Bolivia Bound

Machu Picchu

2006-08-06T07:13:00.000-07:00

July 23rd, 2006.
We rose from our bed at 4:12 AM, three minutes before our alarm clocks were to sound. Neither Jojo or I could sleep any more, and we confirmed with groggy musings that neither of us slept well anyhow, there was just too much excitement. Our outfits for exploration and adventure had been chosen and laid out the night before, as well as our provisions packed and my backpack readied for the day. Within fifteen minutes we were ready and assembled. A few last minute changes and additions and subtractions from our gear and it was time to go.

I told you in my last post about the Peruvian couple we´d met at the train station in Ollantantambu, and my discussion of an alternative, and free, route into Machu Picchu. I´d arranged to meet them at 4:30 AM in the plaza, but both Jojo and I had misgivings about this clandestine entry method, and when we´d gone to sleep decided to wait until the morning came to decide. In fact I had decided to let fate decide. I thought the fates had decided when we left our room 5 minutes late for a prompt meeting time. Well they fates were fooling with me and lo and behold the couple was there waiting. We joined them and began our walk towards the park, down the road from Aguas Calientes, through the train station. The lady from Peru needed to buy her train ticket so we stopped at the station... it was closed. So we ran/walked up to the new station, back the wrong way. We waited. The Fates played cribbage with my patience. Finally she had her ticket and we were off.

We walked down the lit road by the river surging nosily next to us in darkness, towards the entrance and the bus station that takes less inclined, and more monetarily endowed, tourists up to the actual park. We didn´t know how far or how long it would take us to ascend up to Machu Picchu but we were determined not to pay the $6 for a bus. The sky began to lighten as we walked, and shortly after the bus station we no longer needed our flash lights. This increasing light in the valley and the sky above exposed to us for the first time our surroundings. Everyone has seen the pictures of Machu Picchu with jagged and steep clif-side mountains lacerating the misty clouds in the Andean jungle range, but unless you go there you will never really appreciate the drama and intensity of the valleys and peaks of this sacred setting.

The pre-dawn light began to suffuse the air with a subtle glow. The light color of the gravel road showed us our way, and up above us the stars grew dim as the sky lightened. And this lightening exposed the silhouettes of the peaks all around us. Like opening your eyes for the first time from a dream we understood for the first time where we were. In every direction jagged but round, like tusks or the incisors of a sabre tooth tiger, mountains rose. The valley parallel with our road but turning around corners of sheer cliff filled with a frothy and flowing rapid. Our necks began a craning that would last the day.

Eventually we found the bridge that crosses the river, and on the other side the split of road and trail. Our travel partners, already huffing after a walk on a road, and mostly downhill paused to prepare themselves for the ascent. Like we´ve said, traveling from sea level to Machu Picchu is difficult and testing. Traveling to Machu Picchu from La Paz is like going to the beach. A simple sign pointed our way, and from the very first step the trail was stairs.

Stone steps placed into hard clay soil and verdant foliage all around. The steps curled upward in a zig zag, uneven and rough, but steadily and constantly climbing. The pictures of Macchu Picchu floated in my vision - a city atop a ridge nestled between peaks. How high would we have to climb? All of a sudden the claims of one hour and forty five minutes seemed more plausible. But we were not concerned. I had our pack and two liters of water to keep me company, and as a group we began to ascend.

As we climbed higher so did the sun, but still a long way off from visible. The mountains all around shielded us from his rays (The sun is the father in Incan tradition), and the valley and Macchu Picchu would not see direct sunlight for a good time yet.

Which turned out to be a very good thing for our sunrise viewing opportunity. After a very short while we all stopped together to remove our outermost layer, and shed some heat from the climb. Jojo and I were in front by a few steps and quickly stowed our sweaters in the pack (more weight, but the excitement was like a balloon on my back) and were ready to resume climbing the stairway to heaven. Our Peruvian buddies needed a bit more of a break. They were both short of breath and dripping with exertion. We waited with them again, and soon were off again. But this time I noticed a drop in their pace and after ever 50 or so meters gain in altitude they needed to stop for breath.

Well, the fates were meddling again and this time I decided to make the decision for myself, and for my own experience, precious as it was to me. I continued on. Jojo by my side, and more often than not in front of me. We plodded on. Lento, Contento, Left, Right, breathe in, breathe out, lento, contento (slowly, contentedly). My mantra of breath and pace, I plodded up the switchbacks and stairs slowly and evenly, step by step. It is a long way up.

After about fifteen minutes of climbing this way we both knew the Peruvians were a long way back. Jojo didn´t feel right in just continuing on without telling them so she headed BACK DOWN and left me to lento and contento on my own. We had decided, after much consideration and the intervention of the fates that paying entry to such a monument showed the respect we think it deserves. I continued on, climbing the stairs and the sky lightened and the valleys opened up to vistas of intense beauty. The day had begun officially and correctly, and our destination lay ahead and above, our ascent a confirmation of our desires and loyalty to see them through.

Jojo passed me shortly thereafter and continued at a jog up the stairs. She is a marvel of strength and resolution, of beauty and delight. Watching her ascend ahead of me, disappearing into the brush at a trot, the sky coloring to pale pink, i lowered my head and continued my ascent secure in my emotions and excitement that this show of dedication and respect on our part would repay us in a day of incredibly discovery and delight.
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Like a wave surging up out of the deep as it approaches the shore, and then crashing with inevitable clamor on the beach I emerged from the trail onto the arrival platform and entrance to Machu Picchu. My head had been bent down as Lento and Contento kept me company and assured me that the view they provided was like the wrapping on a present. When at last I raised my head at the end of the trail my destination greeted me and I was giddy.

There are very few signs in South America, and the biggest and most visited tourist attraction is no exception (how can this be!!! thousands visit this park daily, and yet there is no ENTER or EXIT sign posted, no TICKETS, or Don´t Feed the Pigeons.. nada, just follow the crowd). We followed the crowd, what else could we do. After much uncertainty we confirmed that the line we were now standing in was indeed the ticket line. Our soon to be guide had told me the night before we could buy tickets at the entrance, so we felt a certain sense of relief when that hope was confirmed. Concurrently it was fortunate for us that I saved our last cash on the off chance that the Biggest Tourist Attraction in South America didn´t accept credit cards. Well, almost all of one´s preconceptions are challenged and destroyed in South America and this as well was no exception. We even got in for .50 Soles off because the TICKET OFFICE DOES NOT HAVE CHANGE. I kid you not. This place is crazy.

But. But... But we got our tickets. In hand, whew.

Our ¨guide¨ with whom I´d made arrangements the night before in a personal meeting approached. We were to meet him at 6:45 AM outside the entrance and as he approached I looked him in the face, said ¨Hola¨ and he walked right on past without a trace of recognition. Mystified I watched him enter a bit farther in and begin to call people over to him for ¨Marco´s Group!¨ I had thought (from our meeting the night before) we would be getting a private tour, but apparently I was wrong yet again. Nothing would diminish this day though so we decided to proceed with the tour anyway. Jojo made yet another good call at this moment. It seemed there were two tours, one in Spanish and one in English. She said she´d rater go with the Spanish tour guide. And so we did.

We ascended immediately to one of the highest points in the park and were told to wait there for everyone else. Well, it turns out it wasn´t just to wait for the group but to also wait for this view.

The sun had just crested the mountain across the valley and rays of sunlight were carving lines through the sky, and projecting a glow upon the ruins. This is pretty much the first view of the ruins you see, and it is incredible.

