The Last One.
The Last One. July 5th
I’m sitting in the Miami airport and just paid 60bs for breakfast. I’m still covered in cat hair, but Bolivia is gone. My last few days were spent tying up loose ends (including getting the origin story of the nickname “Gato”) and doing absolutely everything with Vampi attached to my hip. Friday was my last Traffic night with Nina and Georgia. It was also the night of the opening match of the American Cup – Bolivia v. Argentina. We went to watch the game at a venue in a Zona Sur mall. Everyone was swearing, screaming, jumping and chanting “ Bol-bol-bol ee-ee-ee va-va-va!” Bolivia actually scored the first goal and they ended up tying 1-1. Suck it, Messi. (just kidding, I love him – but still, he did nothing in this game.) So the whole country was extremely happy and extremely drunk that night. The girls left early Sunday morning but came to jump on Vampi and I at 5:30am to say goodbye one last time. After they left everything seemed as though it was already over. Vampi watched me pack most of Sunday and I made a bit of an effort to break in the newbies – Maeva and Robbie who are actually very cool. Maeva is just the most professional little thing, and Robbie has a great sense of humor (he watches Mighty Boosh and IT Crowd and loves the movie Old School…enough said). Sunday night, Ivan and Anne came over and we spent a good chunk of the night watching stupid youtube videos – thanks Rob for showing me the ‘Gap Yah’ one, it’s great. And then Water for Elephants, which Vampi and I finally found in English. I said goodbye to Anne that night and went to bed for the last time in La Paz.
Monday morning, I woke up when Vampi went to work at 8:30. He promised he’d be back at lunchtime to say goodbye. I went and got my last saltenas and tumbo juice and then Gato stopped by the apartment just to see me, so sweet. Maeva and I headed to the Witches’ Market so I could get some last minute shopping in. I got my last tucamana on the way home, and it was just perfect. We came back and met Vampi and Robbie for lunch at Alexander’s. Vampi and I skyped my mom together for the last time. When it was time for him to head back to work, he told me that he’d sneak back to the apartment at 5 so we didn’t have to say goodbye, yet. I spent the next few hours getting everything perfect and listening to Gato teach Robbie how the magazine design comes to be. At 5, a very stressed Vampi came back to the apartment. He could only stay for about 15 minutes and when his time was up, he told me that he’d be home at 7:15 to call me a taxi. I knew I needed to already be in a taxi at 7, but some things are more important than punctuality and logic.
After a shower and a final churipan run, I hung out in my room with Gato, Ivan, Maeva and Robbie, but at 7:20, Vampi still wasn’t home. Around 7:30, I found him in the living room calling my taxi. And ten minutes later he was pulling my bags to the elevator. I said goodbye to everyone and Vampi headed down with me. We got outside and I realized I hadn’t said goodbye to Sharoll. Vampi called her and I went down two blocks to where the taxi was waiting. After my bags had been loaded in the trunk, I saw Sharoll running down the street with Vampi close behind. I gave Sharoll about a dozen hugs and told her I was going to come back soon. Then it was finally time to actually say goodbye to Vampi. He promised he’d see me in December, and told me not to get “grounded” too many times back in the US. I told him not to be the winner too often and that I’d miss him. I got in the taxi and cried for the first time in two years. I really fell in love with Bolivia.
Our group: Maryam, me, Georgia, Sharoll, Cami, Nina, Vampi, y Darko : )
And now I’m back in Colorado, already talked to Gato on facebook and put a Bolivar jersey on my dog – what can I say, great trip : )
Check out the program that brought me to Bolivia and tell your friends! http://www.bolivianexpress.org/
Coming to an End.
Coming to an End. July 1st
I leave in four days! Today is the 1st and I leave on the 4th. Can’t believe it. It’s been such a great two months and, while I’m really ready to go back to Colorado…I’m going to miss it here. I’ve already told Vampi that I’m coming back next summer and bringing Amandita. The Aussies and I are the only ones left from our season (the best one) of the BX. They leave early Sunday morning and then it’ll be just me for a day and a half.
We actually have already met the two new interns that will be here for July and August. There is a British guy named Robbie and a French girl named Myeva or Mieva or something like that. Que chapi.
Speaking of chapi…since I’m leaving, I think I should make note of some of my favorite things from this experience. And since I had 67 days in Bolivia…here are my 67 favorite things about the trip in no particular order.
1. The Three Day Tour of the Salt Flats… so much fun. Even though Cami missed out, it was just such a great trip.
2. Sucre and Potosi trip… the mines were just amazing and we met Tim Snell and that was our last big trip with all five of us girls.
3. Lake Titicaca… we went there earlier this week, just Nina, Georgia and I. We didn’t do too much, but I got about 13 hours of sleep and some sun, so it was a good trip.
4. Cochabamba… our first trip together and even though it was a bit boring there, but we had those really, really good burritos that I still haven’t forgotten.
