Monday, Feb. 27th, The Return
We woke up at a very reasonable hour for us. For others it was a bit early, but we were told the bus would be leaving soon and we were ready to go home. We packed up and cleaned up, and prepared to leave the hotel. As we were milling around making final checks for our gear we began to hear the sounds of voices, shouting or laughing, wailing or whooping, it was hard to tell... a sound of rushing wind and air caught our ears but the leaves of the tree were still and the sun hung heavy and hot in the sky. We went out the open double set of double doors and found to our horror next door a woman wailing outside of her business.... the smell of fire began to reach our noses and it became clear what was happening.
Her propane tank had either ruptured or the hose had come loose. Everything here is done with propane tanks. Houses are heated, ovens run, barbecue's started... everything. The potential of what could be happening began to dawn on us, and i shuffled back a few steps as my mind reeled. The explosive potential of a propane tank is staggering and our hotel was not only next door but shared a wall with this wailing woman's establishment. I sought Jojo and found her, and moved us away.
There was a notion of fighting whatever fire there might be with pales of water, but water does not stop a grease or gas fire as far as I know. The smell of charring intensified and the fear of everyone began to increase, but no blast, not yet...
We waited, not knowing how to help, or how far away was far enough.
We waited not knowing if the fire department had been called or if one even was available... but fortunately others knew and had acted quickly. A truck showed up, and a hose was unwound. Men bravely rushed in and like the image of a saviour or the shimmer of water in a desert oasis people began to relax. We began to relax. We went back into our hotel and grabbed our gear and brought it outside to a relatively safe distance. The fire truck and men were packed up and the potential disaster was averted. Our tensions fled, and we transitioned back into the mode of celebration and for some exhaustion. It's amazing how quickly one's experience can transition from not a care in the world to fear of life and death... and then back again. The human body is indeed an amazing machine, an entity of unsurpassed ability to adapt and react.
Once we were all gathered (after one of those Bolivian 'waiting' periods) we all got cabs and headed to Juan-Ma's friend Forrest's house. HIs mother lives in Oruro and we were to leave our bags in his house and go get breakfast. We got there but the house was locked. Forrest had no key and might have been drunk. Probably was, and good for him, as carnival is not over yet. Not by a long shot. We waited. We did some capoeira but the sun was too strong and the desire to stay dry for our 3 hour bus ride back to La Paz was equally strong. We waited and waited. Our hunger grew from strong to debilitating. To the point where everyone was getting grumpy and short. The Bolivian inertia was strong but so were the complaints and after a while... a longish while, we finally decided to ditch Forrest's and find food ourselves.
The train of eleven or so of us began to walk... without a plan and without destination. This is when I finally gained my cultural courage and voiced direction and intention. The walk was presumably to food, and then we would go to the bus station to meet our ride home. I protested. "Let us go to the bus station by cab now and eat there. It is central and we will find food and our bus." It worked. We broke from the chain and got in a cab. Maren, Juan-Ma, Jojo, myself, and Lauren's bags. We hadn't seen her in a day or so because she had met up with Andreas her burgeoning boyfriend.
We arrived at the bus station which is more of a crazy street around the bus station proper, a bazar, and a small terminal of busses hidden somewhere inside. Most of the busses are not official and simply park all around the station. It was easy to find a restaurant but long to get get food. It was very slow but the food was good and simple and filling. We went back to our rendezvous point and waited with the rest of our group. The bus was late... is anyone surprised? No? Good. But the bus did arrive and we boarded and Forrest ran off to buy booze. Carnival was not over. Not by a long shot.
