I'm only days away from flying to La Habana, Cuba. It won't be long till I am counting down for New Years 2009, over indulging in some mojitos, that will, more than likely, lubricate my spirits for singing 'the Internationale' euphorically more than what would be required. I had been infatuated with the idea of spending new years in Cuba with close friends, celebrating 50 years since the triumph of the revolution, since I began travelling.
At times, the months that have passed feel like years. Occasionally, the events and circumstances that have led up to the here and now provide for some quiet reflection...
I had left Peru for Venezuela on November 4, it was an extremely emotional and stressful trip. The day began with two close friends missing their flight to Spain. I had put them in a taxi and slipped them some money to help out. After checking-in for my flight, I made my way to customs. I had entered Peru with my chilean I.D card, perfectly acceptable with the border countries of Chile. I presented my documents to the customs official, he looked up and coldly stated that I was unable to leave the country, to do so I would need a passport. Undeterred, I handed over my chilean passport. However, he elaborated, that it necessary to leave the country with the same method as I entered, that it is illegal to board a flight with an I.D card. Asking for a solution, he recommended I return to Chile and re-enter Peru with my passport. The flight was due to leave in 30 mins, Chile was a day's trip away. Beginning to stress, and thinking that I would see my Spanish friends sooner than expected, I demanded to see his supervisor. The official agreed to go and grab him, however, he explained that the supervisor would tell me the exact same thing.
Ten, long, agonising minutes passed. I paced around in a circle thinking of what to do. I looked in my wallet, and thought of what would be an appropriate number, one that would be too juicy to be turned down. I placed $60 US in the sleeve of my passport. The same official returned, with no supervisor in sight. He explained the supervisor is preoccupied but would be on his way.
- I quietly asked, "surely, there is a way that I would be able to acquire an entry-stamp for my passport, perhaps I could purchase one?¨
The official looked around and under his breath responded, ¨how much?¨...
- ¨60 dollars¨, I replied, and moved the passport towards him.
- ¨No, its okay, leave it there¨, he ordered. Grabbing the passport, he swiftly took out the money. He then reached into his briefcase and pulled out a stamp.
-¨What date do you want?¨
-¨The same as on my other one¨, I replied, trying to hide the flabbergasted smirk.
The exit-stamp soon followed. It was done. It all happened so quickly, and played out like a movie. I arrived at the boarding gate. There was a duty-free shop close by, where I bought a bottle of Pisco (peruvian white rum) - I needed one...
During my time in Venezuela I have been basing my operations mainly out of Caracas. I've managed to live with some comrades, which has aided the fading budget enormously. Being on edge for the first few days, I quickly adapted to the uniqueness of Caracas. The gunshots at night are no longer perturbing - Caracas has one of the highest crime rates in the world. Caracas is not ascetically pleasing, but Venezuela has something far more interesting to offer: a social revolution. There are a gamut of activities, festivals, cultural events, and people to engage with. Venezuelans are very helpful people and it is not hard to make friends. It did not take long before I had befriended some radicals that were able to introduce me far deeper into the process of change and the social life in Caracas, of course.
It had been an anxious, emotional and exciting day when my dear brisbane friends - Lauren, Andrew, Naomi and Dom - arrived in Caracas. Our friendship seemed continuous, as though I hadn't left. Throughout my travels I reminisced of the past, so from the day they arrived till the day they left Venezuela, I soaked up as much of their company as possible. Fortunately, I will be seeing them in Cuba shortly, to share another unique experience.
On November 19, I participated in the Australia-Venezuela Solidarity Network (AVSN) brigade, which is a political tour of Venezuela highlighting the achievements of the revolution. I had acquired a concession rate in exchange for being a translator. The tour consisted in, amongst other things, meeting various intellectuals; visiting the social missions, where free education and health care is provided; touring historical sites; touring alternative media groups; and, observing a multitude of red shirts at rallies. Although offering some interesting meetings and trips, I found it, at times, a bit too propagandistic and rhetorical for my likening, which equals boring and utterly mind numbing. Sometimes speakers would only touch the surface of an interesting topic rather than going deeper.
Recently, I had been preoccupied with sorting out my life. Having a vague idea of what I want to do after travels is one thing; actually achieving this is another. The inspiring conjuncture that Venezuela lives has attracted me to the place more than what I first thought. The conditions to form and capacitate myself as an individual, the ability to participate in a revolutionary situation and learn from it are prevalent in Venezuela. Therefore - and perhaps without much surprise - I have decided to stay here. The best method to channel this is, and not without its flaws and criticisms, is by studying at the Bolivarian University. I am hoping on undertaking an undergraduate degree in politics and governments.
However, as I have discovered in the last few days, I will need to return to my "country of origin" to process my application for a student visa. I will admit that I had considered returning to Australia at the end of 2009, and when I discovered how cheap the return flights cost, the sensation of an idea able to become a reality overwhelmed me, and the floodgate of memories and homesickness dawned upon me for a while. Now, due to the circumstances, I will be returning in early 2009. Although I have not reserved my flight it is looking to be around March for about 4-6 months. That's right. I'm coming home!
************
Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=74838&l=f9d96&id=732774973
Monday, December 22, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
My Inca Trail
After spending the September days of spring with my family I was now back on the road. Retaking my adventure in La Paz, the futherest point of journey up until then, I spent the days frivolously, taking advantage of the time to enjoy the company of my Bolivian friends. Upon leaving La Paz, after an over than expected stay, the feeling of solitude seeped in, a sensation that I have become familiar with, particularly after leaving people and places that has become a home. Nevertheless, discovering new places and befriending new people would feel this void.
Spending a few days in Copacabana, which hugs Lake Titicaca, was the first point of my journey. Exploring, and understanding, the ruins of civilisations that had passed was to mark a new chapter in my odyssey. From Copacabana I travelled by boat to La Isla Del Sol (Island of the Sun) a significant area for the Tiwanaku people, where the ruins are still used for spiritual purposes. The expansive lake gives the impression of an endless ocean. I had met an enjoyable Argentinian couple whom I comparted my travel around Titicaca with.
Setting my sights to Peru, and satisfied with Copacabana, I took a day trip on a bus to Arequipa, the white city, aptly named for the predominate white stone used in its construction. The distinctly conserved and developed Spanish colonial architecture was impressive. I also had the pleasure of reuniting with Lara - an English woman that was seated next to me on the bus were we kepted each other entertained - on a few occassions, that made the time in Arequipa enjoyable.
Being ambivalent of undertaking a 3 day trekking tour of the Colca Canyon from Arequipa, due to the less than pleasurable experience I had with a group tour in Uyuni, I finally decided to accept due to the positive feedback I had received. I had made the right choice, as the people and scenary were equally fantastic. Throughout the trip I forged a really close bond with Olivia, a young Spanish woman, and made some good friends with the other travellers. The daily treks up and down the canyon were extremly arduous, but satisfying once you reached your destination. On the 2nd day we reached an oasis, with swimming pools, palm trees and huts in the valley of the canyon, and we bathed in the serenity of this paradise. On the final day it was a grueling climb up the mountain, reaching the peak of the canyon the Julius Caesar's saying "Veni Vidi Vici" ("I came, I saw, I conquered.") came to mind.
That night, on the return to Arequipa, I had learned of blockade of main roads leading into Cuzco; however, not deterred by this I was keen to continue immediately. No respectable bus company were transitting this route; but I had found one bus that was boarding to go. I embarked the bus, finding no seat I settled for the less than comfortable floor in the drivers cabin, where I managed to sleep, and slightly recover from the trek for a while (here, on the floor, I seriously thought, "this is all part of the experience"). The bus arrived in Sicuani, the epicentre of the blockade, at 4:00am. At 5:00ish I decided to start walking, with the hope of quickly passing the blockade to find another bus to take me to Cuzco. However, things were not so simple. Befriending a priest, we proceded from one blockade to the next, taking any kind transport that was available to advance... 8 long, blistering hours later, 4 of them walking with my 18 kilo backpack, I finally reached Cuzco.
Cuzco, the naval of the world, as the Inca's knew it, was the political, economic, spiritual, and administrative centre of the grandiose Inca Empire. Tawantinsuyo, as the Empire was known, was the largest pre-colombian Empire in the Americas. Although the Empire spanned a few hundred years (estimated 1100 A.D - 1532 A.D), and expanded in an extraoridinary amount of time, it was the articulation of knowledge and experience from previous peoples of the Americas that were foundations of this civilisation. Passing through the streets of Cuzco it is remarkable to see the original stone walls of the Inca's still standing and forged with Spanish colonial architecture. The conquest and imposition of Spanish civilisation is palable (and sad), as the old Inca temples and ruins were used as the foundation for churhes and a New World Order. Cuzco is immensely impressive in both culture and history.
Meeting up with my dear friends, Olivia and her partner Alberto, we booked an overpriced tour (as they all are) to Machu Picchu. We spent 2 days and 2 nights on our journey. Along the way we toured the Sacred Valley, which still retains monuments, ruins, and the vestiges of a Inca village, Ollantaytambo. Needless to say, the highlight was the awesome Machu Picchu. No words could describe this marvel or the emotions you feel when you pass through the ruins of an ancient world. All I can say is that Machu Picchu would have to be the highlight of my entire trip, thus far. We had the fortune to spend the entire day there, from 7:00am - 4:00pm. Thankfully, the old gringos did not overcrowd the place, so at times you can find yourself alone. Also, we took the opporunity to climb up Waynu Picchu, the iconic mountain behind Machu, for a magnificent view of the historic ruins.
On Thursday, October 30, returning to Cuzco, Olivia, Alberto and I took an overnight bus to Lima. They departed to Iquitos, far away in the tropics of the Amazon for a few days, and were to return shortly; however, I realised how much we had bonded when the familiar feeling of lonliness creeped in. But meeting up with my extended family in Lima from the side of my sister-in-law, Guisela, was great.
On Tuesday, November 4, I left to revolutionary Venezuela. It was a stressful and emotional trip (I will save that story for the next post). Shortly, some familiar faces will arrive and I will soon see my long-lost friends from BrisVegas. I intend to stay here till the end of the year, then, hopefully, travel with the crazy kids from Brisbane to Cuba. The idea of seeing them has got me really excited. I eagerly await to explore and understand Venezuela, who knows what will happen here though...
***
Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=65353&l=0028c&id=732774973
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=65764&l=6eea9&id=732774973
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=65997&l=e096e&id=732774973
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=65353&l=0028c&id=732774973
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=65764&l=6eea9&id=732774973
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=65997&l=e096e&id=732774973
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
The Southern Cone And Back Again
Exactly 6 months to day - March 23 -, at least here, since I said goodbye to my loving family, my adorable friends, and my dear comrades, I have traveled the Southern Cone of South America - Chile, Argentina, and Bolivia. While it does not seem like that long ago since I left, upon closer reflection, I have seen, experienced, and learned a lot. But I am only half way through my odyssey, with the rest of Latin America still left to conquer.
My loving parents, whom I keep in frequent contact with since I left, had come to Chile for a 3 month holiday since late July. In late June they went to Arica, Northern Chile. Having previously arranged to meet them there I was, once again, set back by a few days by a mild stomach bug in Bolivia. But finally, after settling down in La Paz for 3 months, I departed from Bolivia, who I had fallen in love with, to reunite with my parents. It was a refreshing and exciting reunion with my family. We spent the short time we had together catching up and enjoying each others company. They were to return to Central Chile, as was I, only I was going through Argentina.
I had befriended an Argentinian in La Paz who had explained that his father was going to pick him, and his girlfriend up from the Argentine-Bolivian border for a road trip back to Buenos Aires, he offered me a ride, which was too delicious to decline. The idea was to meet up in Argentina and continue along the way to Buenos Aires.
It was a long, long 24 hour bus ride from Arica, to Salta, Argentina. After recuperating from the trip, I took the opportunity to explore the city. After two nights in Salta, and somewhat impatient to move on, I began to sense that my road trip wasn't coming. I had learned with other matters, and with the timeless Bolivian proverb - "everything is possible, nothing is certain" - to not rely on any one option. Having received no word from my potential ride, I decided it was a no show, and the following day bought a bus ticket on the "executive class" to Buenos Aires, Argentina.
The underdevelopment of a railway system in Argentina has produced a network of efficient highways, and a plethora of luxurious, affordable bus companies that service them. With leather bound seats that recline to a bed, endless movies, and a service attendant that provided meals and beverages, the 20 hour bus ride was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Never had I slept straight through on a bus to wake up and practically be at my destination.
I was back where it all began: Buenos Aires! Martin Spada - who I had originally met through the couch surfing community and stayed with for a week on my first visit to Buenos Aires - and I had formed a warm friendship since I first arrived on his doorstep. He, and his caring sister Fabiana, had welcomed me back like a brother. Our friendship was as though I hadn't left.
Although it was a pleasure to see the Spada's, Buenos Aires, and other acquaintances, I had an alternate motive to visit Buenos Aires. Lately, and with more frequency, I began questioning what my plans are for when I finish traveling? - after all, this particular odyssey does have to end, but only for another one to begin. While in Australia, and when asked about my thoughts about life after traveling, I had always stated my intention to resume university studies. The history, culture and politics of Latin America have always attracted me. It would only be natural to study this here in Latin America. The University of Buenos Aires is recognised as one of the most prestigious and considered to be intellectually rich in culture. I had come to Buenos Aires to enquire about the possibility of studying sociology. The idea of undertaking this is beginning to manifest: orientating my travels to conclude at the beginning of the first semester of 2009, organising the necessary paper work, and beginning to see a future life in Buenos Aires.
After a few days in Buenos Aires, the time had come to move on, with my destination being Santiago de Chile. I took the overnight bus to Cordoba, where friends of the family were awaiting to greet me. I wasted no time (as I didn't have much time to waste) in traveling to Alta Gracia, where Ernesto 'Che' Guevara had lived for 11 years of his childhood. The Guevara family had moved there due to ease Ernestito's chronic asthma. His house converted to a museum, adorned with photos, writings, and replicas, is a testament to his revolutionary life, rather than to his childhood.
Staying only one night in Cordoba, I travelled on another overnight bus to the tranquil city of Mendoza. However, I only had half a day to explore the city before embarking on a minibus for a 6 hour trip to Santiago de Chile. Passing through the Andes mountain range was spectacular, I saw and touched (yes, touched!) snow for the first time. Going back for a ski trip would be something, perhaps one day.
The dash across Argentina was because I had always intended to be back in Santiago and commemorate "the other" September 11 - the day when Chile changed for the worst with the overthrow of the democratically elected president Salvador Allende in a military coup by Augusto Pinochet. That evening I made a brief note: "There is a past that I had never lived, but feel intimately linked with. I had never been in Chile to commemorate September 11. It is a sad day. Chile was callously crushed, and, until now, it has not fully recovered. I feel a sense of mourning for the past, disheartened by the present, but optimistic for the future. Although the "official" acts organized by the government in recent years to commemorate September 11 have been downsized, I wanted to participate, to make sure that this day isn't forgotten, that the victims and heroes of then live in the here and now". The unofficial rally took place that following Sunday, where the police, once again, repressed the crowd.
