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?)
Sunday, July 27, 2008
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
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