5. Death Road… not the best circumstances, but really fun, nonetheless.
6. Spinning classes… the mixtape, the little gym lady yelling ‘vamos chicas!’ at us, loved them.
7. Picking cat hair off Vampi’s suit.
8. Watching Cami try to do Vampi’s Friday celebratory jump.
9. Hanging around the table, talking about nothing. Namely with Gato, who comes up with the best crap conversations in the world.
10. Playing with Nina and Vampirito’s hair.
11. The different foods for the different times of day… saltenas and tucamanas in the morning, churipan throughout the day, hamburgesas and salchipapa in the evening, and anticucho at 3am on the way home from wherever.
12. Being front-seat buddies with Cami in every single taxi.
13. Twix runs, which turned into Skittles runs, and ended as Sublime runs.
14. Nicknames… Vampi, Gato, Seth, Lobitou, Serbia, Intelligent, Dummy, Little…
15. Swearing in Spanish. My Spanish skills are a joke, but I have picked up the swear words. Puuuta madre : )
16. Eating mass amounts of sweetened condensed milk – with coffee (you’re welcome, girls), bananas, and then just by the spoonful.
17. Broken English – I’m such a pork!
18. My saltenas place… the doorman knows me and always laughs when I come in more than once a day, which ends up happening pretty often.
19. The Tucamana lady on the way back from Speak Easy…
20. Plaza Avaroa journal days…
21. Alexander’s… as much as I know they rip you off (it’s 12bs for a coffee when you can get the same thing for 3 on the street), it’s our place.
22. La Costilla… just love it.
23. Dumbo’s… Vampi veggies : )
24. Of course…Traffic, Blues, even Forum and Mongos.
25. That Park that looks over the city that Anne and I always went to…
26. Ja Ron… my first night : )
27. Rodriguez Market for 50 cent flower bouquets.
28. Witches’ Market… llama fetuses never really get old
29. Whole of Calle Jean… Etno, La Chopperia, the museums
30. Calling everything “chapi” …
31. Hora de Molestia
32. Vampi’s choreography
33. The view from our penthouse.
34. Hanging out with Sharoll : )
35. Our flat’s amazing soundtrack.
36. “I’m like a nodle”… Vampi
37. “Aw, babe”… Nina
38. “Is a describing word a noun or a verb?”… Nina
39. “Pretty much everything Nina says is a lie.”… Georgia
40. “Oh, Ivvvvann / my little croissant”…
41. “Cheers, ears”….Maryam
42. “Yummy”…
43. “Little harsh, Gretch”…Georgia
44. “Shenni”…Vampi/Darko
45. “You’re tacky and I hate you.”…
46. “F***, I’m good”…Nina
47. All of Darko’s cheesy sayings
48. “You are the winner and you’re grounded”… Vampi
49. “Manana, si?”…
50. “It’s getting kind of late, I think I’m gonna jshdjksh”… Georgia
51. “Fa-her sure”…
52. “I want to go home and have a mandarin.” – Nina
“Do we have mandarins at home?” – me
“Yeah.” And then whole 3 minutes later… “Well, I have them at home.” – Nina
53. “Of course, my dear horse”… Vampi
54. “On it like a car bonnet”… Maryam
55. “No me touces”…
56. “I don’t know” – me/Gato
57. “Wasn’t me”… Vampi
58. “Puta Madre”… Guido/everyone, but mostly Guido
59. “Don’t be such a bitch”…love you, Gato
60. “Callate Caraijo”…
61. “I got 99 problems and a bitch aint one”…Vampi
62. “Todo bein?”… Cami
63. “I love you, bro” – Vampi
64. “Rude”…
65. “You are going to sleep with me?”…Vampi
66. “Uuuuta”…
67. “AYYYYYYY VIEJOOOOOOOOOO”…VAMPI DARKO IVAN GATO : )
Porgie/Intelligent, Cami/Perky, me/Little, Nina/Dummy, Maryhim/Patty
The one thing I won’t miss…
1. Cat vomit.
San Juan and Maryam’s Farewell.
San Juan and Maryam’s Farewell. July 1st
We hopped off the Death Road bus a few blocks down from our building around 9pm. We bid farewell to Alistair and told Chad to meet us at Traffic at 2. After a street hamburger, we got back to the flat and began to switch gears for what was to come.
Normally, Friday night is strictly Traffic night. We might go eat somewhere first or have people over to the apartment first, but come 2 – we all head to our favorite Friday electronic hub, it’s tradition. But this particular Friday was San Juan, which is some festival here in Bolivia that is celebrated by lighting fires everywhere. I didn’t see a single fire, but Vampi insisted that we go to this party with him called ‘Ignition’. It had flames on the invite, but I really think its connection to San Juan ended there. But we went. And it was okay.