Currently, I am staying with my parents, who have a cabin in the Chilean countryside, near the port town of San Antonio. The rolling green hills give the impression that your in Scotland (even though I had never been). From the top of the hill where we frequently dawdle and chat, you can see the Pacific Ocean. It is a serene place, where you can sit down, be at peace and almost forget that there is another world out there.
I will be here for the next week or so, after which I will retake my travels through Peru, with my destination being Venezuela then Cuba. I am very enthusiastic about this next part of my odyssey and look forward to all that awaits. Until then I will appreciate and savor the short time I have left with my family, as I am not sure when I will be seeing them again.
Photos:
http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=57798&l=deb90&id=732774973
My loving parents, whom I keep in frequent contact with since I left, had come to Chile for a 3 month holiday since late July. In late June they went to Arica, Northern Chile. Having previously arranged to meet them there I was, once again, set back by a few days by a mild stomach bug in Bolivia. But finally, after settling down in La Paz for 3 months, I departed from Bolivia, who I had fallen in love with, to reunite with my parents. It was a refreshing and exciting reunion with my family. We spent the short time we had together catching up and enjoying each others company. They were to return to Central Chile, as was I, only I was going through Argentina.
I had befriended an Argentinian in La Paz who had explained that his father was going to pick him, and his girlfriend up from the Argentine-Bolivian border for a road trip back to Buenos Aires, he offered me a ride, which was too delicious to decline. The idea was to meet up in Argentina and continue along the way to Buenos Aires.
It was a long, long 24 hour bus ride from Arica, to Salta, Argentina. After recuperating from the trip, I took the opportunity to explore the city. After two nights in Salta, and somewhat impatient to move on, I began to sense that my road trip wasn't coming. I had learned with other matters, and with the timeless Bolivian proverb - "everything is possible, nothing is certain" - to not rely on any one option. Having received no word from my potential ride, I decided it was a no show, and the following day bought a bus ticket on the "executive class" to Buenos Aires, Argentina.
The underdevelopment of a railway system in Argentina has produced a network of efficient highways, and a plethora of luxurious, affordable bus companies that service them. With leather bound seats that recline to a bed, endless movies, and a service attendant that provided meals and beverages, the 20 hour bus ride was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Never had I slept straight through on a bus to wake up and practically be at my destination.
I was back where it all began: Buenos Aires! Martin Spada - who I had originally met through the couch surfing community and stayed with for a week on my first visit to Buenos Aires - and I had formed a warm friendship since I first arrived on his doorstep. He, and his caring sister Fabiana, had welcomed me back like a brother. Our friendship was as though I hadn't left.
Although it was a pleasure to see the Spada's, Buenos Aires, and other acquaintances, I had an alternate motive to visit Buenos Aires. Lately, and with more frequency, I began questioning what my plans are for when I finish traveling? - after all, this particular odyssey does have to end, but only for another one to begin. While in Australia, and when asked about my thoughts about life after traveling, I had always stated my intention to resume university studies. The history, culture and politics of Latin America have always attracted me. It would only be natural to study this here in Latin America. The University of Buenos Aires is recognised as one of the most prestigious and considered to be intellectually rich in culture. I had come to Buenos Aires to enquire about the possibility of studying sociology. The idea of undertaking this is beginning to manifest: orientating my travels to conclude at the beginning of the first semester of 2009, organising the necessary paper work, and beginning to see a future life in Buenos Aires.
After a few days in Buenos Aires, the time had come to move on, with my destination being Santiago de Chile. I took the overnight bus to Cordoba, where friends of the family were awaiting to greet me. I wasted no time (as I didn't have much time to waste) in traveling to Alta Gracia, where Ernesto 'Che' Guevara had lived for 11 years of his childhood. The Guevara family had moved there due to ease Ernestito's chronic asthma. His house converted to a museum, adorned with photos, writings, and replicas, is a testament to his revolutionary life, rather than to his childhood.
Staying only one night in Cordoba, I travelled on another overnight bus to the tranquil city of Mendoza. However, I only had half a day to explore the city before embarking on a minibus for a 6 hour trip to Santiago de Chile. Passing through the Andes mountain range was spectacular, I saw and touched (yes, touched!) snow for the first time. Going back for a ski trip would be something, perhaps one day.
The dash across Argentina was because I had always intended to be back in Santiago and commemorate "the other" September 11 - the day when Chile changed for the worst with the overthrow of the democratically elected president Salvador Allende in a military coup by Augusto Pinochet. That evening I made a brief note: "There is a past that I had never lived, but feel intimately linked with. I had never been in Chile to commemorate September 11. It is a sad day. Chile was callously crushed, and, until now, it has not fully recovered. I feel a sense of mourning for the past, disheartened by the present, but optimistic for the future. Although the "official" acts organized by the government in recent years to commemorate September 11 have been downsized, I wanted to participate, to make sure that this day isn't forgotten, that the victims and heroes of then live in the here and now". The unofficial rally took place that following Sunday, where the police, once again, repressed the crowd.
Currently, I am staying with my parents, who have a cabin in the Chilean countryside, near the port town of San Antonio. The rolling green hills give the impression that your in Scotland (even though I had never been). From the top of the hill where we frequently dawdle and chat, you can see the Pacific Ocean. It is a serene place, where you can sit down, be at peace and almost forget that there is another world out there.
I will be here for the next week or so, after which I will retake my travels through Peru, with my destination being Venezuela then Cuba. I am very enthusiastic about this next part of my odyssey and look forward to all that awaits. Until then I will appreciate and savor the short time I have left with my family, as I am not sure when I will be seeing them again.
Photos:
http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=57798&l=deb90&id=732774973
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Bolivia Adelante
Previously, I had stated my intentions to go to Santa Cruz and observe the recall referendum of August 10. Why Santa Cruz? Because it is the most politically divided region, at times escalating into street skirmishes. A hot spot to be in. But I had never been there either, so it would be a interesting place to explore. There is also a saying: the most beautiful women in the world are in Santa Cruz.
In my last post, I had also stated that I needed to travel "under-cover", or risk being identified as a leftist and be beaten to the side of the curb. The time had finally come, I went to the hair-dresser to get butchered. Subsequently, I must admit, that it was like looking at a stranger in the mirror. I think peoples most common reaction was "wah!". In my photos, most people may not recognise the face staring back at them, don't be alarmed, for it is only me.
Unfortunately, some miscoordination on my behalf had me miss the overnight bus to Santa Cruz. Still itching to get out of La Paz I decided to go to Cochabamba for the weekend to observe the referendum. Cochabamba, at time, seemed like the next best thing: the governing prefect was contesting that the referendum was illegal, and there were rumors of shock groups being mobilised.
A few days before the referendum I had got accredited as an international(ist) journalist. Upon arriving in Cochabamba I immediately went to the Electoral Court to request authorisation for transport - during the weekend there was a curfew in place, to avoid any form of confrontation, and only those authorised could drive on the day.
On Sunday, August 10, the day of the referendum had turned out unexpected: quiet. No street fights; no fascist gangs; no burning tires - just quietness. It had taken me till the afternoon before I got some wheels. A few friends and I then traveled around Cochabamba, visiting the electoral booths, where I took the opportunity to interview people. It was a interesting experience to listen to peoples varied opinions. However, to actually transcribe these interviews into a coherent article is some hard labor, one which I haven't got around to.
During the evening the results came in: Evo Morales, the indigenous president, was ratified with 63% (67% final count, a historic vote); the prefect for Cochabamba, Manfred Reyes Villa, was revoked with 60%. In the evening, at the government party (MAS) headquarters, the festivities were underway. Outside the prefects office, the people were heckling him.
The following day I had unique opportunity to attend a press conference were the prefect gave a rabid, delusional speech. Afterwards, I interviewed the director of MAS of Cochabamba to compose an article. But the article was only valid for one day, as the prefect soon resigned. Nevertheless, it was a interesting insight.
I was soon accompanied in Cochabamba by Maria-Elena - a young Colombian woman, who, like me, is traveling through South America, but on her way to Buenos Aires, Argentina, and decided to live in La Paz for a while. Circumstances had it that my weekend stay turned into a week. That weekend, Maria-Elena and I were eager to go La Higuera, where Comandante Che Guevara was captured and executed, until we discovered it was a 12 hour bus ride in a what looked like an extremely uncomfortable bus - we decided not to proceed, as our timeframe was tight. Still desiring to escape Cocha, we chose to go the Tropic of Cochabamba, Chapare.
Arriving in Villa Tunari, Chapare, at 2am after an 8 hour bus trip, in what was suppose to be a 4 hour trip, Maria-Elena and I wandered around looking for accommodation. We had stumbled onto a cheap hostel that had a river view, the sound of the rapids gives the impression that it is raining. However, the next day, in an attempt to escape the humidity we booked into a hotel with a swimming pool, were we lounged around for the weekend. Our idea of visiting a coca farm, which is the main harvest in this region, was foiled by our laziness, and inability to adjust to the humidity.
On Sunday, August 16, we returned to Cocha, in a mini-van that played chicken with on coming traffic, but you learn to accept the notion of a cliff drop death, and then just appreciate the marvelous view. Upon arriving in Cocha, and with no time to waste, I took the evening bus to La Paz, whilst Maria-Elena stayed in Cocha to work on an independent film as assistant art director.
The last week in La Paz has been some what tedious: finishing up my charango lessons, buying some souvenirs, losing at poker (I've concluded that I am a horrible poker player, and serve the purpose of someone else's jackpot), and, once again, getting sick with a mild case of stomach bacteria that left my in bed for a day.
Apart from that I am looking forward to traveling to Arica, Chile, which is supposedly a 7 hour bus trip, in the next few days to visit my parents who are holidaying there. Thereafter, and unless there are no unexpected events in Arica, I may travel to northern Argentina to a catch a ride with a friend who's dad is picking him up there, for some cross-country adventures. In September I will return to Santiago, Chile, to visit my parents and family and stay there for a month.
***
Photos:
http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=52869&l=91d96&id=732774973
In my last post, I had also stated that I needed to travel "under-cover", or risk being identified as a leftist and be beaten to the side of the curb. The time had finally come, I went to the hair-dresser to get butchered. Subsequently, I must admit, that it was like looking at a stranger in the mirror. I think peoples most common reaction was "wah!". In my photos, most people may not recognise the face staring back at them, don't be alarmed, for it is only me.
Unfortunately, some miscoordination on my behalf had me miss the overnight bus to Santa Cruz. Still itching to get out of La Paz I decided to go to Cochabamba for the weekend to observe the referendum. Cochabamba, at time, seemed like the next best thing: the governing prefect was contesting that the referendum was illegal, and there were rumors of shock groups being mobilised.
A few days before the referendum I had got accredited as an international(ist) journalist. Upon arriving in Cochabamba I immediately went to the Electoral Court to request authorisation for transport - during the weekend there was a curfew in place, to avoid any form of confrontation, and only those authorised could drive on the day.
On Sunday, August 10, the day of the referendum had turned out unexpected: quiet. No street fights; no fascist gangs; no burning tires - just quietness. It had taken me till the afternoon before I got some wheels. A few friends and I then traveled around Cochabamba, visiting the electoral booths, where I took the opportunity to interview people. It was a interesting experience to listen to peoples varied opinions. However, to actually transcribe these interviews into a coherent article is some hard labor, one which I haven't got around to.
During the evening the results came in: Evo Morales, the indigenous president, was ratified with 63% (67% final count, a historic vote); the prefect for Cochabamba, Manfred Reyes Villa, was revoked with 60%. In the evening, at the government party (MAS) headquarters, the festivities were underway. Outside the prefects office, the people were heckling him.
The following day I had unique opportunity to attend a press conference were the prefect gave a rabid, delusional speech. Afterwards, I interviewed the director of MAS of Cochabamba to compose an article. But the article was only valid for one day, as the prefect soon resigned. Nevertheless, it was a interesting insight.
I was soon accompanied in Cochabamba by Maria-Elena - a young Colombian woman, who, like me, is traveling through South America, but on her way to Buenos Aires, Argentina, and decided to live in La Paz for a while. Circumstances had it that my weekend stay turned into a week. That weekend, Maria-Elena and I were eager to go La Higuera, where Comandante Che Guevara was captured and executed, until we discovered it was a 12 hour bus ride in a what looked like an extremely uncomfortable bus - we decided not to proceed, as our timeframe was tight. Still desiring to escape Cocha, we chose to go the Tropic of Cochabamba, Chapare.
Arriving in Villa Tunari, Chapare, at 2am after an 8 hour bus trip, in what was suppose to be a 4 hour trip, Maria-Elena and I wandered around looking for accommodation. We had stumbled onto a cheap hostel that had a river view, the sound of the rapids gives the impression that it is raining. However, the next day, in an attempt to escape the humidity we booked into a hotel with a swimming pool, were we lounged around for the weekend. Our idea of visiting a coca farm, which is the main harvest in this region, was foiled by our laziness, and inability to adjust to the humidity.
On Sunday, August 16, we returned to Cocha, in a mini-van that played chicken with on coming traffic, but you learn to accept the notion of a cliff drop death, and then just appreciate the marvelous view. Upon arriving in Cocha, and with no time to waste, I took the evening bus to La Paz, whilst Maria-Elena stayed in Cocha to work on an independent film as assistant art director.
The last week in La Paz has been some what tedious: finishing up my charango lessons, buying some souvenirs, losing at poker (I've concluded that I am a horrible poker player, and serve the purpose of someone else's jackpot), and, once again, getting sick with a mild case of stomach bacteria that left my in bed for a day.
Apart from that I am looking forward to traveling to Arica, Chile, which is supposedly a 7 hour bus trip, in the next few days to visit my parents who are holidaying there. Thereafter, and unless there are no unexpected events in Arica, I may travel to northern Argentina to a catch a ride with a friend who's dad is picking him up there, for some cross-country adventures. In September I will return to Santiago, Chile, to visit my parents and family and stay there for a month.
***
Photos:
http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=52869&l=91d96&id=732774973
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Bolivia: Life is Beautiful
Life in Bolivia, while not exactly routine, is pleasant. I have settled on group of regular friends; I have my daily hobbies of guitar and charango classes; and I continue to participate in the political and cultural activities that La Paz has to offer.
It has been about 3-4 weeks since I moved into my apartment at Sopochachi. I’m still piecing things together, and will probably have everything I require by the time I leave to return to Chile in early September. The area, and accompanying life, is slowly growing on me. It will be an unhappy day when I leave, which is not too far away.
Once again, after thinking that I was invincible with an iron stomach, I got food poisoning. In Bolivia, you can eat from a BBQ on the sidewalk and be fine, and then eat at an overpriced café and get sick. The latter applies to me. I’m not sure what it could be that contributes to this debilitating illness: altitude? Hygiene? Or perhaps it’s that unknown bacteria alien to outsiders – the gringo killer! Fortunately, I recovered enough to be on my feet within a day. All was not lost though, as I took the time to watch some crappy, Hollywood movies - as you do.