After a few minutes we gathered a bit father back and up on some terraces. I have to diverge for a moment here and explain a little bit about the terraces. The Incas, and pretty much all of the ancient - and some current civilizations, in this area (a very large area) were terrace crazy! They LOVED them. They built them everywhere. Everywhere, i mean it. Look out the window on the train, terraces. Look out the window of your hotel, terraces. It´s steep country here, but even where it isn´t, terraces! Agriculture was goin´ off here for thousands of years, and man, it was a good time for terraces. I guess there was a lot of stone just laying around and to be quarried as well, but I think they would clear the land of stones and just use it to build walls for terraces. They got all funky and technological with them too, using gravity fed watering systems and micro climatology to grow different crops on different terraces. These people were smart, creative, hard working, and worked together on everything. Too bad they were mostly killed off by bastard conquistadors, no?

Anyhow we were told to wait here, yet again, and took some more pictures, but being novel adventurers and anarchists of a sort we couldn´t just wait when there was so much to explore. In fact, Jojo spied some llamas (her favorite creature on earth.. I think i come in somewhere in the top ten) and took off to say hi and take pictures. I joined Jojo as it became clear the guide wanted us to sit on the ground around her to wait for the rest of the crew, and upon inspection I discovered that the ground was wet.

We returned shortly thereafter to begin the tour. It was educational and informative. If a bit authoritarian. But I enjoyed learning all that I could about the area and the history of it´s builders. We ascended to a point high up on the terraces on the mountain Machu Picchu, and learned about the construction of the stand alone buildings. The Inca´s use sloping walls, and trapezoidal windows and doorways, all narrowing towards the top. This construction technique has enabled their buildings to stand for hundreds of years in an incredibly active seismic area. Indeed the colonial buildings that have replaced or covered many of the Incan sites (or simply filled in the gaps) have fallen over repeatedly and the Incan buildings show only signs of weathering.

Our tour led around and across the site of Machu Picchu, past working quarries and stone fields to temples, terraces, complex solar calendars, ritualistic sites, and holy shrines. The shrines and calendars held my greatest interest next to the simple and constant awe inspired by the architecture and masonry. The Incas worshipped nature, and their most powerful representation was in a three part dynasty of gods; The Condor, representing the heavens and sky, The Puma, representing the land and realm of humans, and The Serpent, representing the underworld but not in a satanic or dark sense in any way. The Serpent represents wisdom and understanding. In another sense the Incas worshiped nature in general, and any aspect of nature that exhibited difference was respected and in some cases worshiped.

This respect extends to rock formations, geological formations, rivers, people, animals, and probably trees and plants as well. It is a very simple religion, and one of connection and cycles rather than differences (despite the respect for distinction, I can see how this would be confusing, but if you consider the inclusiveness of their worship it makes good sense).

We walked in a large group with the tour and eventually made our way to some very impressive temples with stones of incredible size and workmanship. It is hard to imagine the work and techniques they employed when standing there surrounded by tourists and cameras clicking away. We paused in one temple with three windows, and across from them three rocks of different size. Each window is aligned with a certain rock so that at different times of the year, at sunrise, each window casts a special shaft of light, and upon the rock a special shadow is in turn cast. It is a very delicate and simple method for understanding the year, and from all we know, empirically successful. The Incas were incredible agriculturalists and fed a large population equitably and successfully for many generations.

Next we came to a special rock with many strange protuberances and projections that was used at noon but for the same purpose as the windows described above. The most sacred temples at Machu Picchu were dedicated to these (mundane? only to us, with our modern systems that we rely on to a fault) systems of understand the calendar.

From there we progressed across the fields in the center of the site to the far end at the foot of Wainu Picchu, the tall pointy peak pictured on the far side of the ruins in the photo at the top of this blog. It is an incredible peak with a dangerous and steep trail to the top where there are more ruins and an incredible view. Our guide told us that we could climb it now, or wait until the end of the tour. Being hungry for more information and history we decided to wait. A mistake that will only be repaired at some unknown future return to Peru.

We continued circling back now towards our starting point going past an incredible wall that can only be described as a perfect blend between natural and man made. It is clearly of a different style and age, and predates the Incas. The stones are much more naturally shaped and of more varying size and to look upon this wall is to question all of your assumptions about the works of man.

Further on we passed through the main residential section of the site with many separate buildings with tall ends for peaked roofs. All of the wood and straw roofs are gone now, but the forms of the buildings echo their past, and the ghosts of the roofs were all I needed to call up visions of their ancient inhabitants. IN this area is a temple with two very low bowls in the floor made of stone. They look rather like ancient dog dishes, but in fact are water-mirrors used for reflecting the passages and positions of stars. A stone would be placed in the bowl at the position of a star as it rose, and another as it passed from view. In this way the Incas could track the positions of the stars and planets accurately and in a way much easier to understand than pointing to the sky.

Towards the end of our tour we visited the Temple of the Moon, and Temple of the Condor. Both located and built upon large natural boulders that had been carved only slightly, but accentuated in their form and importance. Our guide finished her spiel in a large room and insisted on taking our names down. This took forever and our impatience grew as the sun beat down and the minutes ticked by. Somehow we knew we had to get back to Waynu Picchu. Finally we were released and Jojo and I hurried back to the far end of the site.

We arrived at a line of about 15 people. We were the first from our group to arrive, and we began to wait patiently. Shortly an official came out an announced that we were nearing the daily limit of 400 hikers for the mountain. He proceeded to make a count of the people in line and lo and behold we were numbers 401 and 402. Dismay hit us like an intricately carved boulder, but we waited to see if the count might change. Other eager hikers arrived behind us, and a few, in incredible arrogance and with a rudeness unequaled in all our travels tried to cut in line right in front of us! We were in awe of their behavior but held back from forcibly pulling them out of the way by the simple fact that neither they nor us would likely enter... but... if the count were to change, justice would have been done.

Luckily and unluckily none of use were admitted and we had a good laugh at the expense of those rude cutters with some other hopefuls. So we left the waiting area (truly just a large clearing of rock and earth at the edge of an incredible cliff where the path was gated). Jojo and I decided it was time for a break and found a large boulder to mount and sit for a bit in the sun, basking in the incredible beauty of our surroundings.

The only real way to understand the beauty of this place, or any for that matter, is to go there. And I will add some more pictures to this blog as I can, but for now, just let your imagination go and if you ever get there, you will realize it is far more amazing, and bizarre than you could ever imagine. Jojo and I wandered through the ruins, retracing our earlier path and discovering other nooks and crannies. Mysterious caves, tiny rooms carved directly from living rock, and incredible systems of terraces, hydraulics, and architecture. We walked back across to where we started our tour and down a couple of levels to a terrace where we decided to stop for a while to nap, draw, and snack.

When I had finished my sketch (INCREDIBLY difficult to draw such an intricate and natural place, with such magnitude and majesty) and Jojo had napped sufficiently we gathered our belongings and ourselves and prepared to do an alternative hike to the other end of the site, to Portal Del Sol, up a long and continuously sloping trail traversing the mountain Machu Picchu. There are a couple of ruins along this trail including some gathered below a huge rock jutting up and out from the mountain side, much like Pride Rock in The Lion King. On our way up to Puerto Del Sol we passed by this incredible rock, eager to ascend to this high gate to the next valley.