The bus ride back was beautiful. Breathtakingly so. The high planes of Bolivia are peppered with mountains and roll with hills. Old and new adobe buildings, walls and enclosures bunch and spread, in isolation and in huddled communities. It's summer here and a lush green covers most of the land. High snow capped peaks peak from the horizon and loom over the road. Dusty towns with turnpikes mark passage on the long and windy highway we traversed, This time heading north. I wanted to stop and run with soaring steps from hill to valley, from mountain to river. I wanted to photograph and draw every building, every pile of rock forming a wall, or a pen, moved from this rocky landscape to make fields on the sides of steep hills. Hemispherical ovens sit in yards, their purpose only guessed by your author. Bread? Bread gleaned from this rocky soil and high windswept plain. The people as rough and weathered as the adobe buildings, but as friendly and warm as the sun baking their bricks.
I tried to converse, but mostly i stared fixedly out the window. Illumani towering over the landscape to the East marked our slow return to La Paz. The traffic in El Alto greeted us in a fond homecoming, and our beds and the comfort of a couch and a movie drew me onward like a leaf to the sun. Slow and steady, our bus rolled onward. There was some confusion about money. Our driver took us on the long curving downward highway that traces the northern rim of the crater of La Paz. He pulled of early, exiting in a neighborhood too far North to take us back to Plaza Estudiantes, central to all of our homes. He wanted more money. Apparently Forrest had calculated incorrectly. The second time for me to act presented itself. If our driver would not take us further, a taxi certainly would, and we would need one at whichever destination we ultimately ended.
The negotiations between Forrest and driver did not seem to be progressing, so I make my move. "Let's go." I grabbed my bag and got off. The rest of the bus followed suit. We found a cab and for no more than it might have been elsewhere, he agreed to take us home. La Paz bore the trademarks of Carnival itself, but I was assured, it was nothing like Oruro, and I believed. Oruro was amazing. Exhausting, challenging, fun, wet, delicious, drunken, and amazing. A cultural experience I am fortunate to have had, and fortunate to have made it out of. Indeed 57 (+ or -, no one's sure) people died during carnival, although I have no idea what or where or how. All I know is I made it, and I made it home.
I hope you all get a chance to celebrate life in some way this year, this spring, this month, or this day. And I think the lesson I learned here is that everyone celebrates. No matter how different we think we are, or we think our celebrations are, we are all the same in this. As people we need to take the time to enjoy life and to let go of our concerns. To leap out at the devil and mock mortality. It's what makes us human, and what makes this short, tricky and some times tough life worth living.
All the best to you and ¡Salud!
Her propane tank had either ruptured or the hose had come loose. Everything here is done with propane tanks. Houses are heated, ovens run, barbecue's started... everything. The potential of what could be happening began to dawn on us, and i shuffled back a few steps as my mind reeled. The explosive potential of a propane tank is staggering and our hotel was not only next door but shared a wall with this wailing woman's establishment. I sought Jojo and found her, and moved us away.
There was a notion of fighting whatever fire there might be with pales of water, but water does not stop a grease or gas fire as far as I know. The smell of charring intensified and the fear of everyone began to increase, but no blast, not yet...
We waited, not knowing how to help, or how far away was far enough.
We waited not knowing if the fire department had been called or if one even was available... but fortunately others knew and had acted quickly. A truck showed up, and a hose was unwound. Men bravely rushed in and like the image of a saviour or the shimmer of water in a desert oasis people began to relax. We began to relax. We went back into our hotel and grabbed our gear and brought it outside to a relatively safe distance. The fire truck and men were packed up and the potential disaster was averted. Our tensions fled, and we transitioned back into the mode of celebration and for some exhaustion. It's amazing how quickly one's experience can transition from not a care in the world to fear of life and death... and then back again. The human body is indeed an amazing machine, an entity of unsurpassed ability to adapt and react.
Once we were all gathered (after one of those Bolivian 'waiting' periods) we all got cabs and headed to Juan-Ma's friend Forrest's house. HIs mother lives in Oruro and we were to leave our bags in his house and go get breakfast. We got there but the house was locked. Forrest had no key and might have been drunk. Probably was, and good for him, as carnival is not over yet. Not by a long shot. We waited. We did some capoeira but the sun was too strong and the desire to stay dry for our 3 hour bus ride back to La Paz was equally strong. We waited and waited. Our hunger grew from strong to debilitating. To the point where everyone was getting grumpy and short. The Bolivian inertia was strong but so were the complaints and after a while... a longish while, we finally decided to ditch Forrest's and find food ourselves.