The other day I had the pleasure of attending an art exposition by the acclaimed ecuadorian painter, Oswaldo Guayasamin (google it!). His art pieces are a social-political expression of a profound nature. Back home (i.e., my parents house now, where my meagre possessions are) I had a book with his art pieces on one-side, and the poetry of the Chilean Pablo Neruda on the other. Seeing these vivid works was extremely heavy (some of Nerudas words shot through my mind). I was very thankful to have had the opportunity to attend this, and I may return, as it was free.
Down the road from where I live, there is an American Texas Hold’em bar. No thanks to some people, it has become a regular thing – although I have been known to go there by myself. Wednesday and Saturday nights are the preferred nights as there are free drinks. Fortunately, it is cheap to play – the minimum pot you can buy is 20 Bolivianos ($3), big blind is 4 Bolivianos ($0.50c). One can spend so many hours there. A pair of friends shocked me when they told me they were there till 8.00am! Far from being gambling (you don’t lose much, and you don’t win much), it has become somewhat of a social scene. But only in Bolivia; anywhere else I wouldn’t have the funds for it. Sometimes we transport these poker nights to the house of Abraham, a reporter for the Spanish news agency EFE.
As of last week, after much suffering, I finally got my laptop. I regretfully decided to leave it in Chile as I feared it would break on the many bus trips, or get stolen. However, after travelling I discovered that neither was a risk (at least till now). As soon as I had settled in La Paz, I had my uncle investigate the various ways of sending it. It turned out that going via the state postal system was the cheapest, but I was unsure of how secure it was. I chose to have it sent it via express post. Days went past, and I was regretting my impatient decision.
Finally, after 10 days it arrived; but I needed to go through customs. My uncle had declared it. Consequently, my worst fears were confirmed, I would need to pay an import tax of at least 20% on it – about $200US. I was shattered. I explained that had I of known I would not have accepted it, this was supposedly a gift from my family. Attempting to reason with her, she passed me over the boss.
I was hoping on reasoning with this person, appealing to any sympathy. I explained I was a student, with no income, living in Bolivia to participate in the political process, planning on writing on the events for the English world, and this laptop would be a useful instrument. He listened, then asked where I was from. I told him I lived in Australia, but I knew he would have picked up on my Chilean accent (In Bolivia, being a Chilean is the worst. In the 1879 War of the Pacific, Chile appropriated the coasts of Bolivia and Peru, leaving Bolivia landlocked. Subsequently, Chileans are synonymous with thieves), so I explained that I was born in Chile but my family immigrated to Australia, and that one day I would like to go to the beaches of Bolivia – something I say often, depending on the person, when I have to introduced myself. He began to calculate the numbers, and write them down. I didn’t want to look. The customs officer began to explain, that they understood my situation, and could help out. He gave me the final figure of $50US. I couldn’t believe it! I thought, as a gesture of my appreciation I would be him a bottle of red, which I still have to do.
In the next week I will be applying to have a journalist license, giving me access to press conferences, certain press travels paid for by the government, etc. Regardless, I am contemplating on travelling to Santa Cruz, an enclave of the vehement opposition, by the end of next week, to observe and report the recall referendum of August 10 for Direct Action, and other mediums. For this, I may have to travel clandestinely, so I’m thinking of cutting my hair shorter, and trimming the beard, cause as numerous people have commented I have the ‘obvious look of a leftist’.
***
No photos this time around as I am not journeying outside La Paz (unless you want to see photos of the poker bar?)
It has been about 3-4 weeks since I moved into my apartment at Sopochachi. I’m still piecing things together, and will probably have everything I require by the time I leave to return to Chile in early September. The area, and accompanying life, is slowly growing on me. It will be an unhappy day when I leave, which is not too far away.
Once again, after thinking that I was invincible with an iron stomach, I got food poisoning. In Bolivia, you can eat from a BBQ on the sidewalk and be fine, and then eat at an overpriced café and get sick. The latter applies to me. I’m not sure what it could be that contributes to this debilitating illness: altitude? Hygiene? Or perhaps it’s that unknown bacteria alien to outsiders – the gringo killer! Fortunately, I recovered enough to be on my feet within a day. All was not lost though, as I took the time to watch some crappy, Hollywood movies - as you do.
The other day I had the pleasure of attending an art exposition by the acclaimed ecuadorian painter, Oswaldo Guayasamin (google it!). His art pieces are a social-political expression of a profound nature. Back home (i.e., my parents house now, where my meagre possessions are) I had a book with his art pieces on one-side, and the poetry of the Chilean Pablo Neruda on the other. Seeing these vivid works was extremely heavy (some of Nerudas words shot through my mind). I was very thankful to have had the opportunity to attend this, and I may return, as it was free.
Down the road from where I live, there is an American Texas Hold’em bar. No thanks to some people, it has become a regular thing – although I have been known to go there by myself. Wednesday and Saturday nights are the preferred nights as there are free drinks. Fortunately, it is cheap to play – the minimum pot you can buy is 20 Bolivianos ($3), big blind is 4 Bolivianos ($0.50c). One can spend so many hours there. A pair of friends shocked me when they told me they were there till 8.00am! Far from being gambling (you don’t lose much, and you don’t win much), it has become somewhat of a social scene. But only in Bolivia; anywhere else I wouldn’t have the funds for it. Sometimes we transport these poker nights to the house of Abraham, a reporter for the Spanish news agency EFE.
As of last week, after much suffering, I finally got my laptop. I regretfully decided to leave it in Chile as I feared it would break on the many bus trips, or get stolen. However, after travelling I discovered that neither was a risk (at least till now). As soon as I had settled in La Paz, I had my uncle investigate the various ways of sending it. It turned out that going via the state postal system was the cheapest, but I was unsure of how secure it was. I chose to have it sent it via express post. Days went past, and I was regretting my impatient decision.
Finally, after 10 days it arrived; but I needed to go through customs. My uncle had declared it. Consequently, my worst fears were confirmed, I would need to pay an import tax of at least 20% on it – about $200US. I was shattered. I explained that had I of known I would not have accepted it, this was supposedly a gift from my family. Attempting to reason with her, she passed me over the boss.
I was hoping on reasoning with this person, appealing to any sympathy. I explained I was a student, with no income, living in Bolivia to participate in the political process, planning on writing on the events for the English world, and this laptop would be a useful instrument. He listened, then asked where I was from. I told him I lived in Australia, but I knew he would have picked up on my Chilean accent (In Bolivia, being a Chilean is the worst. In the 1879 War of the Pacific, Chile appropriated the coasts of Bolivia and Peru, leaving Bolivia landlocked. Subsequently, Chileans are synonymous with thieves), so I explained that I was born in Chile but my family immigrated to Australia, and that one day I would like to go to the beaches of Bolivia – something I say often, depending on the person, when I have to introduced myself. He began to calculate the numbers, and write them down. I didn’t want to look. The customs officer began to explain, that they understood my situation, and could help out. He gave me the final figure of $50US. I couldn’t believe it! I thought, as a gesture of my appreciation I would be him a bottle of red, which I still have to do.
In the next week I will be applying to have a journalist license, giving me access to press conferences, certain press travels paid for by the government, etc. Regardless, I am contemplating on travelling to Santa Cruz, an enclave of the vehement opposition, by the end of next week, to observe and report the recall referendum of August 10 for Direct Action, and other mediums. For this, I may have to travel clandestinely, so I’m thinking of cutting my hair shorter, and trimming the beard, cause as numerous people have commented I have the ‘obvious look of a leftist’.
***
No photos this time around as I am not journeying outside La Paz (unless you want to see photos of the poker bar?)
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Nuestra Señora de La Paz
Nuestra Señora de La Paz, as the city of La Paz is officially called, is the capital of Bolivia. It was founded in 1548 by the Spanish capitan Alonzo de Mendozo. The name commemorates 'la paz' (peace) after a civil war, in what is today Peru, between two Spanish conquerors, each that were seeking to gain more power and riches. After 'the federation war' of 1899, between the oligarchs of the north and south, and the subsequent triumph of the north, the capital was moved from Sucre to La Paz. Today, La Paz is the economic, political, and cultural centre of Bolivia.
During my stay in Cochabamba, a compañero had offered me a room that would become available in a month. My initial plan was to travel to La Paz and explore the surrounding region then return in time to move in. A Bolivian proverb says: 'everything is possible, nothing is certain'. This was to become descriptive of my plans.
On the evening of Tuesday, June 17, I departed on a 7 hour bus ride to La Paz. I arrived at 5:30 in the morning, checked into a hotel, and explored the quiet streets of La Paz. Essentially, my time in La Paz was characterised, until recently, by watching South American World Cup qualifiers, or the European Cup; visiting museums; but more so, attending cultural and political events.
Bolivia's indigenous heritage is still preserved and practiced; the Spanish were unable to conquer certain parts of Bolivia due to the organised indigenous resistance, and during the Inca empire cultural autonomy existed and was respected. Bolivia has three primary indigenous groups: Aymara, Quechua, Guarani, each with their own language; with most being multilingual.
June 21 marks the Aymaran New Year 5,516 (the Aymaran calendar has 13 months). The ancient archaeological site of Tiwanaku, about 2 hours north-west of La Paz, is the historic area to celebrate the Aymarn New Year. The event attracts between 30,000-50,000 people, most are Bolivians that identify themselves as Aymaran, and, of course, tourists. A mini-bus at 2:00am shuttled me there, where icy temperatures awaits to greet me. The small town seems like a massive festival: music, booze, and hoards of people. At times I observed the old generation vent their disgust at some of the young people, who were blind drunk and on the verge of passing out. Unfortunately, for some it is an excuse to drink; however, for others the event holds more cultural significance. At around 4:00am most people begin to line up to enter the archaeological ruins. A traditional ritual takes place before sunrise (all in Aymaran so I couldn't understand anything). The climax is willkakuti (return of the sun), it signals the new year, and people extend their frosty hands to receive the rejuvenating energies of Inti (sun). The ceremony was attended by the indigenous president, Evo Morales. After the ritual, several groups put on a traditional autochthonous performance, and then the dancing begins.
Recently, I have found myself hanging out with individuals who range from journalists, photo-journalists (some from Associated Press), academics, PhD students, political activists, and other intellectuals. On occasion it has been by coincidence that I would be attending an event, and these same people would be there. Most are acquainted with each other and socialise in similar groups. Some are foreigners and others are local. Yet most of them are connected, one way or another, to a middle-class group called Comuna, a political group that the vice-president, Àlvaro Garcia Linera, participated in, and still does on occasion.
The cultural, political and social events that La Paz offers was the catalyst for me to settle here -at least until September, after which I will return to Santiago, Chile, to visit my parents, and commemorate and celebrate the events of September. Yesterday was my first stay in my new apartment, located in a middle-class suburb called Sopochaci (comparable to New Farm or West End). However, the reality of Sopochaci is distinct to that of the rest of La Paz; at times it feels like another world: pretentious restaurants with WiFi spawn here, petite-bourgeois families walk through the plazas where beggers break the fabric of illusion. The apartment is the attraction - quiet, and illuminated by natural light that shines through clear plastic roofing. No longer am I confined to a small hotel room. Neither will I be confined to Sopochaci. I intend to dedicate time to reading, writing, and participating further in the process of change.
***
Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=44385&l=39dd9&id=732774973
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=44392&l=c5ca2&id=732774973
During my stay in Cochabamba, a compañero had offered me a room that would become available in a month. My initial plan was to travel to La Paz and explore the surrounding region then return in time to move in. A Bolivian proverb says: 'everything is possible, nothing is certain'. This was to become descriptive of my plans.
On the evening of Tuesday, June 17, I departed on a 7 hour bus ride to La Paz. I arrived at 5:30 in the morning, checked into a hotel, and explored the quiet streets of La Paz. Essentially, my time in La Paz was characterised, until recently, by watching South American World Cup qualifiers, or the European Cup; visiting museums; but more so, attending cultural and political events.
Bolivia's indigenous heritage is still preserved and practiced; the Spanish were unable to conquer certain parts of Bolivia due to the organised indigenous resistance, and during the Inca empire cultural autonomy existed and was respected. Bolivia has three primary indigenous groups: Aymara, Quechua, Guarani, each with their own language; with most being multilingual.
June 21 marks the Aymaran New Year 5,516 (the Aymaran calendar has 13 months). The ancient archaeological site of Tiwanaku, about 2 hours north-west of La Paz, is the historic area to celebrate the Aymarn New Year. The event attracts between 30,000-50,000 people, most are Bolivians that identify themselves as Aymaran, and, of course, tourists. A mini-bus at 2:00am shuttled me there, where icy temperatures awaits to greet me. The small town seems like a massive festival: music, booze, and hoards of people. At times I observed the old generation vent their disgust at some of the young people, who were blind drunk and on the verge of passing out. Unfortunately, for some it is an excuse to drink; however, for others the event holds more cultural significance. At around 4:00am most people begin to line up to enter the archaeological ruins. A traditional ritual takes place before sunrise (all in Aymaran so I couldn't understand anything). The climax is willkakuti (return of the sun), it signals the new year, and people extend their frosty hands to receive the rejuvenating energies of Inti (sun). The ceremony was attended by the indigenous president, Evo Morales. After the ritual, several groups put on a traditional autochthonous performance, and then the dancing begins.
Recently, I have found myself hanging out with individuals who range from journalists, photo-journalists (some from Associated Press), academics, PhD students, political activists, and other intellectuals. On occasion it has been by coincidence that I would be attending an event, and these same people would be there. Most are acquainted with each other and socialise in similar groups. Some are foreigners and others are local. Yet most of them are connected, one way or another, to a middle-class group called Comuna, a political group that the vice-president, Àlvaro Garcia Linera, participated in, and still does on occasion.
The cultural, political and social events that La Paz offers was the catalyst for me to settle here -at least until September, after which I will return to Santiago, Chile, to visit my parents, and commemorate and celebrate the events of September. Yesterday was my first stay in my new apartment, located in a middle-class suburb called Sopochaci (comparable to New Farm or West End). However, the reality of Sopochaci is distinct to that of the rest of La Paz; at times it feels like another world: pretentious restaurants with WiFi spawn here, petite-bourgeois families walk through the plazas where beggers break the fabric of illusion. The apartment is the attraction - quiet, and illuminated by natural light that shines through clear plastic roofing. No longer am I confined to a small hotel room. Neither will I be confined to Sopochaci. I intend to dedicate time to reading, writing, and participating further in the process of change.
***
Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=44385&l=39dd9&id=732774973
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=44392&l=c5ca2&id=732774973
Monday, June 16, 2008
Central Bolivia
The following is a very general overview of the situation in Bolivia, so that you may understand the circumstances and context under which I travel:
Bolivia is living in times of deep socio-political divisions. Racism and discrimination, a product of colonialism, is entrenched in Bolivia, and continues to divide. The eastern departments (states), known as the half-moon, have recently been seeking 'autonomy' from the government. At times these divisions have expressed themselves violently. During the recent autonomy votes, considered illegal by the government and international community, spot fires of skirmishes have broken out. In an extreme, and disgraceful example of this division, in Sucre, on May 24, a group of 40 indigenous-campesinos were beaten and humiliated in the central plaza - this during the day, with the police nearby - and under the observation of the locals. The term 'civil war' is alluded to at times.