Ok, it really wasn’t that bad, but we showed up around 11 and the place was filled to the brim with pre-pubescent rich boys in button-up shirts and girls in heels, noticeably heavy makeup and braces. We found Vampi and Darko eventually but they weren’t in the mood to hang out with the only gringos in the whole place. So, we enjoyed the free drinks and then 2 came around. Maryam got the Traffic itch and the mass amount of vodka cokes she’d been given made the need to get to Traffic a matter of life or death to her. I held her hand, got her friend Saleem and we caught a taxi back to our side of town.
We met Gato at there and just had an interesting time. Maryam’s taxi to the airport was scheduled for 4:30am and her flight was at 7:30. Ivan showed up at one point…and some blonde guy. Ten minutes before it was absolutely imperative that Maryam get back to the apartment – Chad showed up. We just all had fun fun fun. It was a bit much, no lie, but it was her last Traffic night. At 4, Saleem, Ivan, blonde guy, Maryam and I got a taxi home and Maryam got to her taxi, 20 minutes later, but she made it. Now she’s in Argentina and we all miss her so much.
Aw, babe : )
World’s Most Dangerous Road
World’s Most Dangerous Road June 29th
(I’ll add some pictures later)
We booked our long awaited Death Road experience for the Friday after Aymara New Year. We’d meant to do it a couple weeks back, but I was a pain and was too sick. To be honest, I wasn’t too too excited about the whole thing. I know myself pretty well, and if anyone is going to accidentally skid head first off a 300-meter (900ft) cliff, it’s going to be me. To calm my nerves, I went out the night before and tried absinthe (sorry, mom and dad…it was gross, though, so – first and last time). Well, it wasn’t really to calm my nerves, it was just because we went to this very cool café called Etno and that’s just what you do when you go to Etno’s. Nasty though, absolutely vile. And it really had no effect on me that night, but in the morning I felt awful. So that made the ride extra fun.
The ride was really fun, though. In fact, it was one of the highlights of my trip – vomit feeling and all. We started around 9am at an altitude of around 4,000 meters (12,000ft) and spent the next five hours cycling 63km down hill to a rainforest animal reserve at 1,000m (work it out Americans). Our guides were Alistair – a kiwi who started this biking company, Gravity, in 1998 along with his wife Karin, and Chad – another kiwi who has been traveling South America for the past year, ran out of money and knows a lot about biking so he just asked for a job at Gravity, got one, and had his final day of training as a guide with us.
Obviously, if I made it through the day with all of my bones intact, you don’t need to be a pro mountain biker or anything like that, but throughout the day, Alistair and Chad made it very clear that you need to take the ride very seriously. With each new piece of advice they gave us, they would give an example of someone who didn’t follow the rules and ended up dead, in a coma, or permanently handicapped. We came up to a tunnel, and they said that they no longer take bikers through there because one group was cycling through there, a French chick tried to take off her sunglasses while still moving and smashed into the wall going about 70km. She’s the coma example.
Then there was a guy who saw a butterfly fly across the path in front of him and he followed it with his eyes. He followed it right off the cliff, fell 60m and broke I don’t remember how many bones. That was their example when they told us to look where we want the bike to go and nowhere else. So, on all of the sharp corners and narrow sections, I kept chanting: “natural line, just like driving.” to myself. Laugh, but it worked.
It was a bit of a shame too, because you’re riding through the most amazing terrain and on the edge of the best views in the world. But, I’d rather live.
One of the big stories here in Bolivia, is that of a Japanese who girl died on Death Road a couple weeks ago. Apparently the company she went with didn’t think it was necessary to pay for front breaks on her bike and the back breaks didn’t stop her in time. Alistair told us that her guides wouldn’t even climb down to see if she was alive or not, they just waited for an ambulance. And Alistair has quite an ego on him and is very competitive with the other biking companies, but I think he was being honest when he said he wouldn’t trust his life in the hands of any of the other tour companies save one or two. He told us that barely any of the other companies own medical supplies because they know that if something happens, they can just rely on Gravity to provide the emergency equipment. That is just so worrying, though.
Enough morbid news, though.
We ended the day in the animal reserve that takes in exotic animals that have been rescued from the black market or animals that were sold illegally as pets, abandoned, etc. Pretty much, there were just a ton of monkeys, old dogs, a bunch of parrots, and a bear. All of the workers at this place were gringo volunteers that would usually stay for one-to-three weeks and every single one of them would swear they became “one with nature” while there. I’m sure it’d be fun to stay there for a bit, but every volunteer I met there was covered with either rashes or bug bites and they had all become way to intrigued in the monkey’s mating cycles and such. Too much for me, I can’t take people like that seriously. One particularly spacey girl was in front of Georgia and I on the way to go to the bathroom. She was looking off at God knows what, smashed her little hippy head straight into the door. I couldn’t help myself, it was hilarious. And the poor thing, once in the stall in the bathroom she tried to save face to her friend and said something like, “Good thing my knee hit the door and not my head!” Georgia and I re-cracked up after she said that. Full on smacked her face so hard on the door that the “Women’s” sign fell off its peg on the door.