At the top of the trail is a small ruin, that is a series of gates and perhaps a room or two that sit in a notch between two peaks, and is the entrance point for the Inca Trail to the ruins (or so we believe from the signs we saw). Looking back to Machu Picchu is an incredible open vista of the ruins and site, and the peaks beyond, and the river below. It was with a bit of surprise that we realized we were now higher than Waynu Picchu, the peak visible beyond the ruins! It is amazing the difference between a direct climb and a steady ascent. We sat and pondered this vista and the place we have been blessed to be able to visit.

It was with weary feet, grumbling stomachs, and a full day of delight that we began our descent back to the main part and ruins, and eventually, back to Aguas Calientes. As we descended and came upon the Giant protruding rock I described above a powerful desire, nay need, came upon me to get a bit closer and view the base of the rock and the ruins around. Jojo´s tired feet held her to the trail as I bounded at a run up the gentle steps through the small ruins. Immediately as I cleared the last step and looked up I was blessed with an incredible and sacred vision.

A Condor stood perching on a tree just twenty feet away from me as surprised at seeing me suddenly appear as I was at seeing her. She was an amazing site to behold. Powerful full body and profile, her neck curving down and up to a head the size of a baseball and a beak both powerful and graceful. Her tail feathers stood out in silhouette in a gap in the foliage of the tree. Her dark brown plumage disguised her form in the shadows beyond, but like seeing the sun blazing for the fist time in weeks (Portlanders, you know what I´m talking about here), or the moon rise above a distant horizon bright full and heavy she filled and shocked my vision.

I was in awe and my reactions were unschooled and perhaps uncouth. Instead of stopping and showing my respect I was drawn on, approaching like a child, curiosity dominating my mind. She looked at me, with her predators eyes, neck curving around, took my measure in full, turned and disappeared into the trees behind her, hopping down and out of site. I called ¨Jojo! A Condor! I just saw a Condor!¨ She came running up, but by that time the Condor was long gone.

I don´t wish that I´d behaved differently. I behaved out of instinct and awe, and in some way I know that was the most honest and wonder-filled reaction I could possibly have. Jojo declared immediately and correctly that I had been blessed by the spirits of the mountains and the sky, and I agree with her fully. I cannot think of any other way to have ended my experience at Machu Picchu better or with more reverence and appreciation for this place. As we descended further, through the ruins, out the gate, past the bus station, and down the long stair to the road this thought echoed in my mind and heart. A dream of seeing this most excellent example of human work and connection to nature had finally come to be, and in a way that I could never have imagined or hoped.

Indeed we did have a great day and as the descent stretched into the late afternoon hours we both rejoiced in our experience, culminating in a sweet and well deserved high five at the bottom of the stairs. We walked back up the road we had walked down that same morning, tired and hungry, and reentered the world of tourists. We ate dinner that night at Chez Maggie´s with an incredibly wonderful and welcoming host, and went to bed early, grateful and content. We had an early train the next morning, at 5:45 AM back down the valley to Cusco, and I am sure my dreams were quiet and peaceful.

Machu Picchu and the Sacred Valley

2006-07-24T10:30:00.000-07:00

Machu Picchu
Originally uploaded by eliahusevenseven.

It´s not easy to sleep the night before any great event, and even harder when it´s an event you´ve been looking forward to for longer than you can remember. I´d like to add here that it gets even harder to sleep when you are in a strange bed with loud music thumping through the walls and a strange smell in your nose, but above all, the excitement of visiting Machu Picchu kept me up most of the night.

Jojo and I left Qusqo on saturday morning on a tour bus to the sacred valley. It was a slightly rocky start, with a false boarding of one bus and a quick shuttling to another, and then a false report of a second bus change that never happened. But off to the sacred valley we went, a bit against our original plans, but the fates were guiding us, and we accepted our tour bus fate.

It turned out better than we thought though. Our guide was very knowledgable, spoke very clear and slow spanish so I could understand. We sat in the front right next to the guide and he was accesible for my swarm of questions. We visited Pisaq first, a town and agricultural center atop a small ridge in a beautiful valley. Snow capped peaks lined the horizon. Jojo and I asked our guide if we could go off ahead and meet them at the next spot for explanation. He understood our desire and our advante: we´d been living at nearly 4,000 meters for 3 months straight, and playing futbol and capoeira, so the high altitude that affects most tourists was actually a low altitude that is a relief to us! We took off hiking at a ¨Debbie and Rolf¨ pace (you´ll have to read my earlier posts on hiking with my aunt and uncle Debbie and Rolf to fully understand this reference, but they both walk at one speed - fast) and explored the ruins in a combination of solo wonderment and well guided information.

Next stop was lunch where we had the customary free Pisco Sour and a beer in the sun of the sacred valley floor at a road side resturant. There was a donkey eating hay behind the building. After lunch we fell asleep in the sun pouring through the windows of our bus, and on the occasions I did open my eyes I found our guide joining us in this welcome siesta. We awoke to our next stop, Ollantantambo, another series of incredible terraces with temples on top.

The terraces are between rocky outcroppings, covered with cactus and moss, and a steep stair ascends to the top of the ridge where giant (3 by 4 by 1 meter thick) stones are perfectly aligned and arranged to make temples to the sun, moon, and nature (Pachamama). We returned to the bus with our group to get our bags and belongings, this was to be our last stop with them for from Ollantantambo we were to travel to Aguas Calientes by train.

Aguas Calientes is a small town growing as fast as it can be poured into forms and covered with
brick and stucco, at the foot of the park of Machu Picchu. If you are going to Machu Picchu, this is where you stay, eat, and hopefully relax in the thermal springs the town is so aptly named for. We waited in Ollantantambo for three hours for our train and enjoyed a nice dinner in the fading light of day of the ruins above. By the time we were to go meet our train we both had a nice buz from the local beer and good spirits in the valley. Jojo had the good intuition to call a hostel and make reservations in this meantime, and we emptied the contents of her digital camera´s memory card to a cd. While waiting in line for the train we met a Peruvian couple from Lima who are both artists, also traveling to Machu Picchu, in fact there is an incredible multitude of people from all over the globe, speaking every language immaginable at this station, and on the train, as well as a totally unnecessary crush of bodies in the scramble to and from the train.

The train ride was quiet and mellow, with the thickening dark outside, we were unable to stare in awe at the incredible contryside, and instead read in peace for the hour and a half to Aguas Calientes. I had acquired a book at a cafe we had breakfast at that day, The Dispossesed by Ursala LeGuin, a local Portland Sci-Fi author who is absolutly incredible, and read in fascination the entire way. We arrived in Aguas Calientes at 9:30 and found our way to the central square and our hostel just off the square. I was innitially dissastisfied with the room and price (50 Soles/night, about $17) and instead of settling in for the night, and a short one at that, set off to see if I couldn´t find a more suitable room for the next night. I was wrong on all accounts. Thank you Jojo for being such a wonderful and intuitive person. I love you.

I was out walking the night looking around and instead of finding a cheap perfect room found the Peruvian couple from earlier. They couldn´t find a room for less than $30 per night, and they were locals!! I walked with them to help them find a room, and in case they couldn´t to guide them to our hostel in hopes they would get a room there for less. Eventually they did find a room for 30 Soles, but no hot water. They walked with me to the square and we arranged to meet the next mornign at 5 AM to hike up the Machu Picchu together. I returned to our hostel to apologize and bestow Jojo with compliments. When I got there Jojo was still up and told me our hotel host was about to return to ask us if we wanted a guide for the next day. We decided to take him up on the offer and I went with the host to meet the guide outside.