The journey of a backpacker is characterised by brief stops and continuous movement. Rarely does the common traveller find reasons to stay longer than a few days somewhere. I had arrived in Sucre on Sunday, 1 June, after a hellish bus ride, as you may recall from my last post. I lodged in a pleasant hostel known as Pachamama. The ambiance, and company, where cause to extend my stay for that extra bit. The residence was like an oasis in the centre of a city: a quiet, ample garden, and friendly people that induced long chats. Time was non-existent, the general mood was nonchalant. It provided the perfect scene to convalescent.
Sucre, the capital of the department Chuquisaca, was formally known as Charcas, La Plata, and Chuquisaca; but after the independence war was named Sucre, in honour of the liberator, and second president, Antonio Josè de Sucre. It was the original capital of Bolivia, however, towards the end of the 19th century, after a civil war, the capital was moved to La Paz. Sucre is still the juridical capital, where the supreme court, and constitutional tribunal convene. Today, the right-wing is trying to bring the capital back to Sucre.
The city is characterised for its conserved Spanish colonial arquitecture - endless white buildings with terracotta roof tiles - and its tranquil streets. The mood in Sucre was not what I had expected, especially after the events of May 24. I was surprised that it was described as a quiet place by many. During my one week stay there were no racist gangs roaming the streets, no loud anti-government protests; instead, there was the annual university-entry parade, which lasts three nights, and runs into the early hours of the morning (regrettably, I got no photos of this).
Due to my easygoing mood during the week, I didn't get along to any museums or many tourist sites, apart from the general cemetery, which I just got to. Instead, I visited the local gringo bar (where only gringos, and rich bolivianos go) for the big screen TV to watch the European cup (football) - unfortunately, I was unable to find an average bolivian bar to watch these games. Ironically, Sucre hosted the 'International Film Festival for Human Rights Week', which I attended occasionally. Thankfully, the presenters took the opportunity to address the recent events.
A national strike of transport workers had blockaded the roads, so for about a week there was no exit or entry into the city. This was fine by me as I was in no rush to leave. However, on Friday, June 6, the strike was lifted, and the roads were open. Subsequently, there was an exodus from the hostel, with many travellers that I befriended taking the opportunity to leave. This was the catalyst for me to leave as well, and on Sunday, June 8, I left in the direction of Cochabamba.
It's a 12 hour bus trip to Cochabamba, but I decided to break this down and stop at a small town called Aiquile, about halfway. It proved to be a wise choice, because my good fortune with bus trips continued: the bus ride was uncomfortable as the twists and turns made me a bit lightheaded (yes, poor me). Aiquile was tiny, and there wasn't much to explore, so I decided to continue along to Cochabamba. I had purchased a trip in a van, and after getting use to the accelerator-happy driver, and the way he takes those blind turns on the barely twin lane road that hugs the side of the precipiced mountain, I was able to enjoy the amazing scenery of the trip.
Cochabamba (indigenous name meaning plain lake) is a crowed city, with over 1.5 million habitants, it is known as the city of valleys. It is usually skipped by many tourists, as superfically it doesn't have much to offer. But in the central plaza beats the heart of the city, and what drew me here: the plaza is a meeting spot for the city, the people, a place to come discuss and debate a gamut of topics - politics, culture, religion, etc. I was astonished, and still am surprised, by the amount of people this plaza draws in.
Those that are organised here are the 'activists of the plaza'. One of the prinicipal groups is 'Red Tinku', whom I had contact with prior to arriving, and am currently a participant of. Ramiro, the coordinator of Red Tinku, and other compañeros, have been very helpful and shown me around the city (giving me the Tinku tour), taking me to cultural events, political meetings, and introducing me to a range of people. I also help setup the informative panel, which contains the day's news with critical captions, that the plaza people read. Also, I help staff the stall that has alternative books, etc, and collect signatures for the referendum of the corrupt departamental governor, whos father helped capture Che Guevara. A typical day usually concludes in the late evening with an open-meeting of the plaza activists, to discuss the day's events, news, and plan ahead.
It has been a very busy week, but extremely interesting. However, in the next few days I may travel to La Paz, the capital, and explore that part of the region. It is my intention to return to Cochabamba in a few weeks though, a compañero has offered me a spare room that will become available then. I hope to stay here in Cochabamba for a while and participate further in this process of change.
***
Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=42310&l=de322&id=732774973
Bolivia is living in times of deep socio-political divisions. Racism and discrimination, a product of colonialism, is entrenched in Bolivia, and continues to divide. The eastern departments (states), known as the half-moon, have recently been seeking 'autonomy' from the government. At times these divisions have expressed themselves violently. During the recent autonomy votes, considered illegal by the government and international community, spot fires of skirmishes have broken out. In an extreme, and disgraceful example of this division, in Sucre, on May 24, a group of 40 indigenous-campesinos were beaten and humiliated in the central plaza - this during the day, with the police nearby - and under the observation of the locals. The term 'civil war' is alluded to at times.
The journey of a backpacker is characterised by brief stops and continuous movement. Rarely does the common traveller find reasons to stay longer than a few days somewhere. I had arrived in Sucre on Sunday, 1 June, after a hellish bus ride, as you may recall from my last post. I lodged in a pleasant hostel known as Pachamama. The ambiance, and company, where cause to extend my stay for that extra bit. The residence was like an oasis in the centre of a city: a quiet, ample garden, and friendly people that induced long chats. Time was non-existent, the general mood was nonchalant. It provided the perfect scene to convalescent.
Sucre, the capital of the department Chuquisaca, was formally known as Charcas, La Plata, and Chuquisaca; but after the independence war was named Sucre, in honour of the liberator, and second president, Antonio Josè de Sucre. It was the original capital of Bolivia, however, towards the end of the 19th century, after a civil war, the capital was moved to La Paz. Sucre is still the juridical capital, where the supreme court, and constitutional tribunal convene. Today, the right-wing is trying to bring the capital back to Sucre.
The city is characterised for its conserved Spanish colonial arquitecture - endless white buildings with terracotta roof tiles - and its tranquil streets. The mood in Sucre was not what I had expected, especially after the events of May 24. I was surprised that it was described as a quiet place by many. During my one week stay there were no racist gangs roaming the streets, no loud anti-government protests; instead, there was the annual university-entry parade, which lasts three nights, and runs into the early hours of the morning (regrettably, I got no photos of this).
Due to my easygoing mood during the week, I didn't get along to any museums or many tourist sites, apart from the general cemetery, which I just got to. Instead, I visited the local gringo bar (where only gringos, and rich bolivianos go) for the big screen TV to watch the European cup (football) - unfortunately, I was unable to find an average bolivian bar to watch these games. Ironically, Sucre hosted the 'International Film Festival for Human Rights Week', which I attended occasionally. Thankfully, the presenters took the opportunity to address the recent events.
A national strike of transport workers had blockaded the roads, so for about a week there was no exit or entry into the city. This was fine by me as I was in no rush to leave. However, on Friday, June 6, the strike was lifted, and the roads were open. Subsequently, there was an exodus from the hostel, with many travellers that I befriended taking the opportunity to leave. This was the catalyst for me to leave as well, and on Sunday, June 8, I left in the direction of Cochabamba.
It's a 12 hour bus trip to Cochabamba, but I decided to break this down and stop at a small town called Aiquile, about halfway. It proved to be a wise choice, because my good fortune with bus trips continued: the bus ride was uncomfortable as the twists and turns made me a bit lightheaded (yes, poor me). Aiquile was tiny, and there wasn't much to explore, so I decided to continue along to Cochabamba. I had purchased a trip in a van, and after getting use to the accelerator-happy driver, and the way he takes those blind turns on the barely twin lane road that hugs the side of the precipiced mountain, I was able to enjoy the amazing scenery of the trip.
Cochabamba (indigenous name meaning plain lake) is a crowed city, with over 1.5 million habitants, it is known as the city of valleys. It is usually skipped by many tourists, as superfically it doesn't have much to offer. But in the central plaza beats the heart of the city, and what drew me here: the plaza is a meeting spot for the city, the people, a place to come discuss and debate a gamut of topics - politics, culture, religion, etc. I was astonished, and still am surprised, by the amount of people this plaza draws in.
Those that are organised here are the 'activists of the plaza'. One of the prinicipal groups is 'Red Tinku', whom I had contact with prior to arriving, and am currently a participant of. Ramiro, the coordinator of Red Tinku, and other compañeros, have been very helpful and shown me around the city (giving me the Tinku tour), taking me to cultural events, political meetings, and introducing me to a range of people. I also help setup the informative panel, which contains the day's news with critical captions, that the plaza people read. Also, I help staff the stall that has alternative books, etc, and collect signatures for the referendum of the corrupt departamental governor, whos father helped capture Che Guevara. A typical day usually concludes in the late evening with an open-meeting of the plaza activists, to discuss the day's events, news, and plan ahead.
It has been a very busy week, but extremely interesting. However, in the next few days I may travel to La Paz, the capital, and explore that part of the region. It is my intention to return to Cochabamba in a few weeks though, a compañero has offered me a spare room that will become available then. I hope to stay here in Cochabamba for a while and participate further in this process of change.
***
Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=42310&l=de322&id=732774973
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
El Altiplano de Bolivia
Since we last spoke old friend I have crossed into Bolivia. A combination of off road trekking, cold nights, high altitudes, wondrous landscapes, and food poisoning have graced me.
On Wednesday, 21 May, after a long and hungry bus ride from Calama, Chile, I arrived in the small town of Uyuni, Bolivia. On the bus ride, I befriended an amicable, and also hungry, Swiz couple - Daniel and Anne-Marie - whom I would share a room with. The ratio of gringos to locals in Uyuni is 1:1. It is nothing more than launching pad for tourists for tours or as stop over to Potosi. Much like many of the other towns I had passed it is reliant on tourism for its survival.
I had held off doing a tour, and sought alternative means to visit the local scenery in the past; but to discover this vast wonderland you either needed access to a vehicle, or public transport that will take you there - neither were to be found. To discover the region of Uyuni you needed to take a tour - I reluctantly conceded; though the offer was good: 2 nights, 3 days, all meals included, accommodation, and 200 kms later on a 4x4, all for $70 US.
On Friday, 23 May, a caravan of 4x4s awaits a hoard of tourists to depart Uyuni in synchronisation; fortunately this separates along the trip, and we were soon bastards. The tour was picturesque; but long travelled with only short stops at the tourist areas. Throughout the three days I was presented with salt plains, isolated lakes that inhabit the Andes mountains, thermal waters, geysers, and historical tracks dating back to pre-Incan society. No description will give these sites justice, so view the photos.
It was my intention to travel with the Swiz couple, but due to last minute swaps, I was placed with other gringos - present: Manu, Sebastian, Tomas (all Dutch), Kate (English), Matt (Kiwi), and me. The social relations throughout the trip were on acquaintance level with most, although the companies of Matt, and Kate to a certain extent, were more interesting and enjoyable. The Dutch group embodied the stereotypical aspects of a gringo traveller: simple minded creatures, easy amused with sexist remarks, and curious only in the superficial qualities of a trip (or holiday). Indeed, I found interest in adventuring around the tourist stops, and chatting to other people, particularly our local tour guide, Pablito - an Aymará-Bolivian, who is very knowledgeable about the terrain we explored, and very personable.
During the trip I was inspired to look at the possibility of hiring a campervan, or similar, and independently exploring Bolivia. The idea of journeying around, stopping where I please, and being self-reliant was a day dream I fell into more than once on the third day of the trip. Indeed, it made me question myself why I never did this back in Australia. Regardless, in the future I wanted to move away from the tour agencies, and seek alternative means.
The following day upon returning to Uyuni, I took an accident prone - flat tire, and a small collision that left a broken window - bus ride to Potosí, the capital of the department (state) which shares the same name. Potosí is said to be the highest city in the world, about 4,000 above sea level. The streets are, at first, a mountain climbing experience, where little old ladies pass you by, as the altitude requires some time to adjust. Conquered by the Spanish in the 16th century, it still retains the marvellous colonial arquitecture.
I had arrived in the evening, and immediately felt that it was worth staying longer than what is customary; the sensation of being in a different country is palpable here, small towns can seem alike after a while. I had acquired a comfortable private bedroom for about $6 US, which facilitated the urge to stay longer in Potosí. However, in the end, it was out of necessity that I extended my stay in Potosí as I caught a pernicious stomach virus that left me completely debilitated in bed for a day, and which I have not fully recovered from.
Discovering the mines of Potosí is a must when you visit this historical capital. I was given a contact from of a union organiser in one of the mines; unfortunately, due to my illness I was unable to visit him. Instead, I did a tour (yes, so much for seeking the alternative). However, it was fortunate that the day when I went to do the tour there were only two other tourists, therefore, we had the luxury of having the guide to ourselves. The tour lasted about 4 hours.
Historically, the birth of global capitalism can be attributed to Cerro Potosí, or Cerro Rico. The veins of silver that were exploited flowed to Spain, and from there to Europe, and later to North America. The altars of Catholic churches where constructed with the silver and gold from these mountains. The mines were exploited by slave labour, at times Indigenous, but when exhausted hands died - it is said that over 8 million slaves died during the colonial centuries - the Spanish viceroy would order slaves from Africa to maintain precious supplies to Europe. During the peak of the silver exploitations by the Spanish, the city of Potosí grew to about 160,000 inhabitants, and was, at one point, one of the largest cities in the world, far bigger than London or Paris. The old sayings goes that with all the silver extracted from Potosí during the colonial period one could build a silver bridge between Potosí and Spain, and by the same means, the old saying continues, it could be built with the bones of the dead that can be found in the mountains.
During the early part of the 20th century the mines of Bolivia were concentrated into three families, or the three barrons as they were known. However, after the National Revolution of 1952 the natural resources were expropriated into state property. Today, the Cerro Potosí mines are exploited by nominal 'cooperatives', which are essentially exploitative and capitalistic local companies. Cerro Potosí employs 17,000 miners, 2,000 of them are young boys. The minimum hours of work are said to be 8, but many miners may work up to 15 hours a day (however, I was told that they only work 4 days a week). A miner is fortunate to see life beyond 40, and if he manages to escape work at the mines he may not escape the respiratory dieases that acompany. A miner will earn on average about $23 US a day. To be a miner is considered to be in a good job.
The day after the tour I decided to leave Potosí for the former capital of Bolivia, Sucre in the department of Chuquisaca. I had spent six nights in Potosí, and on Sunday morning, June 1 - still questioning the choice to have fried chicken when I hadn't fully recovered from the food poisioning the day prior - I was determined to take the bus out of Potosí. I felt a change of scenery would rejuvenate me, but I had the three hour bus trip to contend with first. During the bus trip, I was struggling to contain stomach twists, and, to say the least, the campensino (farmer) that sat beside, who smelt of grass and country, was probably not thinking he had me to deal with. But when the bus was climbing a mountain, my will, and stomach collapsed, and I reached for my plastic bag - let's just say I found a way to get a spare seat. Shortly thereafter, I passed out until the bus reached Sucre, relieved of the pain.
