A Glimpse of Bolivia
La Paz, Bolivia,
the largest city at such an elevation in the
world. The airport stands with dignity at 4000 meters, and the snow capped
Illimani watches from a distance. The people believe that the most powerful
of spirits dwell there, and all witch doctors must submit to those spirits.
When I think of the year or more that I spent
in La Paz, I think of cobblestone mountain streets, a serious lack of communication
between all sources, lots of kissing and hugging people (once on the right
cheek, that is), shoe shine boys doing my shoes the wrong color, Eli’s
pizzeria (the only semi-western place – no McDonald’s, Burger King or Pizza
Hut yet), Corazon de Jesus (where the people still make sacrifices); llama
fetuses sold by the vendor ladies who also sell "coke" (coca
leaves); the wide and frigid, hidden and desolate, expanse of the altiplano
(highlands); women in the streets wearing bowler hats (like my grandpa
wore),
men with their fly down and children with their candies to sell;
hopelessness, despair; prejudice between native Indians (Ayamarans
or Quechuas), Mestizos, and the Spanish; buying a watch on the street that
worked for seven hours (no exchanges or returns!), windows that leak when
it rains, lots of corn (BIG kernels and boiled – just peel the skin off
and eat it as an appetizer, called 'mote') and potatoes (AND old shriveled
potatoes, frozen, then boiled, called chunio), ladies herding their sheep,
abandoned ruins, Inca totem poles, the cool Andes music with Zamponias
(a wooden wind instrument) and the Charango (a tiny guitar-like instrument
with 10 nylon strings), hanging of a dog who killed someone’s goat (eye
for an eye?), the gutting of the sheep in Aranjuez, the ‘mas alto’ – highest
existing point of road on the alti-plano at 4,500 meters above sea level
and where all life ceased (no more mud wall ruins, no dogs, no llama, one
bird gliding beneath us, mountains of rocks, rain clouds pierced by the sun.. and
an underlying village, peering beyond the river and climbing through the
green beauty beneath me)…yes, the most beautiful region of Bolivia – in the
Andes.
The next area I visited for about a month was
San Ignacio de Moxos
in central Bolivia in the jungle. As I close
my eyes and remember, I see me in a two-seat hanger landing in a cow pasture,
looking below at the invisible road (under water in the floods); one big swamp, bathing
in the lagoon (paranas?), seeing a 10 ft snake stretched across the path – dead (so
I can breathe now), teaching the kids to swim in the ponds, leopard skins and bows and
arrows, bats flying overhead, pigs on the corners and renegade pigs, children
in the streets playing with beer bottles, large spiders, bamboo fences,
thatch roof huts with dirt floors, oxen carts that said 'transporte rapido', and millions of frogs (loud ones).
Left to right: Looking over the valley of Chuma, Rene' Puma in the doorway of a typical house in Tui-luni, Children of Ayata
And the place of my passion and where I left a
piece of my heart: Chuma,
the capital of the province of Las Munecas, a two day walk to the Peruvian
border, and north of Lake Titicaca. The 12 hour truck ride with fish hanging
overhead and sitting atop bags of corn and under the flaring dresses of
Bolivian cholitas (native women) was one in a million -- not for people who get
clostrophobia or have a small bladder. And just as memorable is the 8 hour
jeep ride. Peering out of the window (suffocated by 10 bodies crammed in
the back), I recall grazing llamas, fluffy dirty sheep scampering across
the road (their fur tied in knots), scurrying alpaca, dogs chasing the
jeep, roads like icing on the edge of the Andes mountains – thin and slick
with mud; hauling away chunks of the mountain that had avalanched into
our path, pushing the land-rover through the avalanches, a jungle lying
in the valley surrounded by lush mountains and red clay rivers, as well
as packs of llama and fields of corn. There in the village where I stayed
for 6 months, I had lots of new experiences: the 'sacrifice' of the ram on
our patio, lantern lights and candles at night (no electricity), dung-dodging on our
hikes around villages, everything made of wood and mud, cooking (or simply boiling water) over a fire, palm trees
and red flowers blooming, children playing amongst white blossoms, little
Quechuan and Ayamaran ladies in fluorescent skirts, parades with people
dressed in leopard skins, hikes across streams, up mud-slides, on the edge
of steep cliffs with moonlight by night, holding on for dear life to the
hand of anyone around, crossing tree bridges over powerful waterfalls,
eating blackberries, picking purple flowers that had never seen the hands
of a tourist, running in the rain, a rainbow…and the beautiful people with
such simple lifestyles. I longed to be one of them.
I also visited or lived in Santa
Cruz in eastern central Bolivia, Sucre
– the university and official capital, Potosi’
– the mining region and land of the devil
god who lives in the caves, Camiri,
Cochabamba with
it’s perfect climate year-round (and the residence of my best Bolivian
friend), Tarija,
Bermejo and Yacuiba.
Each of those locations has it’s own story, but you’ll just have to keep
checking back until I get around to putting it on the web if you’re interested.
Meanwhile, you can write me to ask about any of the above! I’m happy to
talk about Bolivia (obviously). Continue on and enjoy!
e-mail me if you'd like
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