Bienvenidos a la Selva

Wake up at 6am for trip to Parque Carasco. Only the Americans and the organizer are on time, the rest trickle in around 6:30. Soon we're crammed into taxis and headed toward the park. It is still dark out, yet our driver is blasting reggatone, which is basically Latin music from Central America with a heavy bass beat and repetitive lyrics, usually including words like: 'mi corazon,' 'baby,' and 'no puedo vivir sin tigo.'

Short delay when are cab gets a flat tire-- too many heavy Americans. We roll over to the Gomería and a guy opens the garage door from the inside, sending chickens scattering in the early morning light.

Air pumped into tire, we're off again. The taxi speeds off on this narrow road through the jungle, passing people sitting outside their homes, and beeping at dogs, chickens, and people transporting unwieldly loads on bikes.


We cross several small rivers and finally arrive at a small station which is apparently the guardaparque office. We are told about the guacharos [oilbirds] and orchids for which the park is famous. We start the hike by crossing the river in this platform-contraption strung up on cables. The locals just sling a rope loop over the cable and hand-over-hand across the river.



Our guide seems to be about 15 years old, but he is knowledgeable and friendly, and he complimented my Spanish, so he must be a good person. It's dark under the leafy layers of vegetation, but the light filtering in is gorgeous. We do catch a glimpse of the infamous guacharos, they scream like mad-felines. We also check out a cave full of vampire bats. It's pretty cool to see them hanging up there on the ceiling like rats in scratchy-1970s polyester. Our presence freaked them out, so I spent most of the time in the cave covering my head with my shirt to avoid getting rabies as they flapped around.

Bus-ride to Villa Tunari

12 hour bus ride from La Paz to Villa Tunari: 25 environmental and development NGO administrators, myself, four other interns and a handful of locals board the bus at 5:30pm. it feels like an adult field trip.

as luck would have it, julie [another intern] and I got the seats in the back near the bathroom. but the good news is that the smell of feet is less strong in the back. they only over-booked this trip by two, and one of the cholitas hauls her flourescent bags next to my seat and plops down in the aisle. after eating some kind of soup with spaghetti out of a plastic baggie, she lies down on the floor to go to sleep.

soon it is dark. the bus is not exactly airtight, and there is no heating, so its quite frigid. once out of la paz, we are on the abandoned altiplano. there is nothing for miles and the road snakes alternatively through mountains and high plains. i'm glad it's dark so i can't see the road drop off the edge of the mountain without a guardrail. at times the road is so high all i can see out the window are the stars, and it feels oddly like we are flying through the sky.

around midnight they open the "solo urinar" bathroom (which was locked for unknown reasons). about half the bus takes advantage of this, sporting headlamps to make sure they don't miss the toilet.

at 2am we are stopped by the DEA (Drug Enforcement Administration) who pull various passengers off the bus to inspect their bags. it turns out that only males are suspect, and only those with large bags. females smuggling small amounts of drugs are apparently not worthy of prosecution. we turn up clean and continue on our way.

5:30 am arrive at hotel in Villa Tunari. its is hot and muggy and I can breathe fully again. so strange. in the dark the leafy, umbrella-like vegetation looks like something from Fraggle Rock. we all go to sleep in our various rooms until the conference begins at 10am.

La Paz

Some observations:

1. Men take care of kids here. Everywhere there are fathers walking or grocery shopping with their kids, all sweet and affectionate. Take note American men.

2. In La Paz, stoplights are merely suggestions. Beeping of the horn is considered adequate warning.

3. Employees in grocery stores are actually paid to approach people and try to sell products. You may be thinking: that is normal, we have taste tests in the US. Well, not quite. This one chica comes up to me while I’m browsing the cereal section and displays a bag of “instant” rice. She holds it up to me and explains its various merits, ie that it cooks in ten minutes and is 'muy riquisimo.' It seems that the idea is that I should now buy this bag of dried rice simply because she held it under my nose. Additionally, the 'Friends' theme song was playing during this encounter. Surreal.