I am currently in Sucre, enjoying the company of a group of travellers that I befriended. I have only been here a few days, and do not feel the need to rush to see everything, rather taking my time, delighting in the tranquility of Sucre. However, perhaps by the end of the week I will be on the road again looking towards Cochabamba, a 12 hour bus ride away; but I plan on taking a few days on getting there. Who knows, maybe I'll find that campervan to get me there.
***
Photos
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=40889&l=92453&id=732774973
On Wednesday, 21 May, after a long and hungry bus ride from Calama, Chile, I arrived in the small town of Uyuni, Bolivia. On the bus ride, I befriended an amicable, and also hungry, Swiz couple - Daniel and Anne-Marie - whom I would share a room with. The ratio of gringos to locals in Uyuni is 1:1. It is nothing more than launching pad for tourists for tours or as stop over to Potosi. Much like many of the other towns I had passed it is reliant on tourism for its survival.
I had held off doing a tour, and sought alternative means to visit the local scenery in the past; but to discover this vast wonderland you either needed access to a vehicle, or public transport that will take you there - neither were to be found. To discover the region of Uyuni you needed to take a tour - I reluctantly conceded; though the offer was good: 2 nights, 3 days, all meals included, accommodation, and 200 kms later on a 4x4, all for $70 US.
On Friday, 23 May, a caravan of 4x4s awaits a hoard of tourists to depart Uyuni in synchronisation; fortunately this separates along the trip, and we were soon bastards. The tour was picturesque; but long travelled with only short stops at the tourist areas. Throughout the three days I was presented with salt plains, isolated lakes that inhabit the Andes mountains, thermal waters, geysers, and historical tracks dating back to pre-Incan society. No description will give these sites justice, so view the photos.
It was my intention to travel with the Swiz couple, but due to last minute swaps, I was placed with other gringos - present: Manu, Sebastian, Tomas (all Dutch), Kate (English), Matt (Kiwi), and me. The social relations throughout the trip were on acquaintance level with most, although the companies of Matt, and Kate to a certain extent, were more interesting and enjoyable. The Dutch group embodied the stereotypical aspects of a gringo traveller: simple minded creatures, easy amused with sexist remarks, and curious only in the superficial qualities of a trip (or holiday). Indeed, I found interest in adventuring around the tourist stops, and chatting to other people, particularly our local tour guide, Pablito - an Aymará-Bolivian, who is very knowledgeable about the terrain we explored, and very personable.
During the trip I was inspired to look at the possibility of hiring a campervan, or similar, and independently exploring Bolivia. The idea of journeying around, stopping where I please, and being self-reliant was a day dream I fell into more than once on the third day of the trip. Indeed, it made me question myself why I never did this back in Australia. Regardless, in the future I wanted to move away from the tour agencies, and seek alternative means.
The following day upon returning to Uyuni, I took an accident prone - flat tire, and a small collision that left a broken window - bus ride to Potosí, the capital of the department (state) which shares the same name. Potosí is said to be the highest city in the world, about 4,000 above sea level. The streets are, at first, a mountain climbing experience, where little old ladies pass you by, as the altitude requires some time to adjust. Conquered by the Spanish in the 16th century, it still retains the marvellous colonial arquitecture.
I had arrived in the evening, and immediately felt that it was worth staying longer than what is customary; the sensation of being in a different country is palpable here, small towns can seem alike after a while. I had acquired a comfortable private bedroom for about $6 US, which facilitated the urge to stay longer in Potosí. However, in the end, it was out of necessity that I extended my stay in Potosí as I caught a pernicious stomach virus that left me completely debilitated in bed for a day, and which I have not fully recovered from.
Discovering the mines of Potosí is a must when you visit this historical capital. I was given a contact from of a union organiser in one of the mines; unfortunately, due to my illness I was unable to visit him. Instead, I did a tour (yes, so much for seeking the alternative). However, it was fortunate that the day when I went to do the tour there were only two other tourists, therefore, we had the luxury of having the guide to ourselves. The tour lasted about 4 hours.
Historically, the birth of global capitalism can be attributed to Cerro Potosí, or Cerro Rico. The veins of silver that were exploited flowed to Spain, and from there to Europe, and later to North America. The altars of Catholic churches where constructed with the silver and gold from these mountains. The mines were exploited by slave labour, at times Indigenous, but when exhausted hands died - it is said that over 8 million slaves died during the colonial centuries - the Spanish viceroy would order slaves from Africa to maintain precious supplies to Europe. During the peak of the silver exploitations by the Spanish, the city of Potosí grew to about 160,000 inhabitants, and was, at one point, one of the largest cities in the world, far bigger than London or Paris. The old sayings goes that with all the silver extracted from Potosí during the colonial period one could build a silver bridge between Potosí and Spain, and by the same means, the old saying continues, it could be built with the bones of the dead that can be found in the mountains.
During the early part of the 20th century the mines of Bolivia were concentrated into three families, or the three barrons as they were known. However, after the National Revolution of 1952 the natural resources were expropriated into state property. Today, the Cerro Potosí mines are exploited by nominal 'cooperatives', which are essentially exploitative and capitalistic local companies. Cerro Potosí employs 17,000 miners, 2,000 of them are young boys. The minimum hours of work are said to be 8, but many miners may work up to 15 hours a day (however, I was told that they only work 4 days a week). A miner is fortunate to see life beyond 40, and if he manages to escape work at the mines he may not escape the respiratory dieases that acompany. A miner will earn on average about $23 US a day. To be a miner is considered to be in a good job.
The day after the tour I decided to leave Potosí for the former capital of Bolivia, Sucre in the department of Chuquisaca. I had spent six nights in Potosí, and on Sunday morning, June 1 - still questioning the choice to have fried chicken when I hadn't fully recovered from the food poisioning the day prior - I was determined to take the bus out of Potosí. I felt a change of scenery would rejuvenate me, but I had the three hour bus trip to contend with first. During the bus trip, I was struggling to contain stomach twists, and, to say the least, the campensino (farmer) that sat beside, who smelt of grass and country, was probably not thinking he had me to deal with. But when the bus was climbing a mountain, my will, and stomach collapsed, and I reached for my plastic bag - let's just say I found a way to get a spare seat. Shortly thereafter, I passed out until the bus reached Sucre, relieved of the pain.
I am currently in Sucre, enjoying the company of a group of travellers that I befriended. I have only been here a few days, and do not feel the need to rush to see everything, rather taking my time, delighting in the tranquility of Sucre. However, perhaps by the end of the week I will be on the road again looking towards Cochabamba, a 12 hour bus ride away; but I plan on taking a few days on getting there. Who knows, maybe I'll find that campervan to get me there.
***
Photos
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=40889&l=92453&id=732774973
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
The Valleys of Northern Chile
Northern Chile is predominately a semi-arid to completely arid landscape. To the north of Santiago de Chile, there is endless desert, hugged by the Andes Mountain range, and caressed by the Pacific Ocean. However, while the surface of northern Chile may seem dry, and desolate, it contains many riches that await a curious traveller...
On Monday, May 12, I said "hasta luego" (See you later) to Santiago de Chile, and looked to northern Chile, and said ¡vamos! (Lets go!) First stop La Serena, a 6 hour bus ride north of Santiago. Historically, La Serena was the second city to be founded in the 16th century. It developed as a major port city for the region, and has an interesting history of pirate attacks, and indigenous rebellion. Today, it is a tourist destination, offering clean beaches, "typical zones" (preserved colonial buildings and streets), and a passage to the valleys inland.
I stayed in La Serena for two nights, and three days. During this time I visited Valle de Elqui (The Valley of Elqui), about two hours inland. I took an all day bus ticket, went to the top of the valley, and worked my way down, which was recommended to me. There were numerous small villages that I explored, on foot most of the time, around the valley. The valley has an economic reliance on vineyards (for wine, and the national drink, Pisco), and tourism (Hotels, restaurants, are frequent, however, it was the ebb of the tourist season). The final village was Vicuña, birth place of Gabriel Mistral, chilean poet, and first female noble prize winner for literature in Latin America. The north of Chile, particularly Valle de Elqui, is famous for having one of the most clearest skies in the world, with blue skies all year around - an interesting juxtaposition to Santiago, one of the most contaminated skies in the world! NASA has constructed one of the largest astronomical observatories here, in Cerro Tololo. At the end of my valley tour, I booked a visit to the tourist observatory, in Cerro Mamalluca - It was my first time to one, and was educational, and amazing.
I was still ambivalent about where my next stop was going to be, only deciding the last minute at the bus terminal, but even then the agent changed my mind, when she advised of a closer town to stop at before my destination of San Pedro de Atacama. At last, I secured myself a one-way ticket to Calama. A 15 hour, night time bus ride later, and I was there, around early afternoon. The first thing I desired was a hot shower, and some matè; although, this was delayed as I wandered around looking for lodging.
Calama, is a copper mining town, located 2,400 metres above sea level. During my one day stay, before leaving for San Pedro, I did a free (something free, at last!) tour of the copper mines. The tour starts at the literal ghost-town of Chuquicamata, 12 km north of Calama. Chuqui, where Che Guevara stopped along his journey, is now a virtual waste land. The town was abandoned due to the contamination from the nearby copper mine, and soon to be flattened. However, not wanting to lose a workforce, the towns people were moved to Calama - the last people being transported only last December.
Chile is the main exporter of copper in the world. The Chilean economy is addicted (terminally perhaps) to copper exports, which makes up 70% of GDP. The mines of Chuqui provides 12% of copper exports. The open cut mines consist of a 22,000 workforce, that operates 24-hours a day, with an 8 hour rotating shift. This, however, does not take into account the subcontractors, which must contribute an additional 20,000 workers. There are three open cut mines in this region, with plans to eventually unite them into a super mine, which will be around 30x40 km2. It is estimated that this region contains one the largest reserves. Currently, only 1/3 of the copper reserves has been exploited in this area.
During the government of Eduardo Frei, the nationalisation of the copper mines was initiated, with the state controlling 51% of the copper industry. This process was to be fully completed later under Salvador Allende. After the coup d'état it was auctioned off to the cheapest bidder. Interestingly, today, Chuqui is still managed by the state company, Codelco; Lamentably, the transnationals still control a large part of the copper industry - Chile´s wealth is exported, for the benefit of others, but only for the benefit of some.
After Calama it was time to travel to San Pedro de Atacama; fortunately a 90 min bus trip. The small town of only 2,000 people, like most small towns, lives off the tourism industry - the main street is a red light district of tourist agencies, local artisans, and over priced restaurants that sell crap (if you look around you will find your quality, affordable restaurant, where the locals go). It is, as they say, the gringo capital of Chile. While you would come across your yahoo, beer drinking, loud gringo, I was able to meet some interesting travelers and locals. The gringos flock to the tourist agencies to tell them where to go; I oppted to scope out the tourist information and independantly seek a means to the end. Man discovered the wheel, and I utilised leg power for transportation - I hired a bike! It was a fantastic method to discover the region - valleys, salted mountains, and the general landscape. While I won´t go into too much of a description of the sights, as the photos capture the environment, I will say that ambiance was one of serenity - after stopping to catch my breath, you pause, and hear nothing, literally. The sound of nothingness is incredible, it allows for a completely different perspective on your surrondings. I stayed at San Pedro for four nights, longer than anticipated.
For those that may be curious of how my travel diet is, as at times it can be meagre, depending on budget, price of certain foods, etc, in the last few days I have enjoyed cheap, qualitative, home-style meals, from the local restaurants, that perhaps due to there superficial character are overlooked by the gringo traveller. A typical meal would consist of two servings, your carzuela (stews) - so heart warming in winter, oh! - that usually have meat, potato, rice, followed by another dish of chicken or meat with rice - all for about $3.50 - $4.00 US. I don´t think I have eaten so well in such a long time. Of course, due to all the bike exercise, I have been conscious to have healthy meals to recuperate my energy.
Tomorrow morning I will be taking a 5 hour bus trip to the border town of Ollague. From there I will be taking another 5 hour bus trip to the Bolivian mining town of Uyuni. What adventures lay ahead I don´t know; but I am eager to submerge myself in the Bolivian political process, discover its history, and explore the natural landscape.
Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=39097&l=b3727&id=732774973
On Monday, May 12, I said "hasta luego" (See you later) to Santiago de Chile, and looked to northern Chile, and said ¡vamos! (Lets go!) First stop La Serena, a 6 hour bus ride north of Santiago. Historically, La Serena was the second city to be founded in the 16th century. It developed as a major port city for the region, and has an interesting history of pirate attacks, and indigenous rebellion. Today, it is a tourist destination, offering clean beaches, "typical zones" (preserved colonial buildings and streets), and a passage to the valleys inland.
I stayed in La Serena for two nights, and three days. During this time I visited Valle de Elqui (The Valley of Elqui), about two hours inland. I took an all day bus ticket, went to the top of the valley, and worked my way down, which was recommended to me. There were numerous small villages that I explored, on foot most of the time, around the valley. The valley has an economic reliance on vineyards (for wine, and the national drink, Pisco), and tourism (Hotels, restaurants, are frequent, however, it was the ebb of the tourist season). The final village was Vicuña, birth place of Gabriel Mistral, chilean poet, and first female noble prize winner for literature in Latin America. The north of Chile, particularly Valle de Elqui, is famous for having one of the most clearest skies in the world, with blue skies all year around - an interesting juxtaposition to Santiago, one of the most contaminated skies in the world! NASA has constructed one of the largest astronomical observatories here, in Cerro Tololo. At the end of my valley tour, I booked a visit to the tourist observatory, in Cerro Mamalluca - It was my first time to one, and was educational, and amazing.
I was still ambivalent about where my next stop was going to be, only deciding the last minute at the bus terminal, but even then the agent changed my mind, when she advised of a closer town to stop at before my destination of San Pedro de Atacama. At last, I secured myself a one-way ticket to Calama. A 15 hour, night time bus ride later, and I was there, around early afternoon. The first thing I desired was a hot shower, and some matè; although, this was delayed as I wandered around looking for lodging.
Calama, is a copper mining town, located 2,400 metres above sea level. During my one day stay, before leaving for San Pedro, I did a free (something free, at last!) tour of the copper mines. The tour starts at the literal ghost-town of Chuquicamata, 12 km north of Calama. Chuqui, where Che Guevara stopped along his journey, is now a virtual waste land. The town was abandoned due to the contamination from the nearby copper mine, and soon to be flattened. However, not wanting to lose a workforce, the towns people were moved to Calama - the last people being transported only last December.