I didn´t like the guide innitially and he added to our information slightly when I asked him how long it would take to hike to the park. We´d received various answers to this question and as usual in South America there are almost no signs, and very little willingness to tell you anymore than you absolutly have to know. Some of the answers to this question were ¨An hour and a half, no less¨, ¨An hour to an hour and forty five minutes¨, and from our guide ¨An hour and forty five mintues.¨ I explained how we´d been living in La Paz and this didn´t seem to faze him, but every time Jojo and I heard an answer like this we´d exchange looks with a raised eyebrow or two and confer silently that we could do it in one hour flat. I arranged to meet our guide at 6:45 AM outside the entrance the next morning, now only 7 hours and 45 minutes away.

Shortly thereafter the couple from Lima saw me and motioned me over covertly to a bench in the square. I joined them and they told me conspiratorily that they´d met another Peruvian who´d told them of an alternate route into the park that bypassed the entrance and therefore the fee! They insisted we meet at 4:30 am at the same bench and hike in this way... discomfort settled in along with confusion, strange but common bedfellows indeed. How would I meet the guide outside the entrance if we´d already sneaked in? Was this right to do? The admission is a pretty high $25 but doesn´t that money go to preserving and restoring the park? Or is it a jacked up number to fund the economy of Peru that is now in the hands of a former ruler that was once exiled! I returned to our room to sleep but by now I was confused as well as excited and sleep seemed unlikely and a long way off.

Once inside and in bed I told Jojo of my encounters and plans with the guide. We discussed in growing discomfort and confusion the ethical issues and excitment we now shared. Along with these substantial sleep inhibitors a loud thumping bass music seemed to be growing along the walls and ceilings of our room. A strange smell and an uncomfortable bed added to these factors and unable to come to a conclusion as to what to do tomorrow, tomorrow came and sleep slipped in and out of our night like a fly in a peaceful scene.

I decide that instead of deciding I would let fate take the reins and eventually drifted into and out of dreams of unknown peaks and clouds obscuring fantastic views...

Living in La Paz

2006-07-06T10:18:00.000-07:00

La Paz is a city, unique and beautiful and full of suprises. This week Jojo and I moved out of our apartment and into Ceprosi´s community center. This move was insipired by many factors including money, security, convienience, and location. This is the same building where our capoeira classes are, where we gather to watch the World Cup, and where we end up some nights to play games and enjoy the local brew Pacena.

We have a room up on the roof patio with fiberglass ceiling that admits the strong morning light and windows all around. It is cold up there at night, but where isn´t it cold at night in La Paz? Now where. That´s where.

I opened the door this morning onto the patio saying as I did so ¨I love our room because when you leave, you are on a roof.¨ This is true. I have always wanted to live on a roof terrace and now that dream has come true! The morning light is strong and bright. The sky a pure even clear blue, and the tile or metal rooftops shine brightly, contrasting against the blue of thin and clear atmosphere.

In the distance the hill that surrounds La Paz, really the inside of a crater, is clustered with adobe or painted stucco cubes and rectangles. The dominant color is the pale brown adobe, the same color as the clay and stone rich soil from which these houses are hewed.

There is a small bathroom and an outdoor sink which gushes forth icy cold water with aplomb. I wetted my hair this morning under the glacial stream and shook out my lengthing curls like the shaggy dog i´ve become. The sun sparkled off the droplets as I experienced the sting of morning awakening and a ritual i´ve come to use as the mark to begin my day.

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Jojo and I walked out the front door of Ceprosi and down the hill to the right. Everything in La Paz is either up or down. It´s like a cartesian coordinate system tilted on it´s side and wrapped around a wash basin. There´s the centro, down in the drain, and all around, up from there, or out the pipe and south towards the ritzy neighborhood of Zona Sur. We walked down down down five blocks to the Prado, which runds north south, and up to the north through the centro. A small cafe embreced our breakfast desires on the sunny western side of the Prado, with large windows and a subsequent warmth that toasted the day´s opportunities.

Unfortunately not all opportunites are without their challenges. After breakfast we discovered that the process of moving out of our apartment has been delayed yet another day. This saga begins last week when we hired Don Hugo to paint the walls of our house. This is a tradition here and makes sense. Since all the buildings are made of concrete, brick, and sutcco paint is a standard solution to the starkness of buildings interiors. It is almost universally applied here and the colors are based on a simple scheme. An off white or cream color for walls, with white on ceilings and most wood trim or doors.

Don Hugo did most of the painting last week, but needed to come back to do some touch up... I´ll not bore you with all the details of how his NOT showing up when he said he would, or at all, has delayed our hand over of the keys to our Landlady (Dueña) but suffice to say, it is now Thursday and we were supposed to be out of there Monday. But don´t worry my friends and family, Don Hugo´s misbehaviour will not go unpunished. He will not be paid for his work, and we will be reimbursed for our exteneded and unwanted stay. Ahh, retribution is sweet when flavored with justice.

So the ups and downs of living in La Paz expound and expand. My feet feel the street and the nibble of cold. My lungs heave and breathe, the ups increase their pace and downs sooth their constant desire for more of this thin Andean air. Do you feel my roller coaster ride through the days and nights of living abroad? I wonder, do the ups and downs of La Paz make their way through the internet and my bouncy words to your own lungs and legs?

These waves and rythems of life and land, the days and nights, the passing of time-now growing short as our return grows immenent on the horizon. Up and down, my desire for home, my grwoing feeling of loss when I leave, these oscilations of emotion, of body, of time and place begin to form in my mind a picture of this trip. What does it mean to live in another place, another culture, or another time? There are lessons learned that are different and unknowable from the lessons at home. Lessons that are valuable and transmittable, and lessons that will forever be accesible only by living in La Paz.

Tiwanaku

2006-06-29T13:31:00.000-07:00

DSC_2417-m.jpg
Originally uploaded by The MediaMentor.

Jojo and I visited Tiwanaku less than a week before my camera was stolen. I got some amazing shots and reveled in them afterwards. Well, since I do not have those photos currently, I have found a plethora of great photos online. This is a photo of the Puerto Del Sol, through which the locals recently celebrated the new year, on the Solistice. If you click on this photo it will take you to his online gallery, and you can see some more photos of this supurb site.

Tiwanaku is an ancient city and gathering/worshiping center. It is nearby to Lake Titicaca, and was the center of a great civilization. There are many sites in the area, and some have truly monumental stones, statues, and monoliths, all carved with amazing detail using technology we would consider impossible for an undertaking of this magnitude.

I plan on writing more about Tiwanaku but will do so at a later date when i can focus better on the profound effect it had on me.

Bolivian Nights

2006-06-29T13:09:00.000-07:00

La Paz por la noche
Originally uploaded by goitaca.

It is winter in Bolivia and the sun shines brightly every day. Every night as the sun drops behind the rim of the giant crater, cold falls upon La Paz. As the light of sunset fades the air is already crisping with a cold dry ferocity that saps the heat from even the hardiest Pacenan. The air is clean and pure, frozen from the mountains, and swept off of empty plains. It is winter here.

As the sun rises over the crater rim every morning, the cold begins to lift. Reluctantly at first, and then in a rush. Tendrils of cold creep into corners, and seek out shadows, even finding some shadows deep enough that even this high Andean sun cannot penetrate. This cold lurks in it´s stillnes, reaching out to chill your leg should you pass too close.