The train of eleven or so of us began to walk... without a plan and without destination. This is when I finally gained my cultural courage and voiced direction and intention. The walk was presumably to food, and then we would go to the bus station to meet our ride home. I protested. "Let us go to the bus station by cab now and eat there. It is central and we will find food and our bus." It worked. We broke from the chain and got in a cab. Maren, Juan-Ma, Jojo, myself, and Lauren's bags. We hadn't seen her in a day or so because she had met up with Andreas her burgeoning boyfriend.
We arrived at the bus station which is more of a crazy street around the bus station proper, a bazar, and a small terminal of busses hidden somewhere inside. Most of the busses are not official and simply park all around the station. It was easy to find a restaurant but long to get get food. It was very slow but the food was good and simple and filling. We went back to our rendezvous point and waited with the rest of our group. The bus was late... is anyone surprised? No? Good. But the bus did arrive and we boarded and Forrest ran off to buy booze. Carnival was not over. Not by a long shot.
The bus ride back was beautiful. Breathtakingly so. The high planes of Bolivia are peppered with mountains and roll with hills. Old and new adobe buildings, walls and enclosures bunch and spread, in isolation and in huddled communities. It's summer here and a lush green covers most of the land. High snow capped peaks peak from the horizon and loom over the road. Dusty towns with turnpikes mark passage on the long and windy highway we traversed, This time heading north. I wanted to stop and run with soaring steps from hill to valley, from mountain to river. I wanted to photograph and draw every building, every pile of rock forming a wall, or a pen, moved from this rocky landscape to make fields on the sides of steep hills. Hemispherical ovens sit in yards, their purpose only guessed by your author. Bread? Bread gleaned from this rocky soil and high windswept plain. The people as rough and weathered as the adobe buildings, but as friendly and warm as the sun baking their bricks.
I tried to converse, but mostly i stared fixedly out the window. Illumani towering over the landscape to the East marked our slow return to La Paz. The traffic in El Alto greeted us in a fond homecoming, and our beds and the comfort of a couch and a movie drew me onward like a leaf to the sun. Slow and steady, our bus rolled onward. There was some confusion about money. Our driver took us on the long curving downward highway that traces the northern rim of the crater of La Paz. He pulled of early, exiting in a neighborhood too far North to take us back to Plaza Estudiantes, central to all of our homes. He wanted more money. Apparently Forrest had calculated incorrectly. The second time for me to act presented itself. If our driver would not take us further, a taxi certainly would, and we would need one at whichever destination we ultimately ended.
The negotiations between Forrest and driver did not seem to be progressing, so I make my move. "Let's go." I grabbed my bag and got off. The rest of the bus followed suit. We found a cab and for no more than it might have been elsewhere, he agreed to take us home. La Paz bore the trademarks of Carnival itself, but I was assured, it was nothing like Oruro, and I believed. Oruro was amazing. Exhausting, challenging, fun, wet, delicious, drunken, and amazing. A cultural experience I am fortunate to have had, and fortunate to have made it out of. Indeed 57 (+ or -, no one's sure) people died during carnival, although I have no idea what or where or how. All I know is I made it, and I made it home.
I hope you all get a chance to celebrate life in some way this year, this spring, this month, or this day. And I think the lesson I learned here is that everyone celebrates. No matter how different we think we are, or we think our celebrations are, we are all the same in this. As people we need to take the time to enjoy life and to let go of our concerns. To leap out at the devil and mock mortality. It's what makes us human, and what makes this short, tricky and some times tough life worth living.
All the best to you and ¡Salud!
posted by Greenstigator at 11:00 AM
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