Chile is the main exporter of copper in the world. The Chilean economy is addicted (terminally perhaps) to copper exports, which makes up 70% of GDP. The mines of Chuqui provides 12% of copper exports. The open cut mines consist of a 22,000 workforce, that operates 24-hours a day, with an 8 hour rotating shift. This, however, does not take into account the subcontractors, which must contribute an additional 20,000 workers. There are three open cut mines in this region, with plans to eventually unite them into a super mine, which will be around 30x40 km2. It is estimated that this region contains one the largest reserves. Currently, only 1/3 of the copper reserves has been exploited in this area.
During the government of Eduardo Frei, the nationalisation of the copper mines was initiated, with the state controlling 51% of the copper industry. This process was to be fully completed later under Salvador Allende. After the coup d'état it was auctioned off to the cheapest bidder. Interestingly, today, Chuqui is still managed by the state company, Codelco; Lamentably, the transnationals still control a large part of the copper industry - Chile´s wealth is exported, for the benefit of others, but only for the benefit of some.
After Calama it was time to travel to San Pedro de Atacama; fortunately a 90 min bus trip. The small town of only 2,000 people, like most small towns, lives off the tourism industry - the main street is a red light district of tourist agencies, local artisans, and over priced restaurants that sell crap (if you look around you will find your quality, affordable restaurant, where the locals go). It is, as they say, the gringo capital of Chile. While you would come across your yahoo, beer drinking, loud gringo, I was able to meet some interesting travelers and locals. The gringos flock to the tourist agencies to tell them where to go; I oppted to scope out the tourist information and independantly seek a means to the end. Man discovered the wheel, and I utilised leg power for transportation - I hired a bike! It was a fantastic method to discover the region - valleys, salted mountains, and the general landscape. While I won´t go into too much of a description of the sights, as the photos capture the environment, I will say that ambiance was one of serenity - after stopping to catch my breath, you pause, and hear nothing, literally. The sound of nothingness is incredible, it allows for a completely different perspective on your surrondings. I stayed at San Pedro for four nights, longer than anticipated.
For those that may be curious of how my travel diet is, as at times it can be meagre, depending on budget, price of certain foods, etc, in the last few days I have enjoyed cheap, qualitative, home-style meals, from the local restaurants, that perhaps due to there superficial character are overlooked by the gringo traveller. A typical meal would consist of two servings, your carzuela (stews) - so heart warming in winter, oh! - that usually have meat, potato, rice, followed by another dish of chicken or meat with rice - all for about $3.50 - $4.00 US. I don´t think I have eaten so well in such a long time. Of course, due to all the bike exercise, I have been conscious to have healthy meals to recuperate my energy.
Tomorrow morning I will be taking a 5 hour bus trip to the border town of Ollague. From there I will be taking another 5 hour bus trip to the Bolivian mining town of Uyuni. What adventures lay ahead I don´t know; but I am eager to submerge myself in the Bolivian political process, discover its history, and explore the natural landscape.
Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=39097&l=b3727&id=732774973
Friday, May 2, 2008
Chile heats up
I grab my handkerchief, try to cover my mouth from the gas, but can't because I need it to blow my nose, and to wipe the stinging tears streaming down my face. Covering one eye, while I stumble away from the white, powdery gas, to the not-so-fresh air. The sensation of stepping out of a pool of concentrated chlorine lingers, but my eyes recover. I look back from where I came, laugh and think "yep, this is what I came for", and decide to return, to not miss any action.
Not long before, the crowd had raised their left fist in the air, with pride and vigor, sang-along with the legendary group Inti-Illimani, "el pueblo unido, jamas, sera vencido" ("the people united will never be defeated"). The band cautioned the people to go home peacefully and not be provoked by the police.
But it didn't take long. From afar one could see a throng of people running, with the thick white smoke that is tear gas hanging behind them. Soon came the water tank, tear gas, riot police, tear gas, and paddy wagons (did I mention tear gas?). The street fighting lasted a few hours. There had been agent provocateurs embedded in the crowd, whose purpose is to insight trouble, so then the police can move in with the head banging.
On Thursday, 1 May, I went to Los Heroes in Santiago, to commemorate International Workers' Day, May Day. I had traveled back from my brief stay in San Antonio specifically to attend this year's rally. It was a lively atmosphere with plenty of young people, those not so young, unions, left groups and parties. There were around 20,000 - 30,000 people that attended, according to the media, so add a bit more. There were a few speeches from union leaders, and then a fantastic show by the protest band, Inti-Illimani.
After the official events, and never requiring any justification, the state repression apparatus, the police, decided to disperse with the crowd by initially firing off tear gas into a section of the crowd; later this became indiscriminate. This, of course, was the catalyst for some street fighting - pelting cops, and cop cars with glass bottles and stones. There were several people that were taking photos, so I was comfortable enough to do the same. Being cautious, and attentive of what was going on, I maneuvered around the place, observing the skirmishes.
However, the street battles escalated to a point where riot cops were moving in, and telling everyone to leave; it was time for me to leave as well. Trying to walk away, and meet up with my family who were waiting for me in the car, I would occasionally have to run when I would look back and see riot police running after the crowd I was with. Eventually, I made it to the car, and made it home. However, the stinging sensation of the tear gas did not leave until later that night.
That was my May Day.
Last week began fairly uneventful, unless you count coming down with the flu as eventful. While I managed to catch an interesting, free exhibition on "los desaparesidos" (the disappeared), the week was, at times, slow. The highlight came when I traveled to Valparaiso to attend the concert of the musical classics: Inti-Illimani, and Los Jaivas. I managed to secure lodging in Valparaiso fairly easy, and cheaply. During the day, before the concert, I did the tourist walk through the hills of Valparaiso. It was quite humorous at times when you would see the same tourists unfolding their maps, trying to figure out where to go. The historic port city of Valparaiso is beautiful, and exhaustive to explore. Narrow, cobblestone streets, with vibrant coloured townhouses, and stairs as footpaths, are the norm.
The open-air concert would have been great for summer, but in winter the icy cold air cuts your skin like a razor. While the concert was a visual and audio treat, it had exacerbated my flu. The following day I travelled south to another port city, San Antonio, to stay at my parents countryside cabin. The trip was long, and tiresome. All I wanted was to get there so I can light the fireplace and have a nice hot shower. But I wouldn't be doing either until the cold chill of the evening.
I spent the next few days convalescing, reading, drinking "mate", and enjoying the tranquility. The neighbours had been very amicable and invited me most nights to their place for dinner and tea. I also took the opportunity to catch up with relatives who lived in the area. It was hilarious seeing the look on their face when they realised who I was, they had not seen me since I was a little shit, a pre-teen. I didn't really bother exploring San Antonio, due to time and because I had been their when I was younger. On Wednesday, April 30, I bused it back to Santiago.
The next week or so will be spent getting things finalised for my travels to Bolivia via Argentina - the icy nights of Chile have told me I need warmer clothing. While it has been a comfortable last few weeks, I have overdone my time in Santiago, and it will be refreshing to start a new journey.
Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=37031&l=be21e&id=732774973
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=37040&l=e2d43&id=732774973
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=37045&l=ffdef&id=732774973
Not long before, the crowd had raised their left fist in the air, with pride and vigor, sang-along with the legendary group Inti-Illimani, "el pueblo unido, jamas, sera vencido" ("the people united will never be defeated"). The band cautioned the people to go home peacefully and not be provoked by the police.
But it didn't take long. From afar one could see a throng of people running, with the thick white smoke that is tear gas hanging behind them. Soon came the water tank, tear gas, riot police, tear gas, and paddy wagons (did I mention tear gas?). The street fighting lasted a few hours. There had been agent provocateurs embedded in the crowd, whose purpose is to insight trouble, so then the police can move in with the head banging.
On Thursday, 1 May, I went to Los Heroes in Santiago, to commemorate International Workers' Day, May Day. I had traveled back from my brief stay in San Antonio specifically to attend this year's rally. It was a lively atmosphere with plenty of young people, those not so young, unions, left groups and parties. There were around 20,000 - 30,000 people that attended, according to the media, so add a bit more. There were a few speeches from union leaders, and then a fantastic show by the protest band, Inti-Illimani.
After the official events, and never requiring any justification, the state repression apparatus, the police, decided to disperse with the crowd by initially firing off tear gas into a section of the crowd; later this became indiscriminate. This, of course, was the catalyst for some street fighting - pelting cops, and cop cars with glass bottles and stones. There were several people that were taking photos, so I was comfortable enough to do the same. Being cautious, and attentive of what was going on, I maneuvered around the place, observing the skirmishes.
However, the street battles escalated to a point where riot cops were moving in, and telling everyone to leave; it was time for me to leave as well. Trying to walk away, and meet up with my family who were waiting for me in the car, I would occasionally have to run when I would look back and see riot police running after the crowd I was with. Eventually, I made it to the car, and made it home. However, the stinging sensation of the tear gas did not leave until later that night.
That was my May Day.
Last week began fairly uneventful, unless you count coming down with the flu as eventful. While I managed to catch an interesting, free exhibition on "los desaparesidos" (the disappeared), the week was, at times, slow. The highlight came when I traveled to Valparaiso to attend the concert of the musical classics: Inti-Illimani, and Los Jaivas. I managed to secure lodging in Valparaiso fairly easy, and cheaply. During the day, before the concert, I did the tourist walk through the hills of Valparaiso. It was quite humorous at times when you would see the same tourists unfolding their maps, trying to figure out where to go. The historic port city of Valparaiso is beautiful, and exhaustive to explore. Narrow, cobblestone streets, with vibrant coloured townhouses, and stairs as footpaths, are the norm.
The open-air concert would have been great for summer, but in winter the icy cold air cuts your skin like a razor. While the concert was a visual and audio treat, it had exacerbated my flu. The following day I travelled south to another port city, San Antonio, to stay at my parents countryside cabin. The trip was long, and tiresome. All I wanted was to get there so I can light the fireplace and have a nice hot shower. But I wouldn't be doing either until the cold chill of the evening.
I spent the next few days convalescing, reading, drinking "mate", and enjoying the tranquility. The neighbours had been very amicable and invited me most nights to their place for dinner and tea. I also took the opportunity to catch up with relatives who lived in the area. It was hilarious seeing the look on their face when they realised who I was, they had not seen me since I was a little shit, a pre-teen. I didn't really bother exploring San Antonio, due to time and because I had been their when I was younger. On Wednesday, April 30, I bused it back to Santiago.
The next week or so will be spent getting things finalised for my travels to Bolivia via Argentina - the icy nights of Chile have told me I need warmer clothing. While it has been a comfortable last few weeks, I have overdone my time in Santiago, and it will be refreshing to start a new journey.
Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=37031&l=be21e&id=732774973
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=37040&l=e2d43&id=732774973
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=37045&l=ffdef&id=732774973
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Chile: a week through history
"...Trabajadores de mi patria: tengo fe en Chile y su destino. Superarán otros hombres este momento gris y amargo, donde la traición pretende imponerse. Sigan ustedes sabiendo que, mucho más temprano que tarde, de nuevo abrirán las grandes alamedas por donde pase el hombre libre para construir una sociedad mejor..."
"...Workers of my country, I have faith in Chile and its destiny. Other men will overcome this dark and bitter moment when treason seeks to prevail. Keep in mind that, much sooner than later, the great avenues will again be opened through which will pass free men to construct a better society..."
- Salvador Allende, Santiago de Chile, 11 of September 1973.
When "democracy" was restored in Chile in 1991, so too was a portion of her history - however, for the interests of some, portions of the history of the dictatorship still remains protected. The general cemetery of la Recoleta, Santiago de Chile, was not exempt from this process. During the 90's, Salvador Allende's body - Chile's fallen president to the dictatorship - was given a proper burial in la Recoleta. Over 1 million people lined the roads in a guard of honor. The above citation of Allende's "farewell speech" is chiseled into a marble stone at his mausoleum.
On Sunday, April 12, I took a trip to la Recoleta, with my Tio Victor and Tia Emilia (Uncle and Aunty). Tio Victor was quite the knowledgeable tour guide. La Recoleta is the resting place to many famous chileans, who have played historic roles in shaping chilean society, politics, and culture* It is also the depressing end for those that were disappeared by the dictatorship. There was an area, that had hundreds of graves with rusted crucifixes with the insignia "nn" - Ningun Nombre (No Name) - they never bothered to identify the bodies. Since the restoration of democracy, an enormous wall, with thousands of names inscribed, is now the monument to those fallen victim; we paid our tributes.
The last week I would like to title "the week of Museums". Historical, Nature, and Interactive museums were on the menu; and I feasted on them. Every second day I would travel to one. The odd days I would stay at home, to mainly write and research for an article I wrote on the political situation in Argentina - check it out, if you want (My new blogspot for my political articles that I write along the way)
The first on the list was the museum of national history. Located in Plaza de Armas, in central Santiago, the museum occupies an ancient building that was once the headquarters of the Spanish viceroy, way back in the 17th century. It was a fantastic, and educational experience. Unfortunately, for the gringo, there is no English descriptions of the item. As I'm not the speed reader in Spanish I took my time in wandering through. I transcended time and lunch to spend my day there. The museum presents the historical development of Chile from the indigenous people, Spanish conquerors, colonisation, Independence, national development, to the death of Allende (There was a display of his real glasses that were broken). Once again, I was frustrated that no photos were allowed to be taken inside.
The museum of nature was interesting, but once Ive seen one, you could expect to find the same things: dinosaur bones, various stuffed animals, etc. But the main thing to go to, as I have discovered, is the section on the national fauna, which is slightly more interesting. More fascinating was the display on indigenous culture - artifacts, clothing, tools - both before and after the colonisation. The Spanish conquest was influential on the culture of the indigenous peoples; for example, pottery now had certain styles that was European. A mummified indigenous boy, from the early 10th century, was also display. Frozen in the mountain top, known as the grey mountain, that has a permanent snow top, he was discovered in 1952.
The Interactive museum was my last one for the week. It is just around the corner from where I'm staying - not too far, until you make a wrong turn, but I got there in the end. As the title suggests it is an interactive, hands-on museum. While it is designed for kids (great place to bring my nephews), adults can have a heap of fun, as I discovered. The museum is divided into various sections, each having a speciality - physics, sound, visual tricks, human body. Within each section there are displays that you can interact with to learn about something. When I arrived, the museum was quiet empty; however, all of a sudden, hundreds of little kids rush the place. It must have been the end of school. The kids went crazy. They would just run around playing with a display for a few seconds, laugh hysterically, then run away, it was hilarious.
During the week, my uncle, a football fanatic, and I have been playing futsol. It has been great to get back into playing some football. There is no shortage of games, he plays 3 times a week - a fanatic! Surprisingly I am fairly fit. I put it down to walking around forever around the cities I've visited.
I'm planning on travelling to the coast for a few nights, re-visiting Valpariso, and then heading back here. The plan is to continue on to Bolivia in early May; but I'm considering incorporating Paraguay into this trip, at least for a few weeks. As always, I'll keep you posted.
Con amor, desde Santiago de Chile.
