been following the murders, riots, road blocks and general social unrest in Cochabamba that looks very pre-civil war, we're safe and it's settling but vamos a ver. Keep an eye on the news for tall gringos being lynched. A MUCH more comprehensive editorial about this whole shamozzle soon.
Chau.
p.s. the "death" themed title was to be far more detailed and relative to the entry... and it will be. Stay tuned.
Monday, December 18, 2006
La Paz and it's bits...
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.
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.
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.
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