4. Cholitas (women who dress in traditional indigenous garb even in the city) are actually pretty decent business women. They often sit on the side of the street selling
a. limes,
b. calls on their cell phones,
c. saltenas (yummy pastries filled with various things)

WORD ON THE STREET: apparently there is such a thing as Cholita wrestling— an organized sport with rules, and the cholitas actually wrestle wearing their traditional dresses and bowler hats. This is what I am told.

5. Some women who beg on the side of the street, particularly older women, actually rent children from other women so that they get more pity money. Very entrepreneruing.

6. Llama fetuses are good luck. Please email me if you would like me to purchase one for you.

IN OTHER NEWS:

I did my first video interview last week. We interviewed the director of the Bolivia office of OPS [Organizacion Panamerican de Salud]. He was very nice, and let us set everything up in his office. I moved all his furniture around and put a fake plant in the background. All very classy. Yet once he began talking on camera it was all foreign to me. Lots of Spanish jargon about “gestion” y “buenas practices” and other buzz words. I sort of tuned out. He could have been talking about how they chop down as many trees as possible and I was just smiling and nodding. Not looking forward to editing that…

After a conference in Cochabamba (cocalero region) I will be heading to Santa Cruz where I’ll be filming the various projects that the NGOs there are working on. Still a bit fuzzy on the details. Things I do know about Santa Cruz: the region has:
- soy agriculture,
- cattle ranching [erosion problems],
- vaqueros [more specifically, the men were described to me as narco-cowboys],
-oil money, and
- former Jesuit missions.

Hola mis amigos! Estoy en La Paz!

So it turns out that I flew in on a holiday, something to do with Christ, though it seems just an excuse to party. Anyhow, I caught a taxi into La Paz, I´m staying at the Pact Bolivia landscapes apartment in La Zona Sur, which seems to be a more posh neighborhood.

The city is stunning-- riding down from the airport on the rim of the valley I had a full view of the city, houses spilling down the sides of the canyon. There´s basically only one road out, which I´m told is frequently blocked by violent protesters, etc. Though since the election of the first indigenous president, Evo Morales, people have been trying to give the guy a chance because he´s supporting indigenous rights. And, being a former coca grower (cocalero), he supports the industry, and attempts to clarify the dinstinction between using the plants for coca tea and for cocaine. Coca tea just tastes like seaweed to me, and I certainly didn´t get no buzz.

So, orientation begins on Monday, and then I´ll learn which project I´m assigned to. They´re putting us in male-female pairs, which seems a good idea for safety. I was exploring El Prado (downtown area) alone the other day and I experienced the disgusting tourist-theft ploy. So, someone spits on you, and this is supposed to distract you from guarding your valuables. So I´m wiping the shit off my ear when I feel this hand take my camera out of its little bag. Instinctively I turn toward the person, who turns out to be a middle aged woman wearing a ragged grey t-shirt and pants, and I scold her indignantly:¨Senorita, es lo mio. Damelo!¨ She reveals my little silver camera from where she had hid it underneath a crumpled plastic bag. I snatch it back and walk away, and she just sort of takes a few steps in the other direction, confused. I suppose having been a high school teacher comes in handy sometimes. Good thing no weapons were involved.

Otherwise, things in the city have been tame. I´m getting used to Bolivian spanish, though I find the women difficult to understand. So far everyone has been quite kind, though getting a straight answer out of anyone is mammoth task. I use the survey approach: I ask five people the same question (AKA where can I buy a plug adaptor?) and then I take the mathematical average of their responses and follow that advice. People don´t say take a right or left here, instead they just say go up or down (it is in a canyon, after all), but this vague directionaly advice can prove confusing to a newcomer like myself. Actually, finding a plug required asking at least ten different people in various storefronts complete with hanging wires, strange metal pieces and other electrical gear. In the end, I found the right adaptor by coincidence, I saw it hanging in the open window of a closet-sized ferrateria (sp?) operation.

I hope you all are well-- I would love to hear how everyone´s summers are going if you get a chance. I´ll try to give another update when I get my assignment, and before I head off for el campo.
Besos,
kath