The buildings and landscape merge into one another here, all of the same hard material - the very earth from which La Paz is carved, is bundled, mixed, baked and poured back into itself, and up into crusteacous caveties. Every building is concrete and brick. These hard and dense materials emblematically and directly display this very same cycle, day into night, heat into cold.

The walls floors and ceilings soak up the sun craving the heat and eventually fading into pastels of their former selves. But this fleeting heat fades even faster than the light reflecting off the opposite crater wall. Pause too long against a wall, or sit even briefly on a shaded concrete ledge or bench and the bite of the night nips all too closely.

Our apartment hides in the shade of adjacencies, orients itself somehow always out of direct sunlight, and therefore is always cold. Even in the middle of the day, under the direct and close sun. We are moving out of the apartemnt this weekend for a variety of reasons, and this hot topic is a very important reason.

Have you ever slept in a sweater and hat? Inside? I imagine you have, as most of us at one point or another in our lives experience a cold night´s sleep. For us this has become a routine, and not one that we dislike. There is coziness and care in the embrace of a warm hat, or a soft sweater. Bundled under blankets of fleece, and horizontal on a thin mattress we find slumber deep and dark, just like these Bolivian Nights.

How far is far?

2006-06-19T15:33:00.000-07:00

If I called you on the phone, our voices would mingle like seaweed in the tide. If I tried to reach out and give you a hug, I would be grasping only thin air. This distance from home I am speaking so metaphorically about is walloping me over the head at the moment as I reel in surprise at how far I have actually come. And Gone.

A recent loss, due to theft of my portable electronics gear (worry not! I will not go into detail now, but I am hopeful andbeliefe that some closure and perhaps return of said goods is near) has forced me to relocate my self existentially within this space I am occupying here in a foreign land. I am overly complicating this language as a ploy, to show you how confusedIi am, and how confusing it can be, to be somewhere alien.

You see I was here in La Paz for months, but not entirely. Wherever we go, we bring with us screens, shields, and protections from home. We protect ourselves from the unknown with devices employed unknowingly for that purpose. Yes we open ourselves, for thatÂ´s the point of travel, to experience something new, but we hardly ever open ourselves beyond a certain point. Some level of personal protection is vital to the stability of self and of self image, and some people do willingly go beyond that point, but this is not about thosraritieses.

I am of course speaking from one very limited perspective, my own, but I dbeliefve I have encountered something true from this latest experience. I had brought my computer with me, and in so doing broughwithht my all of my musiI i cared to bring, photos, videos, and thcapacityiy to view movies. I brought my own entertainment, and not until this device was forcibly taken from me (from my house, for I was not there) diI i realize that I had been concealing from myself a portion of Bolivia. I provided my own, and lost opportunity to allow Bolivia to provide for me.

Perhaps this iobviousus to you, but I think it may only be obvious to me now. I did not consider my computer to be a tool for blocking or preventing, but one for enabling. I was wrong. Now wheI i wake up and the silence of my room echoes with thbird-callll of the court, I cannot turn on my favorite song. Nor wheI i come home at night can I fill the evening with the laughter of a favorite movie. I have been forced to confront and experience to only options available. And that is culture.

March 24th - 25th 2006, Qhuhui, Chile

2006-03-25T09:18:00.000-08:00

We awoke in Quemchi and motored out of our anchorage to set sail East under a light wind. The sun was shining and we were heading for a small island with a bay in the middle and a tight opening like the neck of the bottle. We sailed between islands and openings into the large body of water which is the gulf between Isla Chiloe and the main land of Chile. The wind wouldn’t make up it’s mind weather to blow just hard enough to sail, or just too soft to sail. But eventually we cleared a peninsula to our south and the wind leaped into life and we sailed a beat, strong and steady, beautiful and smooth on an even sea.

Islands jump out of that pure blue sea into a fresh and lively air. Covered in dark green foliage of forests and shrub, and clearings dotting the land clearly marking settlements, with pastoral beauty and imagined lives. Growing up on a farm with the ocean at your doorstep, a horse as your best friend and your only neighbor across the water on the next island over. We enjoyed tea and coffee with fresh baked cake Deborah made with an expertise gained by baking for years at sea. The sun moved across the sky as we tacked south east to south west. Sea birds took flight at our approach, running across the water as they flapped their wings in a long and ripple strewn take off. All I could think of was the Windego, as their ripple inducing footsteps lengthened and separated until with an almighty winged effort they took to the sky, avoiding any contact with our innocent aims.

We approached Quehui from the north, and made oru last tack turning east parlell with another island, to sail into the bay that is formed by the small island. Check out the blowup to the right, you can see the small bay with the bottleneck, and the island mass to the east. Now, this chart is not entirely accurate and we discovered that neither the charts nor the seamap program on Deborah and Rolf’s computer were truly accurate. Isla Quehui’s bay extends almost all the way to eastern side of the island with a low and narrow ridge tying the northern and southern ridges together. These north and south ridges (running east-west) are high and steep, and fully covered in plant life. As we sailed into the neck of the bay the town appeared on the northern shore, and an ancient wooden church dominates the skyline rising beautifully above the smaller homes and shops.
As we came around the peninsula (and we had to give it wide berth due to shoals and sea weed) we made our tack to the south, heading down towards the western end of Isla Quehui, and the bottleneck opening to our anchorage. The sea was a strong blue, and the wind on our nose, but Northern Light holds a strong vector and we were all comfortable and enjoying the serene views offered by the landscape and sea life all around.

We lowered the sails and started the motor as we came through the neck and curved around to the north to our anchorage just off the shore of the town of Quehui, from which vantage point I took the photo at the beginning of this post and this photo. I’ve no experience with which to compare the feeling of arriving at a place you can only reach by boat, except perhaps for arriving somewhere by foot after a long hike. The feeling of isolation and exploration, of newness and possibility are intense and very gratifying. The small town lay before us, her shore exposed, and hidden mysteries just out of view behind hills and treetops. We secured Northern Light, and relaxed aboard ship all evening, enjoying dinner and desert, with tea before bed. We slept that night in the calm of the harbor, after a full day of sailing, and on full stomachs.The next morning the fog rolled back from the sea and we were greeted by an amazing view of placid life and calm waters. We had a later and longer breakfast of pancakes bacon and jams, and afterwards inflated the dingy, and headed ashore with a shopping list and our hiking shoes on to stretch our legs after a relaxing morning.

Once on shore we secured the dingy and walked into town. I looked back at what had brought us to this amazing and rare place and took the photo below.

You can see the far end of the bay where a narrow strip of land connects the south (more shown here) ridge to the north, and Northern Light, our portal to new and different worlds, sits peacefully in the arms of Quehui. We walked east along the bay side of the northern ridge, across a rickety wooden bridge, past farms and farmhouses, along a dirt road.

We walked to the far end of the island where the bay dries into salt marsh and cows swim across the shallows in open peaceful herds. Slipping through a barb wire fence we came to a meadow just above the marsh, and on the other side a beach looking out into the expanse of the gulf, and across the gulf mountains twinkled in the light, blued by distance.

On our walk back to the dingy and the stores where we would buy a whole chicken for dinner the sky began telling us a tale begun in the arctic, where 70 knot winds were swirling through drake passage and penguins darting for fish. It was a tale of ice and air, pressure and the tides, of seasons and change. The sun shining and moving steadily like an iceberg through those great southern waters became obscured by clouds and the tale evolved into a threat of weather and unknown, and as the tale reached it’s climax the sun was obscured by a great building cloud and the sky told us this tale of ice in the sky.