Oh! Coolest thing – aside from the spaz that hit her head – there was this funny little animal at the reserve that just climbed up and sat on my lap. Well, actually Chad picked it up and it began to nibble on his arm and then decided it didn’t like him. So then it climbed over and sat on my lap while continuing to nibble Chad – a good arrangement for me. He told me what it was called about three times, but I couldn’t remember. I googled it though, using “South American raccoon” as my search criteria. It was so cute. Chad told me that it wasn’t abused or abandoned, it just started showing up at the reserve for food and attention. It was really, really cute. It had the funniest little nose…
After we’d rinsed off at the reserve, we boarded the bus for the three-hour ride back to La Paz. We made a stop and Alistair advised everyone to buy beer because the ride home on the edge of the cliff is so intense “no one wants to do it sober, not even the driver.” I still felt so sick that the thought of ingesting anything other than water felt like torture. Instead, I spent the ride home finding out Chad and Alistair’s back-stories. They are both very interesting people, but I’d be surprised if I met a Kiwi in Bolivia who worked with a mountain biking company that travels the world’s most dangerous road daily and they weren’t interesting. Alistair wasn’t the most likeable of people, very business-y and semi-racist, but he really knows how to get the job done. Chad, on the other hand, was much more timid and “personable”, as Mammaw would say. He was a character of his own, though. When I told him that I think the absinthe made me sick, he told me that absinthe got him through high school.
We got home around 9pm, grabbed a street hamburgeusa, and started to mentally prepare for the long night ahead. Friday was also San Juan (a festival where you must party all weekend) and Maryam’s last night.
Aymara New Year
Aymara New Year June 29th
Yeah, it’s been a while. But remember how I was sick and got over it? It came back full force and while I kept going, working, and traveling, it just exhausted every spare second that was left over. I’m almost through my two weeks of antibiotics, though, and it’s time to catch up.
Tuesday, June 21st was Aymara New Year, which was also the topic of my article this month. The Aymara people make up the largest indigenous population in Bolivia. And despite being conquered by the Incas around 400 years ago, they continue to have a prominent hold on Bolivian culture. Their New Year is celebrated on the 21st each year, which also happens to be the Winter Solstice, or the coldest, shortest night of the year. As a predominantly agricultural people, they planned to start the New Year after roughing the harshest night. This way, the worst will be over until the next New Year’s night.
And now I feel like I’m just re-writing my article, which anyone can read in about a week on the Bolivian Express website (google it). In a nutshell: the holiday is celebrated by thousands of Aymara, venders, and gringos flocking to the Tiwanaku ruins that lie about two hours outside of La Paz. There, they dance, eat, freeze, and drink until dawn when sacrifices of llama, incense, alcohol, and coca are made to Pachamama (mother earth) in exchange for a good harvest.
Monday night, Maryam, Georgia, Nina and I met my Spanish teacher, Marysol, outside of Speak Easy (where I take the Spanish classes). She was an Aymara language major at University and is of Aymara descent, so she goes up to the ruins each year and invited us to drive up with her and a friend. We piled the four of us into the backseat of said friend’s car and boiled for the two-hour ride up (we were all wearing at least six layers and had our sleeping bags piled on our laps).
We got there around 10:30pm and the event didn’t really take off until 1am. So we spent the next hour eating everything that smelled edible. We had chicken and rice, soy burgers, api (amazing hot purple corn drink that tastes like apple cider – but better), and these incredible Argentinean truffles that bafflingliy manage to taste like a mash-up of chocolate graham cracker crust and cookie dough.
Around midnight, we made the decision that none of us would last until dawn. All four of us were sick, Marysol was freezing and her friend was just really tired. So, we ventured into the main square, asked some questions, took some pictures, listened to some Andean music, drank this really weird hot coconutty alcoholic drink made with milk, and booked it back to the car. On the way home, I couldn’t go ten seconds without coughing. Worst feeling ever, drowning in your own miserable virus-ridden lungs.
My amazing friend, Tim Snell, was nice enough to stay until dawn and then send me some of his incredible photos. This is an Aymara shaman going through the dawn rituals.
Sick sick sick.
Sick sick sick June 19th.
I came back from the mines with some kind of black lung/tuberculosis type illness. But a week in bed and three days of the world’s most powerful antibiotics seemed to have done the trick. I love Bolivian healthcare. I went to the pharmacy and just kind of played charades with the incredibly enthusiastic pharmacist lady to try and convey my symptoms while she guessed what I might have. We settled on an infection and she gave me 54 bolivianos worth of antibiotics. That’s about seven dollars for a medical consultation, meds, and lots of sympathy from this nice pharmacist.