Gonzalo
P.S here are some links to some photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=35117&l=c13e3&id=732774973
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=35810&l=12097&id=732774973
* Comrades of la Recoleta: Salvador Allende, murdered president; Gladys Marin, secretary-general of the Chilean Communist Party, she was the first to file a case against the former dictator, Augusto Pinochet, for genocide, kidnapping, illicit association and illegal inhumation, her funeral attracted a guard of honor of 1 million people; Violetta Parra, an inspiring Chilean folk singer, whos "New Song" movement would develop and reinvent chilean folk; Victor Jara, a poet, singer-song writer, and part of the "new song" movement, he was tortured, and then killed by the dictatorship, he would later personify those fallen; Miguel Enriquez, secretary-general of the Revolutionary Left Movement (MIR), a leader and combatant, he was killed by the dictatorship in a raid, and is a symbolic figure of the activist left; Toledo brothers, commemorated in the day of the young combatant, March 20, they were three brothers that were assassinated by the dictatorship, two on the same day.
"...Workers of my country, I have faith in Chile and its destiny. Other men will overcome this dark and bitter moment when treason seeks to prevail. Keep in mind that, much sooner than later, the great avenues will again be opened through which will pass free men to construct a better society..."
- Salvador Allende, Santiago de Chile, 11 of September 1973.
When "democracy" was restored in Chile in 1991, so too was a portion of her history - however, for the interests of some, portions of the history of the dictatorship still remains protected. The general cemetery of la Recoleta, Santiago de Chile, was not exempt from this process. During the 90's, Salvador Allende's body - Chile's fallen president to the dictatorship - was given a proper burial in la Recoleta. Over 1 million people lined the roads in a guard of honor. The above citation of Allende's "farewell speech" is chiseled into a marble stone at his mausoleum.
On Sunday, April 12, I took a trip to la Recoleta, with my Tio Victor and Tia Emilia (Uncle and Aunty). Tio Victor was quite the knowledgeable tour guide. La Recoleta is the resting place to many famous chileans, who have played historic roles in shaping chilean society, politics, and culture* It is also the depressing end for those that were disappeared by the dictatorship. There was an area, that had hundreds of graves with rusted crucifixes with the insignia "nn" - Ningun Nombre (No Name) - they never bothered to identify the bodies. Since the restoration of democracy, an enormous wall, with thousands of names inscribed, is now the monument to those fallen victim; we paid our tributes.
The last week I would like to title "the week of Museums". Historical, Nature, and Interactive museums were on the menu; and I feasted on them. Every second day I would travel to one. The odd days I would stay at home, to mainly write and research for an article I wrote on the political situation in Argentina - check it out, if you want
The first on the list was the museum of national history. Located in Plaza de Armas, in central Santiago, the museum occupies an ancient building that was once the headquarters of the Spanish viceroy, way back in the 17th century. It was a fantastic, and educational experience. Unfortunately, for the gringo, there is no English descriptions of the item. As I'm not the speed reader in Spanish I took my time in wandering through. I transcended time and lunch to spend my day there. The museum presents the historical development of Chile from the indigenous people, Spanish conquerors, colonisation, Independence, national development, to the death of Allende (There was a display of his real glasses that were broken). Once again, I was frustrated that no photos were allowed to be taken inside.
The museum of nature was interesting, but once Ive seen one, you could expect to find the same things: dinosaur bones, various stuffed animals, etc. But the main thing to go to, as I have discovered, is the section on the national fauna, which is slightly more interesting. More fascinating was the display on indigenous culture - artifacts, clothing, tools - both before and after the colonisation. The Spanish conquest was influential on the culture of the indigenous peoples; for example, pottery now had certain styles that was European. A mummified indigenous boy, from the early 10th century, was also display. Frozen in the mountain top, known as the grey mountain, that has a permanent snow top, he was discovered in 1952.
The Interactive museum was my last one for the week. It is just around the corner from where I'm staying - not too far, until you make a wrong turn, but I got there in the end. As the title suggests it is an interactive, hands-on museum. While it is designed for kids (great place to bring my nephews), adults can have a heap of fun, as I discovered. The museum is divided into various sections, each having a speciality - physics, sound, visual tricks, human body. Within each section there are displays that you can interact with to learn about something. When I arrived, the museum was quiet empty; however, all of a sudden, hundreds of little kids rush the place. It must have been the end of school. The kids went crazy. They would just run around playing with a display for a few seconds, laugh hysterically, then run away, it was hilarious.
During the week, my uncle, a football fanatic, and I have been playing futsol. It has been great to get back into playing some football. There is no shortage of games, he plays 3 times a week - a fanatic! Surprisingly I am fairly fit. I put it down to walking around forever around the cities I've visited.
I'm planning on travelling to the coast for a few nights, re-visiting Valpariso, and then heading back here. The plan is to continue on to Bolivia in early May; but I'm considering incorporating Paraguay into this trip, at least for a few weeks. As always, I'll keep you posted.
Con amor, desde Santiago de Chile.
Gonzalo
P.S here are some links to some photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=35117&l=c13e3&id=732774973
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=35810&l=12097&id=732774973
* Comrades of la Recoleta: Salvador Allende, murdered president; Gladys Marin, secretary-general of the Chilean Communist Party, she was the first to file a case against the former dictator, Augusto Pinochet, for genocide, kidnapping, illicit association and illegal inhumation, her funeral attracted a guard of honor of 1 million people; Violetta Parra, an inspiring Chilean folk singer, whos "New Song" movement would develop and reinvent chilean folk; Victor Jara, a poet, singer-song writer, and part of the "new song" movement, he was tortured, and then killed by the dictatorship, he would later personify those fallen; Miguel Enriquez, secretary-general of the Revolutionary Left Movement (MIR), a leader and combatant, he was killed by the dictatorship in a raid, and is a symbolic figure of the activist left; Toledo brothers, commemorated in the day of the young combatant, March 20, they were three brothers that were assassinated by the dictatorship, two on the same day.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Chile: I've returned
"Vuelvo a casa, vuelvo compañera
Vuelvo mar, montaña, vuelvo puerto
Vuelvo sur, saludo mi desierto
Vuelvo a renacer amado pueblo
Vuelvo , amor vuelvo
A saciar mi sed de ti
Vuelvo, vida vuelvo
A vivir en ti país"
"I've returned home, my companion
I've returned to the sea, the mountains, I've returned to the harbour
I've returned to the south, greetings desert
I've returned reborn for a loved people
I've returned, my love I've returned
To quench my thirst for you
I've returned, life I've returned
To live in your country"
- Illapu: Vuelvo
I've returned to my historical home, Chile. I arrived on Sunday, April 06, and was greeted by my Tio Victor and Tia Emilia (Uncle and Aunty), who I am currently staying with, and will be for most of my time in Chile, which is only a few weeks. Argentina had been a wonder, a stopover, but Chile was my destination. A culture, a people, and history, of who I know only through anecdotes, through text, through music. I have returned to embrace her.
On Friday I travelled to the port city of Valparaiso, Chile, to attend a free, outdoor concert. The line-up featured the A-list of Chile's classic artists: Inti-Illimani, El Concierto, Sol y Riesa. These musicians embody a history of Chile. Most are relics from the 70's, if not earlier. What makes a classic is that it never loses its appeal, that it transcends generations: this is the above. One of the surprise bands was Illapu. They sang the above song, and it was momentous. For a classic, everyone knows the words, and here everyone sang along (as was the case for all these bands).
Of course this wouldn't be an event if it didn't have politics to it. The concert was organised predominately by the Communist Party, and titled "For Democracy, an end to the exclusion!" This was a focused campaign against the Bi-nominal system - one of the dictatorships legacies - a web of electoral processes that ensures a two-party system, and has kept smaller parties, such as the Communist Party out of parliamentary representation. Hence the above concert, and the current campaign to force the administration to reform this exclusionary practice.
Earlier in the week I had travelled around Santiago to visit the lookout points. This tour took me to Cerro (Hill) Santa Lucia. Here Don Pedro de Valdivia founded Santiago de Chile in 1540. It was a spectacular sight with panoramic views of Santiago. The cerro still retains the relics of a fortress. Later in the week I also had the opportunity to ascend to a higher hill, el Cerro San Cristobal, for an even more breath-taking view (literally! by the time you reach the top you are catching your breath)
The Andes mountains dominate the skyline; unfortunately, the contamination has created a permanent cloud of smog, reminiscent to a storm cloud, only brown. The view of the Andes is slowly fading away. As the city was built in a valley, and surrounded by mountains, the industrial pollution, traffic, and anything else that smokes, is trapped by the hot air, with no escape. Some days are better than others. Regardless, the view is impressive, and one can't help but be captured by it.
One of the other highlights of the week was to visit the houses of Pablo Neruda, a chilean poet, who is internationally acclaimed. He won a Nobel prize for literature in 1971. His writings vary on love, surrealism, history and politics. One of his houses is La Chascona, situated by Cerro San Cristobal. To my disappointment, they don't allow visitors to take photos inside the house - but, if your really that curious, I'm sure there are some photos on the net. I also had the opportunity to visit his seaside residence at Isla Negra. The view from Isla Negra is very inspiring, I could have been a poet there.
The houses are an architectural wonder, built in sections throughout many years, they were designed to have the feel of a ship. Pablo Neruda was an admirer of the sea, and boats, but, I believe, was afraid of the ocean! The houses contained boat-loads (pardon the pun) of a random collections. Not only a poet, he was a cultural ambassador for Chile, so you can imagine the things he collected on his journeys. He avoided calling himself a collector though, rather a "thing-o-lector" (translation does not compliment this).
Unfortunately, for the poor traveler, Chile is expensive. It is practically the same cost as things in Australia. Even more unfortunate for the local who does not earn the same as an Australian worker. Given this, I'm reluctant to make my way to Bolivia through the coast of Chile. Instead, I'm considering traveling on the otherside of the Andes, through inland Argentina. I'm in Chile for another few weeks, so I'm in not rush to make a decision.
Chile is becoming cooler, some of the mountain peaks already have snow. I'm both looking forward to, and dreading, the winter of South America. If my fingers do not freeze and snap off, I'll be writing to you in the not to distant future.
Con amor, desde Santiago de Chile.
Gonzalo
Links to Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=35117&l=c13e3&id=732774973
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=35069&l=b4ef5&id=732774973
Argentina photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=33550&l=9fbfb&id=732774973
Vuelvo mar, montaña, vuelvo puerto
Vuelvo sur, saludo mi desierto
Vuelvo a renacer amado pueblo
Vuelvo , amor vuelvo
A saciar mi sed de ti
Vuelvo, vida vuelvo
A vivir en ti país"
"I've returned home, my companion
I've returned to the sea, the mountains, I've returned to the harbour
I've returned to the south, greetings desert
I've returned reborn for a loved people
I've returned, my love I've returned
To quench my thirst for you
I've returned, life I've returned
To live in your country"
- Illapu: Vuelvo
I've returned to my historical home, Chile. I arrived on Sunday, April 06, and was greeted by my Tio Victor and Tia Emilia (Uncle and Aunty), who I am currently staying with, and will be for most of my time in Chile, which is only a few weeks. Argentina had been a wonder, a stopover, but Chile was my destination. A culture, a people, and history, of who I know only through anecdotes, through text, through music. I have returned to embrace her.
On Friday I travelled to the port city of Valparaiso, Chile, to attend a free, outdoor concert. The line-up featured the A-list of Chile's classic artists: Inti-Illimani, El Concierto, Sol y Riesa. These musicians embody a history of Chile. Most are relics from the 70's, if not earlier. What makes a classic is that it never loses its appeal, that it transcends generations: this is the above. One of the surprise bands was Illapu. They sang the above song, and it was momentous. For a classic, everyone knows the words, and here everyone sang along (as was the case for all these bands).
Of course this wouldn't be an event if it didn't have politics to it. The concert was organised predominately by the Communist Party, and titled "For Democracy, an end to the exclusion!" This was a focused campaign against the Bi-nominal system - one of the dictatorships legacies - a web of electoral processes that ensures a two-party system, and has kept smaller parties, such as the Communist Party out of parliamentary representation. Hence the above concert, and the current campaign to force the administration to reform this exclusionary practice.
Earlier in the week I had travelled around Santiago to visit the lookout points. This tour took me to Cerro (Hill) Santa Lucia. Here Don Pedro de Valdivia founded Santiago de Chile in 1540. It was a spectacular sight with panoramic views of Santiago. The cerro still retains the relics of a fortress. Later in the week I also had the opportunity to ascend to a higher hill, el Cerro San Cristobal, for an even more breath-taking view (literally! by the time you reach the top you are catching your breath)
The Andes mountains dominate the skyline; unfortunately, the contamination has created a permanent cloud of smog, reminiscent to a storm cloud, only brown. The view of the Andes is slowly fading away. As the city was built in a valley, and surrounded by mountains, the industrial pollution, traffic, and anything else that smokes, is trapped by the hot air, with no escape. Some days are better than others. Regardless, the view is impressive, and one can't help but be captured by it.
One of the other highlights of the week was to visit the houses of Pablo Neruda, a chilean poet, who is internationally acclaimed. He won a Nobel prize for literature in 1971. His writings vary on love, surrealism, history and politics. One of his houses is La Chascona, situated by Cerro San Cristobal. To my disappointment, they don't allow visitors to take photos inside the house - but, if your really that curious, I'm sure there are some photos on the net. I also had the opportunity to visit his seaside residence at Isla Negra. The view from Isla Negra is very inspiring, I could have been a poet there.
The houses are an architectural wonder, built in sections throughout many years, they were designed to have the feel of a ship. Pablo Neruda was an admirer of the sea, and boats, but, I believe, was afraid of the ocean! The houses contained boat-loads (pardon the pun) of a random collections. Not only a poet, he was a cultural ambassador for Chile, so you can imagine the things he collected on his journeys. He avoided calling himself a collector though, rather a "thing-o-lector" (translation does not compliment this).
Unfortunately, for the poor traveler, Chile is expensive. It is practically the same cost as things in Australia. Even more unfortunate for the local who does not earn the same as an Australian worker. Given this, I'm reluctant to make my way to Bolivia through the coast of Chile. Instead, I'm considering traveling on the otherside of the Andes, through inland Argentina. I'm in Chile for another few weeks, so I'm in not rush to make a decision.
Chile is becoming cooler, some of the mountain peaks already have snow. I'm both looking forward to, and dreading, the winter of South America. If my fingers do not freeze and snap off, I'll be writing to you in the not to distant future.
Con amor, desde Santiago de Chile.
Gonzalo
Links to Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=35117&l=c13e3&id=732774973
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=35069&l=b4ef5&id=732774973
Argentina photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=33550&l=9fbfb&id=732774973
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Argentina: Hasta luego
Saturday, April 5
20:10pm
Location: Buenos Aires, Argentina
Cheeee
As of tomorrow I leave Argentina, and fly over the Andes for at least two hours to arrive in Santiago, Chile. What seems like a short time in Argentina - 14 days - feels like a months-long journey. Reflecting on the events, I have experienced quite a bit, however, I can only wish to stay longer as I have a one-way ticket out of here. But perhaps not too far in the distant I future I will be returning here. The political situation has stablised, but I did say along the way that if things were to escalate I would be back quick - this may still happen.