Jojo ran ahead and got in a much needed jog as Deborah, Rolf, and myself walked back to the town and a whole local chicken we intended to purchase for dinner. When we got there the local bird was gone but a frozen one had take it’s place. Oh well, we decided, and took the bird and some other provisions and rowed back to Northern Light for dinner, desert, and our now customary cup of tea before bed. Always sleepytime. The town was peaceful and quiet, the boat gently rocking in the tidal swell, and we were lured off to sleep in dreams of nature, isolation, and the freedom of living off the land, in a place such as Quehui.

March 23rd, 2006, We Awake to the Sea

2006-03-23T14:41:00.000-08:00

I don’t know if the sun was up yet when we were awoken by Deborah in her soft, high, peaceful voice. “We’ve got to start the motor, so why don’t you move to the main cabin” she told us, and as we were on her boat, it was not a question, and not a command, but to be performed without question. It was clear already to us that what they requested of us was for our good, and they certainly always new best. We grabbed our blankets and pillows out of courtesy to them, to go back to sleep on top of their bedding, for they had already given us their bed, and we did not want to take any more.

It became clear to us later, and I’m not too sure how much later, that the wind had picked up and shifted, making our anchorage unsafe. I was giddy laying there with Jojo, our adventure underway, it seemed like something new and exciting lay around every contour, or wave, or night’s sleep. I do think I fell back asleep giggling and grinning, because I remember waking up to a sudden change and Deborah’s face… the absence motor noise must have noticeable even to my dormant body, because as soon as my eyes were open I knew what was happening. We were under way, and under sail.

Jojo and I pulled on our foul weather gear.
I must pause here for a HUGE thank you to Charlie Adams, Jojo’s father, and an extremely knowledgeable outdoors man. It was at his urging and advice that both Jojo and I purchased our own foul weather gear (which means high rubber boots, warm socks that stay warm when wet, durable waterproof bibs, and jacket. We both also brought good sunglasses and strings to keep them on, warm wool hats (although Jojo acquired another one from Yoyo in Santiago.. another story already told), and our warmest gear. Charlie not only did research himself but contacted friends and other knowledgeable individuals to consult, and thankfully we followed his advice.

So Jojo and I now bedecked in our bright red (and a yellow jacket for me) gear we made our way on deck for our first true glimpse of sailing. The wind was at our back and the sky was as grey as the sea. White tips blew off in strings of mist and flattened ripples. The learning began in earnest, and this is what I learned today: A sailboat is not pushed like a kite, or blown like a leaf. It is controlled like a wing, and if understood and known and loved, like the wing of a great raptor, streamlined and precise. But when the wind is at your back you fill your sails like the first breath of autumn in your lungs, and unleash the hull to it’s most willing desire, that of surging and pushing, lunging and slicing through the backs of waves that crash, rolling behind.

Of course all of this is dependant of the wind. At the right wind speed (and direction as this was solely a downwind experience) the sails are as full as they can be and unfurled all the way to achieve maximum speed. We were flying “wing and wing” with the main sail and boom pushed all the way out to one side, perpendicular to the boat and direction of travel, and the genoa pushed all the way out to the other side with the fly boom. Now this is some tricky sailing. The fly boom is a tubular piece of steel that attaches to a sliding hook on the front of the main mast. Using the boom gets the bottom point of the front sail way out to the side to catch as much wind as possible, however it also makes for very difficult jibing because the lines and the boom all have to be switched.

Later that day we hoisted the gennaker, a sail that is large and light, most like a kite, in place of the genoa. It’s full (and nearly symmetrical) shape, and it’s bright yellow color warmed us as we were pelted by rain and wind. The gennaker is the foremost sail and attaches to the front mast at the top.

The wind was blowing 20 knots and we made excellent time the whole day. But sailing is a lot of work, it’s draining at times and requires full concentration in daunting conditions. So we made sure to enjoy tea and coffee, with treats occasionally, and by the time we made it to our anchorage the weather had calmed, and the skies cleared.

We anchored in Quemchi, a small port and village in a protected bay on Isla Chiloe, the largest and main Island of the Gulfo Ancud. Again we were neighbors to a fish farm, but this one was serviced by a fish processing center, which seemed to be a significant part of the industry. Nearby was a dock that serviced this center, and the farm. Jojo and I decided it was time for our first adventure from the boat. Rolf showed me how to pump up the dingy, and the proper way to tie her up, and position our bodies for optimal rowing and safety. Once inflated Jojo and climbed in with our backpacks and set off, I rowing, and she sitting in the stern giving bearings and headings.

We made it to the dock after a fair amount of wandering and swerving, thanks to my inexpert rowing, tied her up, and set off towards town. As soon as we had exited the driveway of the processing center Jojo set off on a jog, and moments later a pickup truck can speeding along, and stopped next to me. A man from the Armada (the Chilean maritime authority) got out and began to question me in Spanish. Since I do not speak Spanish fast or fluently, it was very difficult to understand, but I got his meaning. Whomever the captain of the sailing boat we had just arrived from had better radio the Armada and report. Aye aye. Yo no soy capitan, soy marinero.

I continued walking in on the curving, hilly road typical of the Chiloean coast, and had many excellent vistas including this on of Northern Light, anchored below. The town and outlying buildings were diverse and interesting. A cobbled mixture of new and old, shanty, shack, and familiar. Some truly beautiful and interesting examples of working with what you have, and paying for what is standard. The contrast was blurry though, perhaps due to the slow, steady, pace of life that everyone there shares. This house had a beauty all it’s own;
and that beauty was accented by it’s conspicuous lack of a satellite tv dish, which was so very common throughout the area, regardless of apparent wealth. Another point of beauty, and sadness were the many and obviously loved shrines to deceased family members on the side of the road. Seeming casualties of the high speeds and blind curves exhibited even during our short stay in Quemchi.

We walked into town together after Jojo finished her run. Quemchi is a quiet town, with a small dock and a terraced plaza in the center. Across the water to the island that bisects the bay sits an old run down mansion with tall tapered deciduous trees on either side creating an image of symmetry and order. We imagined the colonial lord overlooking the town of locals, kicked out many years ago, his manor abandoned to the native elements, and the wear of the sea and ages.

We walked back to the boat with a few goods we purchased in town. Rowing back was easier but I almost capsized us getting in. That night we cooked dinner on board and relaxed afterwards with tea in the quiet comfort of Northern Light. Jojo and I were feeling much better by then as well, and I felt normal and slept well that night. Our first day of sailing had been excellent, with high winds and a fast passage, with more on the horizon.

Check out this short but growing list of sailing terms to help you out

March 22nd, First Day Sailing

2006-03-22T09:48:00.000-08:00

My fond friends family, and fans, I have been finding it very difficult to write about my experience sailing. This is not because it was a difficult experience, quite the contrary, it was an amazing and uplifting experience that I want desperately to put into words and share with you. However, because it was such an amazing time it is very difficult to contain in words. But I will do my best. I think I’ll use a form to make it easier. At the beginning of every day’s post I’ll write the basic facts, and below I will expound on my thoughts and discoveries of that day, and anything else I can think of that I want to include.

The sun was already shining when we woke up in the aft cabin. It was time to go. We used the fancy facilities of the Marina one last time and prepared to untie. The process of uniting is not difficult, but this event set a good example for how Jojo and I were to learn, participate, assist, and stay out of the way during our time on Northern Light. On a boat, there is a very clear chain of command, and the Captain of this boat is Rolf Bejalky, and he is a very experienced and capable captain. With the engine on we pulled away from our berth in a single turn, and my astonishment began. Northern Light can turn in a tight arc, much tighter than I expected.