The whole time I was sick, everything that was happening around me bled together into a tangled mess of events. Day one of antibiotics – I slept all day, and ate saltenas in bed with Cami, I think we had a meeting at some point. Day two – I missed Spanish, slept, and later we went out to Maphra On for Cami’s last night. She left around 4am for the airport, but I think I only lasted until 2am. Day three – pretty sure I slept all day and spent my waking moments missing Cami. Mix that with occasional skyping sessions, falling asleep in front of facebook, around eight liters of ginger tea, lots and lots of Sam Cooke, and a day of Tombstone…that was my week.
Cami's last night in La Paz - you can really tell how sick I was feeling/how strong my meds were.
I was finished with my antibiotics by Wednesday and I felt well enough for Spanish class. Georgia and I walked down to the Speak Easy building where our classes are held, met our teacher, Marysol, and the three of us caught a taxi for Calle Jaen – the museum street. 15 bs ($2.15) got us entry to four museums along the street- ‘Museo Costumbrista Juan de Vargas’, ’Museo Historico del Litoral’, ’Museo de Metales Preciosos Precolombinos’, and ’Museo Casa de Murillo’.
This is Calle Jaen, it's a very cool street filled with museums, boutiques and cafes and all of the buildings are painted different bright colors. I heard that it used to be some thing of a narcotics central, where mass amounts of cocaine dealing went on. But they cleaned it up and now it's like stepping into Italy.
The first museum was filled with figurines and paintings of La Paz’s growth, heroes and characters. There was a room devoted to cholita clothing and history. Ironically, there was a real-live, modern day cholita in the corner of the room with a mop in her hands.
The very first painting we saw in the entryway was of natives greeting Spanish conquistadors. Patches of paint had peeled away and the colors were obviously faded. Marysol stopped in front of it and explained the painting to us in Spanish and then Georgia and I cringed as she reached up and started tracing her finger along the painting as she spoke. Throughout the morning, she opened ancient chests, rubbed her hands over Incan idols, and poked many other patchy paintings. The museums were pretty nice, but the restoration and preservation was heartbreaking. Georgia and I couldn’t stop talking about how we wished we could just fix the displays and clean up some of the artifacts. Just little things like cracked glass in an old carriage window, splintered frames on paintings, and dusty Aymara weaponry. There were bigger issues that needed some attention, as well, like the peeling paintings and furniture that was months away from falling to pieces. It was sad, because there is no funding and yet so much history to be preserved. If I do happen to get into art restoration, I’ll fix up Calle Jaen for free.
Museo Historico del Litoral, was devoted to the war for the pacific against Chile. I saw pictures of Avaroa (“your grandmother should surrender” guy). The war began on February 14th, 1879, when Chile invaded the Bolivian port city of Antofagasta and ended in 1883 with Avaroa’s last stand. In between displays of army uniforms and old rifles, there were bizarre black construction paper cutouts of crouching and saluting soldiers.
Museo de Metales Preciosos Precolombinos was filled with Incan and Aymara gold and it was pretty cool. I’ve decided that the mix of bright gold and turquoise is just an amazing combo. The gold was very different than I imagined, though. Up close, all of the old head dresses and jewelry made of gold looked thin and crinkled like foil. And you know the big circle earrings you always see Incan priests and emperors wearing on the history channel and cartoons? (Think Emperor’s New Groove) Well, they are actually paper-thin. Still very pretty, though.
We weren't allowed photos (not that either of us remembered a camera) so this is just off google. You can't really tell how thin it is - but trust me, in person, it really does look like foil.
Museo Casa de Murillo was the last museum of the day and the one that I remember the least. After four days of remaining absolutely stationary, the walking and the dust was really getting to me. Pretty sure that this was the museum filled with revolutionary paintings and old furniture (the furniture on its last legs). And a quick google search says that Murillo was actually a martyr in the fight for Bolivia’s independence. I do remember Marysol telling us that he was hung by the Spanish army, which was actually a very humane execution for a revolutionary. Murillo was of Spanish descent, but the indigenous rebels were tied up and quartered (you know…where your limbs are ripped off by four horses running in opposite directions). They had little clay figurines depicting both of these execution types. Very instructive.
A painting from the museum depicting the moment before Murillo's death. I couldn't find a picture of the quartering of the indigenous revolutionary on google...
This was, by far, my favorite Spanish lesson. I still need to go to the coca museum that outlines Bolivia’s history of coca (and cocaine) production. I’ve heard that there is a café inside where everything is baked and made with coca products. They have lime green coca beer, green cookies made with coca flour, and even coca candy. There’s also the Museum of Musical Instruments that is filled with different types of South American instruments that you get to try. Cami told me they even offer panpipe lessons.
I might have to get around the museums after Nina and Georgia leave for Peru because we’ve got a lot going on these days. Yesterday was Gran Poder (a mini Carnivale, unique to La Paz). And tomorrow is the Aymara New Year – which I’m writing about for this month’s BX issue. And then the 23rd is San Juan, which is another festival where everyone builds huge fires all around the city. Friday we’re biking Death Road, and then we leave for Copacabana and Lake Titicaca where we’ll drop off Nina and Georgia at the Peruvian border. Then just one more week till I head home. Insane in the membrane.