Last weekend I took a stroll to the famous San Telmo markets, in the heart of the city. These markets were incredibly huge, they stretched too many city blocks to count. Not soon after arriving I bumped into some friends I made at hostel: Luke, Anthony, and Joseph, three Welsh lads that are traveling through Latin America for a few months. We all wandered around the markets, stumbling across various street performers, who were amazing on their own merits. There were tango dancers, big bands, and one performer that I found very cute who danced with a life-size doll.
The week began just like any other week: with a rally! There had been recent negotiations between the countryside - there had been a rural strike for over 20 days, which cut all major routes to the city, thus stopping all supplies of primary commodities - and the government. However, on Tuesday the government organised a mass rally, to demonstrate its support base. Over 100,000 people - and me - manifested in the famous Plaza de Mayo. The rally was short, about 30mins, with the president being the only speaker. The following day, the strike was suspended, as previously arranged. So this is what I mean that things have stablised. Now, supermarkets have been supplied meat, and dairy products; although this would have been better served a few days before, as I cooked up my spagbol minus the meat - I´m not that much of a cook to be able to substitute a key ingredient.
The day before the rally, on Monday, I had left Stef and Caroliña, who had put me up for 5 nights, and were very hospitable and amicable, to move in with a new couch surfing buddy, Martin. Martin resides fairly close to the centre of Buenos Aires, conveniently enough. He is a literature student - over here to be a university student means to be studying for at least 6 years - and he is a very politically conscious person. He is an individual that is very knowledgeable on Argentina, and Latin America. For a few years he was an activist in the Socialist Party, and thereafter in the Communist Party, but for one reason or another (take a guess), quickly became disillusioned and left; but still maintains his political convictions and engagement. We have gotten along extremely well, and will more than likely maintain contact after I leave.
On Wednesday, I ended up an hour south to this colonial town called La Plata. First thing when I got there, I decided to go the Museum of Natural Science, which had been recommended to me by Martin. To my disappointment, it was closed due to renovations. However, I did enjoy a tranquil walk around the park, where the Museum is located. Ample tree-lined roads provided for a nice walk. Some how, having some John Butler and Jose Gonzalez playing on the mp3 amplified the atmosphere of the place. Around here I started thinking how awesome it could be to share this moment with my friends - a small sense of longing for loved ones drifted in temporarily.
In La Plata, I went to the monumental, Gothic cathedral, located in the city centre. Underneath the building they made way for a historical museum of the place. It´s amazing how long they took to construct this thing: beginning in 1884 and nearly fully completed by 1999! The main structure was completed in the thirties, but the two mega towers took the longest, for various engineering issues. I was able to take a trip up to the towers for a sweet, birds eye view of the city. The interior is magnificent. The Gothic interior, with its high roofs, and columns, would be cause for some neck pains.
In the next few weeks I will writing an article for Green Left Weekly about the political developments, before and upcoming, of Argentina.
20:10pm
Location: Buenos Aires, Argentina
Cheeee
As of tomorrow I leave Argentina, and fly over the Andes for at least two hours to arrive in Santiago, Chile. What seems like a short time in Argentina - 14 days - feels like a months-long journey. Reflecting on the events, I have experienced quite a bit, however, I can only wish to stay longer as I have a one-way ticket out of here. But perhaps not too far in the distant I future I will be returning here. The political situation has stablised, but I did say along the way that if things were to escalate I would be back quick - this may still happen.
Last weekend I took a stroll to the famous San Telmo markets, in the heart of the city. These markets were incredibly huge, they stretched too many city blocks to count. Not soon after arriving I bumped into some friends I made at hostel: Luke, Anthony, and Joseph, three Welsh lads that are traveling through Latin America for a few months. We all wandered around the markets, stumbling across various street performers, who were amazing on their own merits. There were tango dancers, big bands, and one performer that I found very cute who danced with a life-size doll.
The week began just like any other week: with a rally! There had been recent negotiations between the countryside - there had been a rural strike for over 20 days, which cut all major routes to the city, thus stopping all supplies of primary commodities - and the government. However, on Tuesday the government organised a mass rally, to demonstrate its support base. Over 100,000 people - and me - manifested in the famous Plaza de Mayo. The rally was short, about 30mins, with the president being the only speaker. The following day, the strike was suspended, as previously arranged. So this is what I mean that things have stablised. Now, supermarkets have been supplied meat, and dairy products; although this would have been better served a few days before, as I cooked up my spagbol minus the meat - I´m not that much of a cook to be able to substitute a key ingredient.
The day before the rally, on Monday, I had left Stef and Caroliña, who had put me up for 5 nights, and were very hospitable and amicable, to move in with a new couch surfing buddy, Martin. Martin resides fairly close to the centre of Buenos Aires, conveniently enough. He is a literature student - over here to be a university student means to be studying for at least 6 years - and he is a very politically conscious person. He is an individual that is very knowledgeable on Argentina, and Latin America. For a few years he was an activist in the Socialist Party, and thereafter in the Communist Party, but for one reason or another (take a guess), quickly became disillusioned and left; but still maintains his political convictions and engagement. We have gotten along extremely well, and will more than likely maintain contact after I leave.
On Wednesday, I ended up an hour south to this colonial town called La Plata. First thing when I got there, I decided to go the Museum of Natural Science, which had been recommended to me by Martin. To my disappointment, it was closed due to renovations. However, I did enjoy a tranquil walk around the park, where the Museum is located. Ample tree-lined roads provided for a nice walk. Some how, having some John Butler and Jose Gonzalez playing on the mp3 amplified the atmosphere of the place. Around here I started thinking how awesome it could be to share this moment with my friends - a small sense of longing for loved ones drifted in temporarily.
In La Plata, I went to the monumental, Gothic cathedral, located in the city centre. Underneath the building they made way for a historical museum of the place. It´s amazing how long they took to construct this thing: beginning in 1884 and nearly fully completed by 1999! The main structure was completed in the thirties, but the two mega towers took the longest, for various engineering issues. I was able to take a trip up to the towers for a sweet, birds eye view of the city. The interior is magnificent. The Gothic interior, with its high roofs, and columns, would be cause for some neck pains.
In the next few weeks I will writing an article for Green Left Weekly
Argentina: Buenos Aires at last
The following is from an email that I had written to friends and family in the first week of arriving in Buenos Aires. The experience and comments are, I feel, worth the post.
March 24, 2008
11:20 AM
Buenos Aires, Argentina
Comrades, friends, and family:
Che (In Argentina this is a popular way to address people, possibly equivalent to the Australian mate)
After a 17 hour trip, which at times involved babies crying, and no window seat, I finally made it Buenos Aires, Argentina, at the local time of 14:00. The sensation of being in a different country didn't hit until the trip from the airport to the city, where after passing through a few toll booths, the highway carves through the shanty town known as villa 31 and here you feel you are in a different place. The villa, which are adobe houses, two-story high, is where the urban poor live, and this dominates much of the drive till you get to the city. Once I arrived at the city it was time to find accommodation.
My attempts to try and pre-book a hostel proved pointless, as they never got back to me. Fortunately, I met an American backpacker, Brian, who had traveled through New Zealand for a few months, and he had some idea of a good place to stay (according to his lonely planet). A short trip in a taxi, and we were in a middle class area called Palermo.
Palermo is somewhat of an affluent area. Night spots, bars, restaurants are plotted all along here. Palermo is nice though, with its two story apartments, and tree lined cobble stoned roads. It is suitable for a tourist; but you would need to travel out of here to explore the other side of Buenos Aires.
Buenos Aires city, as one English backpacker agreed, has the feel of a European city - although, according to him, it is quieter, and the people are more friendly (?). Buenos Aires is known as the Paris of Latin American. I spent most of Monday, March 24, exploring the huge CBD. It was a public holiday, during the morning it was noticeably quiet, but it picked up by mid-afternoon for the commemoration rally, or as it is referred to here, Nunca Mas (Never Again).
Nunca Mas is the anniversary of the 1976 military coup, where thousands of people were tortured, assassinated, or disappeared. Hoards of people - possibly 50 thousand, although I'm really bad at guesstimating - came to the city centre, Plaza de Mayo, to commemorate this day. I've never seen so many flags, drums, and chanting in my life - it was amazing (see attached photos). Numerous speeches were made, which demanded the government prosecute the military officials, open the secret archives to determine accurately those that were repressed, and others which I recorded my MP3, but memory fails at this moment. Amongst other demands, the spirit of Internationalism was expressed with a call for Yankee Imperialism out of Iraq, and Latin America; Hands of Venezuela and Cuba; No aggression against Iran; Release of the Cuba 5; Close Guantanamo; Argentine troops out of Haiti; and denounced Israeli occupation of Palestine. The day finished around 20:00.
March 24, 2008
11:20 AM
Buenos Aires, Argentina
Comrades, friends, and family:
Che (In Argentina this is a popular way to address people, possibly equivalent to the Australian mate)
After a 17 hour trip, which at times involved babies crying, and no window seat, I finally made it Buenos Aires, Argentina, at the local time of 14:00. The sensation of being in a different country didn't hit until the trip from the airport to the city, where after passing through a few toll booths, the highway carves through the shanty town known as villa 31 and here you feel you are in a different place. The villa, which are adobe houses, two-story high, is where the urban poor live, and this dominates much of the drive till you get to the city. Once I arrived at the city it was time to find accommodation.
My attempts to try and pre-book a hostel proved pointless, as they never got back to me. Fortunately, I met an American backpacker, Brian, who had traveled through New Zealand for a few months, and he had some idea of a good place to stay (according to his lonely planet). A short trip in a taxi, and we were in a middle class area called Palermo.
Palermo is somewhat of an affluent area. Night spots, bars, restaurants are plotted all along here. Palermo is nice though, with its two story apartments, and tree lined cobble stoned roads. It is suitable for a tourist; but you would need to travel out of here to explore the other side of Buenos Aires.
Buenos Aires city, as one English backpacker agreed, has the feel of a European city - although, according to him, it is quieter, and the people are more friendly (?). Buenos Aires is known as the Paris of Latin American. I spent most of Monday, March 24, exploring the huge CBD. It was a public holiday, during the morning it was noticeably quiet, but it picked up by mid-afternoon for the commemoration rally, or as it is referred to here, Nunca Mas (Never Again).
Nunca Mas is the anniversary of the 1976 military coup, where thousands of people were tortured, assassinated, or disappeared. Hoards of people - possibly 50 thousand, although I'm really bad at guesstimating - came to the city centre, Plaza de Mayo, to commemorate this day. I've never seen so many flags, drums, and chanting in my life - it was amazing (see attached photos). Numerous speeches were made, which demanded the government prosecute the military officials, open the secret archives to determine accurately those that were repressed, and others which I recorded my MP3, but memory fails at this moment. Amongst other demands, the spirit of Internationalism was expressed with a call for Yankee Imperialism out of Iraq, and Latin America; Hands of Venezuela and Cuba; No aggression against Iran; Release of the Cuba 5; Close Guantanamo; Argentine troops out of Haiti; and denounced Israeli occupation of Palestine. The day finished around 20:00.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Argentina: Los desaparecidos - The disappeared
"Esta universidad será la casa mas hermosa, el sueño mas grande, es el camino increíble para
Such are the words that welcome a visitor as they enter la Universidad Popular Madres de Plaza de Mayo, Universidad de lucha y resistencia (The Popular University of the Mothers of the May Plaza, Univerisity of struggle and resistence).
In 1999, with the experience and clarity forged in 23 years of struggle for justice for those sons, daughters, fathers, husbands, wives, mothers, that were either tortured, assassinated, or disappeared by the Argentine military regime of 76-83 - Dirty War - the Association of Mothers of the May Plaza decided to create a new space for social transformation: la Unverisdad Popular.
On March 24, Argentina comemmorates those that fell victim to the state terrorism inflicted by the military regime, or Guerra Sucia (Dirty War) as it´s referred to. I had the fortunate opportunity - my two week stay in Buenos Aires was a late minute decision - to attend the rally this year. Las Madres (the mothers), those that a constantly reminded of their loss, lead the homage, Nunca Mas (Never Again). The story of the father or mother that hears a knock at the door, and immediately hopes that it is their son, or daughter who they do not know what happened to, is all too common in Argentina. Fifty metre long, by 2 metre wide banners, with an 8x10 photo of those that disappeared, are carried, like coffins, by the people to Plaza de Mayo, in the heart of Buenos Aires.
At the tribunal, in front of the obelisk that graces the centre of Plaza de Maya, a document, prepared by the various organisations that participate in the rally is read. The rally demands that the impunity of the military generals, officers, and all that were involved is ended, and are brought to justice. While the current government has made moves in this direction, the process is slow and painful, with many believing that the grace, and injustice of a natural death will be end result of the criminals.
The trial of one criminal, Miguel Etchecolatz - the director of investigations of the Buenos Aires Police, which was notorious for detention centres - was due to to conclude when the key witness, Julio Jorge Lopez disappeared the night before. One year later, he has not been seen. The people have seen this before, and too aware of manipulation, and distortion that the state is capable of. Another key demand of the rally was the safe return of Julio Lopez.
Prior to the rally, the streets are alive with radical graffiti: No to the impunity; Long live the rebellion of December 20; Down with bourgeoisie; Return Julio Lopez alive. The average Argentine walks past these familiar sights. But the new-comer will spend triple the time walking Avendia de Mayo, one of the main streets in Buenos Aires. The graffiti is still there, the messages starring the passer-by.
At the rally, on the loudspeaker, there´s the announcement, "comrades, we now need to clear out for the comrades of the second rally". Bemused, I enquiry what this second rally is: it is the Left´s turn. The scarcity of the red flags, che placards, had left me wondering that there was a tiny left presence in Argentina. How foolish was I? No, the Left have their own rally to mark this day, with much more radical demands are put forward, and a much larger hoard.
Various people from the second rally explained that this was the counter-rally, as the first has too many government supporters. This, as I was told, is the way this day is always commemorated, with two different rallies, otherwise their could be clashes.
The political level was sharper, as the orators, one-by-one, each representing various organisations, parties, and unions at the rally, put forward internationalist demands, calls for solidarity, and as well as those aforementioned: Hands off Venezuela and Cuba; Free the Cuban Five; No aggression on Iran; Yankee imperialism out of Iraq and Latin America.
The information leaflet - with course outlines, seminars, and free public forums that take place at university - that one can pick up as they enter la Univerisdad Popular, states: "from its origins, la Universidad de las Madres has as its purpose: to stimulate critical thinking and organise the space for creative reflection. Articulate the theory and the practical, generate the tools to promote intellectual discussions, open a space so that the popular sectors, and the new social movements can participate and construct the political and solidarity structures. "
Unfortunately, in Argentina and worldwide, crimes against humanity, such as those perpetrated by the Bush administration in Iraq and Afghanistan, the Occupation of Palestine by Israel, to only mention a few, are still being perpetrated in the names of liberty and democracy. Institutions such as La Universidad Popular provide a constant space for people to reflect on the past, critique the present, and organise for the future.
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