We moved slowly out of the docks, past myriad other sailing vessels, all tied up, and a feeling within me grew, of embarkation, of adventure, and of the unknown. Those shackled vessels a metaphor of the release going on inside me, and the constraints that were dropping from my corporeal form like leaves from the trees greeting fall, on the shore slipping by.

It was a short trip to the fueling station where we docked and tied up again (but temporarily) next to much larger and bulkier (and less elegant) fishing and industrial vessels. The diesel came quickly through the industrial strength hose and pump. Jojo paid and at last we were free! We untied and continued west under motor through the channel from Puerto Montt, and out….

The sun was bounding off small waves in the open bay we entered, but it seemed big to me (and upon our return, small and insignificant). There was no wind to speak of, so we continued to motor. Under this Iron Sail we continued all day in the sun, with clouds sailing past, and lessons, leisure, and laughing accompanying us the whole way. The first lesson was in coiling the lines we had used to tie up. Cheaper nylon lines with loops at one end and steel eye holes at the other. Rolf showed us how to feel the natural bend to the line, so that we could coil it the right way, and to leave enough at the end to loop around and through the coil so that the lines could be stowed on their hooks below deck in the f’o’c’stl (pronounced folk-sill, but short for fore castle [as we were learning all nautical terms have old and sometimes obscure roots]). We stowed the bumpers and lines and sat together in the cockpit.

Pictured here with Jojo at the wheel, the cockpit is the main gathering and sitting space above deck. We enjoyed tea a cake here almost every afternoon (and by tea I mean coffee for Jojo, Deborah, and Rolf, and then Jojo and Rolf again a few more times every day).

We didn’t sail too far that day, and since we we’re sailing the iron sail, we found a spot to anchor between two islands just off shore from a futbol pitch, and across the channel from a fish farm. Fish farms…. this is a relatively new industry in Chile, and has had some fairly dramatic effects, on the local economy, on the availability of fresh fish, and on the navigability of the channels. Fish farms are a big inconvenience for cruising (which is the term describing the kind of sailing we were doing) as well, because the farms operate best when anchored in about 10 meters of water, the same depth that is best for boats to anchor it. More on this later, and if I let Rolf have the keys here, you would be reading a very will argued and worded rant against the whole damn industry.

It was a beautiful anchorage, with a couple of fishing boats anchored nearby, and some truly beautiful birds of prey flying by, fishing, and perching on shore. We ate dinner and watched the sun go down, and prepared ourselves for our first night’s sleep out, in the relative peace of the anchorage we had chosen.

We both fell asleep quickly, to the quiet and tranquil rocking of the boat. Neither of us had experienced any seasickness, and the first day was as enjoyable as I could have hoped.

March 21st, 2006, Puerto Montt, Chile

2006-03-21T10:14:00.000-08:00

Waking un on Northern Light became a ritual quickly. Almost every morning Deborah (sometimes Rolf) would partially remove the foam oval that filled the oval doorway into the pantry that leads to the aft cabin. "Time to get up" she would say in her soft, high voice, and almost invariably I would already be awake, laying there with my thoughts, reflecting, relaxing, and considering the still sleeping form of Jojo next to me. Deborah's calling voice would wake Jojo up or I would give her a little help, and we would lay in bed for a few minutes cuddling, because there was nothing pressing or imminent. Not rush of time or schedule, just relaxation and awakening to breakfast.

Jojo and I would dress to the sounds of Deborah and Rolf on the other side of the foam door as they went about their morning ritual, a slight deviation from the normal with us on board, of checking the weather, the boat, the anchor, disassembling their bed and reassembling it into the dining area, and cooking pooridge for breakfast. Deborah almost always did the breadfast cooking and we ate poridge with them almost every morning. It was oatmeal really, with rasins cooked in so they softened and were warm in your mouth and sweet. Dried milk and soymilk for Jojo and I, with other dry cereals to go on top. I am not the kind of person who eats the same thing every day, but doing so on board was easy. And enjoyable.

After breakfast that first day and a half Deborah and Rolf did all the dishes too (lunch and dinner in fact!) and told us that while we were getting settled they would take care of us. This first mornign on board I had very little poridge and no mild and no additives because I was feeling kinda funky. I felt better that morning, and so did Jojo, so we all got ready and took the bus to Jumbo which is true to it's name and is a gigantic super market much like Fred Meyer's in Portland, or Super K-Mart the world over. As soon as we got there I became quite sick again and spent the time between sitting on stools at various counters in the store and running to the bano. It took quite some time to purchase and pay for all of our supplies, and three hours later we all piled into two taxis and returned to the marina where we wheelbarrowed our goods down to Northern LIght.

At this point Deborah and Rolf decided that it would be best to treat whatever bug/problem Jojo and I had with a remedy I had never heard of but will now swear by - Activated Charcoal in a liquid form. It comes in a squeeze bottle like liquid soap, and you take it by the mouth in spoonfulls. It actually has a kind of pleasant taste, is totally black and makes your mouth look like a black hole. I took three table spoons and Jojo two. This was the beginning of our 60/40 split that would mark the provisioning and doling of resources on the boat. Deborah and Rolf practice this and I will be forever grateful for my "boy's sized" pieces of cake.

The charcoal seemed to work and I began to hold liquids again, and my dehydration ended. Disaster was averted, and our departure was assured. I really don't remember much more of this day becuase I think I was simply so relieved to be feeling better, I am not sure if we ever ate dinner! But I do remember taking a long hot shower, and that first shower, at the end of an illenss is always a transformative experience. We fell asleep that night with the excitement of adventure and the unknown. A crecendo of dreams and wonder silently ringing in my head, what would we see? Where would we sail? What would happen to Jojo and me when faced with that isolation only undisturbed nature can provide? What wonders would occure and how would we be different in the end? All these questions peppered my dreams and in the middle of the night I awoke to the rocking of the boat, and the chirping of the rigging against the masts of all the boats in the harbor. I was a free man, free of the land, and free of myself. Ready to reinvent to whatever situation would arise, or whatever need I could devise. The excitement, I realized, reminded me of one thing; the first day of college. Embarking on a new adventure, a first for my life.

click here to be taken to the next day

March 20th, 2006, Puerto Montt, Chile

2006-03-20T17:30:00.000-08:00

Waking up on a bus is a terrifying experience because you are NEVER in the same place you went to sleep in and that feeling of discontinuity is enormous. However as hardened travelers we had become accustomed to such displacement. When i awoke and saw a sign outside my window that said quite plainly "Welcome to Puerto Montt" I felt a bit harried as a began to rouse Jojo and gather my things. Indeed it was a short while later we pulled up in our last stop on that route, the terminal we had been awaiting for days.

We exited the bus, refreshed ourselves as best we could in the terminal bano and proceeded to inquire how to catch a local bus to Marina Del Sur. Deborah had given me instructions and they turned out to be very accurate and precise. "Catch a bus to the Stadium, across the street from the terminal" we did. We were let off at the stadium and it was only a hundred foot walk to the entrance to Marina Del Sur.

We had finally arrived and both of us felt the excitement and eagerness to begin this most unknown, and to me, anticipated, part of our adventure. The air was cool and clear, heavy with the moisture from the sea and soft fuzzy clouds lingering on land. Smells from the ocean we hadn't enjoyed since Oregon permeated our bodies, and clothes. As we walked down the sloping gravel road into the marina a large raptor glided silently directly over our heads, running the ridge and the warming morning terrestrial air. An omen of good fortune and cerebral awakening. We arrived at the gate house, and passed into the marina.