Thank you, Tim Snell!
Thank you, Tim Snell! June 15th
One of the guys in the tour group is a graphic designer and takes some really great photos, he sent me this link to a photo he took of the miners lighting the dynamite fuses (he was the last of our group to get out of the tunnel).
http://www.testmeat.co.uk/photos/index.php?id=1248
And he sent me some photos he got of me and the girls:
Maryam, Nina and Tim.
Climbing down a mine shaft, in the dark, covered in asbestos and arsenic like it's nothing.
Deep, deep in the mine.
The Potosi Silver Mines
The Potosi Silver Mines June 11th
Bolivia’s biggest tragedy has to be it’s long history of exploitation. The country is (was) full of natural resourced and had reaped none of the benefits due to the greed of more powerful nations. Potosi is pretty much lesson 101 in the sob story that is Bolivia’s history. This city houses the mine that once held the biggest supply of silver the world has ever seen. The Spanish cleaned out all of pure silver and left. Now freelance miners go into the mines daily and risk all to pick out bits and pieces of what’s leftover – lead, tin, zinc, and impure silver (they told us that pure silver appears blood red in the rocks and impure silver looks just like…silver.) Somewhere along the line, someone decided to bring tour groups into the mine to see the incredibly dangerous working conditions. We paid 80 bs ($11.50) and joined one of these ingenious tours.
To prepare us for the innards of the mines, our guides Juan and Choco Loco (not his real name, haha), both ex-miners, suited us up in hard hats complete with a light clipped on top, a set of waterproof pants and jacket, rubber boots, and a rucksack to hold our water and customary presents for the miners.
In our firemen getups at 8am.
Geared up, we headed to the miner’s market to buy said presents. Before we bought out gift of coca, juice, and gloves, Juan gave us a couple of demos. He pulled out a six-inch cylinder wrapped in paper and told us to guess what it was. It was TNT. He then pulled out a lighter and pretended to light it up cigar style, actually burning the paper at the end. He told us that the stick of TNT wasn’t dangerous, the charge, however, was. And he pulled out a thin two-inch metal tube. He said that it must be handled with extreme care (he went on to almost light it and throw it haphazardly in a bag before the lecture was over). After the nerve racking dynamite expo, Juan passed around a miner’s cigarette – a mix of weed, tobacco, and God knows what else. One poor guy decided to take one puff – he said one was more than enough. Juan’s next little show-and-tell object was El Ciebo, miner’s favorite drink that, oddly enough, shares its name with the best chocolate in Bolivia. This was not chocolate though – this was 96% alcohol. He passed around capfuls, insisting we try it. The proper way to drink it is to pour a couple drops on the ground as an offering to mother earth, then a few more drops for your friends, and then you down the rest. It was so dry that it lost all the feel of a liquid as soon as it touched your skin, and the only way you know that it went down was by the burn intense, immediate burn all the way down to your stomach.
Possibly the strangest breakfast I've ever had.
With the shot of rubbing alcohol in my system, it was time to head to the mines. Outside the hole in the mountain that was the entrance to the mine, Choco gave us two things to remember: “guarda” means “watch out” and “tido” means “run”. And in we went.
The descent into the mines.
At first it wasn’t so bad. Cold, dark, and muddy, but not bad. Choco brought the group to a halt about five minutes in, took my hand and told me to follow him. He brought me to a cracked ladder covered in a slimy grey film and told me to climb. From the ladder, I climbed on to a three-inch wide plank of wood that was laid across this giant hole. I some how got from there to this little inlet that lead to another tunnel filled with busy miners. My three-sizes-too-big boots and helmet that kept falling over my eyes made the climb just a little extra fun. I was left alone in this inlet, while Choco went back for the others one-by-one. When there were about four of us up there, a miner ran out, turned a valve and ran back out. A shrill scream and some type of gas came shooting out of this valve the miner had opened. We began to panic and quickly covered our already masked faces with our scarves. I had no idea what we were breathing. Turns out it was compressed air that the miners periodically release to keep the oxygen levels sustainable.
A miner cutting slits in a fuse to let him know how much time he has before he needs to "tido".
When everyone had climbed up, we ventured into the tunnel to see the miners hard at work drilling holes to stick dynamite in. I could barely see through all of the dust and couldn’t hear anything over the screaming compressed air. Camilla was panicking about the possibility of asbestos exposure and Nina was on the verge of an asthma attack. I tried to stay positive and look calm. When Choco motioned for us to leave, I was happy. We all climbed back down and stood in a huddle. Juan told everyone to turn off their headlamps and get ready for the dynamite. We stood in pitch black and counted 30 rumbling explosions go off just above our heads.
From there on, I felt less scared, but also less and less comfortable. The further into the mines we went, the hotter it got. By the end, we were sweating in our waterproofs that had become personal sauna suits in the 30 degree Celsius (about 87 F) heat. The warmer it got, the stickier the already scarce air became. In the beginning of the tour, it had felt as if I was breathing in nothing but dust and now it felt as though I was breathing in nothing at all.
We crawled through impossibly tight spaces and climbed up clearly dangerous shafts. We’d been using the walls for support and Georgia cut her hand on their rough surface. Just as she was rubbing the blood away with her filthy fingers, Choco told us to keep our hands away from our mouths because the walls are covered in arsenic. Georgia gave him a look and he quickly added that it only affects you if you ingest it orally. Not sure that’s true. He told us that when the miners need to refill their cheek-full of coca (the miners don’t bring any food into the mines, they only chew and suck on coca leaves while they’re down there), they’ll pee on their hands to get the arsenic off. He said that sometimes the miners get so faint from the conditions and lack of nourishment that parts of their body will go numb. When it gets that bad, they pee in their hats and drink it. Some how, that help’s their already unfortunate predicament.
The yellow on the ceiling is chemical residue from years of using dynamite in such a confined place.
In the two and a half hours we were in the mines, we climbed up one level and then back down. There are seventeen levels to the mines and each are 20m (60ft) apart. I don’t think I could have stood another ten minutes in there, to be honest, I don’t know how those men stay in there for 24 hours at a time. We ended the tour with a visit to El Tio – the Devil who lives in the mine. The Spanish needed a way to boost production in the mines, so they invented this evil-looking god and placed his statue throughout the mine. They told the miner’s that El Tio will eat them if they don’t work hard enough. The fear stuck, and even with the Spanish long gone, El Tio is still sitting on his post in the mines. (I just google-translated ‘El Tio’, it means ‘uncle’ – which is creepy in itself.) Choco told us that once the mines really start to get to a man, he begins to take El Tio way too seriously. Twice a year they have a day to give thanks to El Tio and each team of miners will sacrifice one-to-three llamas for him. One brave miner will take a bucket of llama blood, run into the mines, fling the blood on El Tio and run out. He said that they must be brae because they actually believe that El Tio will eat them if they don’t get out quick enough. Choco also told us that the government attempted to clean up the mines a few decades ago and underneath the statues of El Tio they found all sorts of llama and child carcasses and skeletons that had been given to the statue in exchange for prosperity.
The black on the walls is dried llama blood. They also give him offerings of coca, alcohol, and incense.
We turned our backs on the evil, unnerving face of El Tio and headed towards the light of day. In the five minutes following our emergence from the mine, wind and sun had never been more appreciated by anyone, I’m sure of it. Going in those mines was one of the most dangerous experiences of my life. I later heard that 23 tourists died in the mines last year from rockslides and collapsing ceilings. And Choco told me that, on average, only about 6 out 10 people make it through the whole tour without asking to be taken back outside. I really can’t understand how men will work from their preteens to their death in search of an obviously already exhausted resource. Our guides said it was their way of life and, to the miners, there is nothing outside of the mines.
Sucre.
Sucre. June 9th
We took yet another God-awful bus the other day. This time we got off in Sucre – the oldest “civilized” city in Bolivia and the second oldest in South America (after Lima, Peru). The Spanish founded the city when silver was discovered in the surrounding mountains of Potosi. Potosi’s weather and altitude were too miserable, so the Spanish stayed in Sucre while the Bolivian miners roughed it a three-day horse ride away. I don’t blame the Spanish for preferring Sucre’s temperament – it was just lovely in every way. The weather was like Southern California springtime and palm trees and flowers grow everywhere there is any room for them.
Aw, we love each other : )
The Spaniards didn’t waste Sucre’s nice disposition, either. They organized the entire city into perfect blocks, cobbled the streets, and lined them with clean, white casas. It’s actually nicknamed “The White City” because everything is white washed.
One of the lovely white churches of Sucre.
The dark browns, greens, greys and sky blue of everything else in the city contrasts perfectly with the white, giving the city a charming European feel. Aside from La Paz, Sucre might be my favorite city in Bolivia.
Chilling in the park with a puppy.
While the atmosphere was enough to keep me satisfied, there wasn’t much else to do in Sucre. It’s a very historical city and is known for its museums. Unfortunately, only one of the museums we’d planned on visiting was open. But it was a really great one – La Casa de la Libertad, or The National History Museum. It covered the colonization of Bolivia, the revolution and liberation from Spain, the forming of the government, and all of the wars and dictators in between.
The Square of the Museum
I pulled out a pen and jotted notes all over my left hand and arm. They’re a bit of a jumble and I think bullet points would get them out the most legibly. So here are some of the highlights of Bolivia’s history:
- As mentioned earlier, Sucre is the oldest city in Bolivia, and was divided into social classes. At the top of the ladder were those who were born in Spain and moved to Bolivia, next there were those of pure Spanish blood born in Bolivia, and then the mix of the two. The mix of Spain-born Spaniards and natives were next, then the Bolivian-born Spaniards and natives mix (cholitas) and then the natives were at the bottom of the spectrum.
- Cholitas began appearing around this time, adopting the full, pleated skirts that were in fashion in Spain at the time. Later on, the English also came to Bolivia. At this time, bowler hats were in style with the Englishmen. They offered the hats to the Bolivian men, but since the hats have absolutely no practical purpose (they don’t even shield the sun), the men passed the hats on to their wives – the cholitas who wore the hats as part of the fashion sense that they’ve kept today. The hats aren’t cheap, either; in fact, they’re worth so much that there are thieves that specifically specialize in stealing cholita hats. They’re called ‘comberos’.
- Though Sucre was one of the first cities in South America to seek freedom, their silver mines made them too valuable for the Spanish to give up without a fight. They didn’t get their independence until 1825.
- Juana Azurduy was a woman revolutionary who fought along side her family in the war against Spain. The war took her husband and sons and she was exiled to Argentina where she was eventually made a general in their revolution. When Bolivia was liberated, she returned home but died homeless and impoverished because, while a hero in two nations, she was still just a woman, and worse, a widow. Her ashes are now kept in the museum with the Bolivian and Argentinean flag draped over the chest.
- The country was named for Simone Bolivar – a general and, technically, Bolivia’s first President. He never actually governed, though, because he was busy fighting the Spanish in four other nations. I saw his portrait – he had some great eyebrows.
- Antonio Jose de Sucre was Bolivia’s first acting president.
- The fourth Bolivian president was only in office 4 days before being assassinated. This set the pattern and now the average term a president serves here is 2.2 years. Doesn’t sound too bad, but they are elected for life… Our tour guide told us that 13 of the 65 Bolivian presidents have been assassinated. That’s 20%.
- There was a civil war between La Paz and Sucre. La Paz won and Bolivia’s government moved here so we are the active capital, but Sucre is still the “technical” capital of Bolivia.
- Women and campesinos (“country dwellers”/peasants) weren’t considered citizens until 1956.
- There are two flags in Bolivia. The national one, which is red, yellow, and green. Red for the blood of the heroes. Yellow for the country’s mineral resources (silver, tin, zinc, lead, and maybe lithium before long). And green for its natural resources (coca, timber, natural gas). The other flag is the wiphala. It is the flag of the indigenous people. It is made up of 49 squares in various colors to represent the 49 different people groups. You used to rarely see it, but with the election of Bolivia’s first indigenous president, ex-coca farmer Evo Morales in 2006, the wiphala can now be seen flying all around Bolivia.
And that… is enough history.
Sucre also boasts ownership of the best saltenas in Bolivia. So before our 5pm bus to Potosi, Cami and I sampled a carne and a pollo Sucre saltena. While the crust was good, her carne was too olive-y and in my pollo I found a raison, an egg, and a chicken bone – three things that don’t belong in a good saltena de pollo. Looks like Sucre loses to La Paz again.
I don't have a picture of the saltenas yet, but these tasted better any how. And they were less than a dollar each : )
Some Bolivian Photos
Cami and I stole some photos off the apartment’s computer. They were for a photo essay of a previous Bolivian Express Issue, and they’re pretty good… I think they show Bolivia more clearly than some of my stories.
A Cholita. Technically speaking, they are the descendants of the Spanish and native South Americans back in the 18th century, and they wanted to distinguish themselves from the natives so they dressed like the Spanish women of the time, and for whatever reason, they never stopped dressing like that. But today, they mostly work as street vendors and, until recently, were the victim of discrimination and not allowed into universities. However, with the election of Bolivia's first indigenous President about 10 years ago - things have gotten better for the cholitas. And now they are mostly just known for how they dress (bowler hats, long full skirts, and bright, fringed shawls). And, I've been told that there are even Bolivian women who aren't technically cholitas (ethnically) but still choose to dress in the cholita fashion.
The People of Bolivia.
llama llama
Roadside.
An every day sight - riot popo.
El Tio - Devil/God of the Mines. They give him offerings of coca, alcohol, and llama blood.
A miner with a mouth full of coca leaves. They'll stay in the mines for 24 hours at a time on nothing but coca leaves and juice.
Bolivian sunset.
An old cholita.
La Paz Traffic....on a good day.
Have you ever heard a 'crosswalk' called a 'zebra crossing'? Well, here they have people in zebra suits that help direct traffic at the zebra crossings. They are super friendly and always wave at me on my way to Spanish.
The View from our "Penthouse". Never gets old. That mountain in the very back is illimani.
Straight down view from our 17th floor apartment window.
You can get fresh juice here for three bs for two glasses (50 cents). Suck it Jamba Juice.
(These were all taken by some guy named Szymon, fyi.)