Northern Light sate abeam to the entry as we walked down towards the marina office. Her red paint gleaming in the morning sun. With each step the excitement and curiosity grew in my chest, filling me with anticipation, with questions, with wonder. What would it be like on the boat? How would I handle sailing? How would it be with Deborah and Rolf, my most distant and possibly least well know family members, but for whom I knew I shared many ideas, thoughts, and dreams. What would we see? Would Jojo be able to handle the confines and the sea? It was all about to be answered and I felt like a kid on his first day of school, all unknowns, and all excitement.

As we creaked and clunked our way down the long ramp attached to the floating docks Northern Light came into greater focus, her web of rigging, her masts and deck by far the most complex and intricate in the marina. She looked wider and more robust in proportion to the boats around her, including the immense and beautiful 100 foot plus yacht across the dock from her berth. We got to the bottom of the ramp and turned right towards N.L. and as we approached Rolf appeared on deck. I didn't feel like yelling out "Hallooo!" from a distance was right for that beautiful morning stillness and peacefulness, so we waited and approached. Rolf stepped over the railing on the boat and onto the dock and turned to face us. We were within greeting distance - and with the patience pulling tight over the bubble of anticipation that had been building ever since I clicked the mouse in Portland to purchase the plane tickets to Bolivia - I said "Hello Rolf."

With those simple words a cascade of events and emotions began. "Oh hello! Yes, great!" Rolf replied back. He was instantly thinking as soon as he saw us. The greeting and planning all at once. We would find out later that it could take us two days to clear the red tape and begin sailing, and Rolf's mind is that of a true sea Captain, and with our arrival, early in the morning, the process could begin. Rolf welcomed us aboard with hugs and thoughts of logistics and planning, process and delight. He welcomed us into his home, his livelihood, his life and his dream. Northern Light is all of that and more to both Deborah and Rolf. It is the escape hatch with which they have created a life of their own design, outside the fervor and insanity of what most people consider civilization. They are nomads and hermits, messengers and prophets. They live a lifestyle different from anyone else in the world, and they have learned more about living through their alternative mode of living than it is possible to learn with your senses continuously assaulted by the life most people live. The life we call civilized.

Deborah appeared in the cupola (the clear dome at the top of the ladder to below decks) her wild curly hair filling the dome, and setting off her face which was smiling in surprise, and mirroring the same excitement and anticipation felt by Jojo and myself. Deborah came out onto the deck and greeted us with enthusiasm bereft of embarrassment that so many people feel about expressing their emotions. Deborah is an amazing and wonderfully loving person. She is unique in her perspective(s) and as many other ways as I could think. She is my mother's sister, and is bursting with excitement and passion. She is six feet tall, strong, and sure of herself, and has followed her dreams as much as anyone could ever hope to.

We were greeted as family, and as friends. A combination that would prove to be true over the next three weeks, and I am sure, for as long as we all live. Deborah and Rolf helped Jojo and I bring our gear below, and into the aft cabin where we would be sleeping. This is usually where Deborah and Rolf sleep but due to the realities of boat life they had decided to sleep in the main cabin where the sea berths go during their sailing, and where the dining table is during the day. This was a logistical choice as they are constantly on watch for the conditions of the boat and the weather, and need to be able to get to the controls and nav. desk quickly. It was also a very hospitable choice, and Jojo and I were very comfortable for the entire time on board, tucked away into the aft cabin, on the most comfortable bed (perhaps aside from our one night of luxury) I've enjoyed in South America. Thank you again to the hosts on Northern Light.

Once we were settled and changed the four of us walked the two miles into Puerto Montt's center to visit the Armada, which is what Chile calls their maritime authority. It is managed, like much of Chile, by the government. I'll leave it up to you to decide why this is, but I think it is a holdover from the past military government of Pinoche. Rolf was expecting to submit our paperwork and then have to wait a day or two until it was approved. To our mutual delight this was not the case and after about 45 miuntes we had our zarpa, which is an official document charting and allowing our passage in specific waters in Chile. Jojo's and my names were added to the crew list and just like that we were free to go.

But before we could depart we had to stock up on our supplies, for the three weeks we were allotting ourselves. We bought some barley flower from a wholesaler, ate lunch, and decided to spend the next day at Jumbo, a mega-super-market in town. We began our walk back to the boat, but decided to stop into in internet cafe for information, and coffee. I felt a pain in my abdomen. I rushed to the bano and began 3 days of sickness of the gastrointestinal type, common to travelers in foreign countries. I will not go into detail on this, but for the next three days I was not myself. I was forced to linger near banos and became fairly dehydrated. It appeared that this portion of our trip was to begin with similar challenges as our bus portion (remember that traffic jam that nearly made us miss our bus way back in La Paz? I still do.) Jojo was feeling the same way, but her symptoms had begun the day before. Perhaps we were contaminated at the same time, and her metabolism is just that much faster, but I think we'll never know.

We made it back to the boat no problem, and relaxed, settled in, and ate dinner. The Marina office building is very well equipped with excellent hot showers, clean facilities, and wireless internet. I can't say I slept all that well that night, because I had to run up the dock and ramp to the bano a couple of times, but at least we were there, and I as as happy and excited as a sick boy can be. And in reality, waking up and walking out on the dock in that still night air all alone gave me a glimpse of the peace and beauty I would be experiencing over the weeks of sailing that were now here.

I think you, my friends and family, will realize over the next three weeks of passages, that the life Deborah and Rolf have made for themselves is different, less comfortable (to the mind of a land dweller), and more challenging. It is also more honest, more real, and more beautiful than any life you can live in the 'civilized world.' Of course nothing I am saying here is new. It's been written and re-written over and over by great thinkers, and far far better writers than I. But this is my experience of a glimpse of a life far more true, and far more beautiful, than most people even dream.

Puerto Montt and a successful rendesvous

2006-03-20T09:00:00.000-08:00

Jojo and i got off the bus in Puerto Montt this morning at 7.15 am, hazy from lack of sleep and a night spent on a bus. The ride was not bad, but we didn't have much time to prepare ourselves to arrive as we both were fast asleep when we arrived in town. But we made it off and gathered our things and our wits and began to figure out where to go next. Deborah (my aunt) had emailed me instructions for finding the marina del sur where Northern Light is anchored.

I followed her directions to catch a bus (Not a collectivo, for they can harbor fleas!) on the street heading west. We found a bus and got on. The winding roads of Puerto Montt mark this as a costal town as surely as the smell of the ocean, a robust fishing industry, and seagulls, but indications of a foreign land are just as prominent. Condors sail overhead and the people are friendly and weatherd. Puerto Montt is a bustling and growing place, and seems to be seeking definition as surely at it is seeking economic prosperity.

The bus driver let us off at the Estadium entrance just down the hill from the marnia entrance. Jojo and I made our way into the marina and stopped at the gate. It was a perceptual moment, and a rubicon of our trip. I put down the heavy duffel, and Jojo the bag of snacks and water we'd brought on the bus. Now adorned in only our backpaks we addressed the gate.

"Hola, estamos aqui por Northern Light."

The gate slid open. We gathered our bags and began to walk down the gravel road into the marnia. Silently and with grace unknown to human bodies a condor rose over the bluff on our left and glided over our heads. The wind was welcoming us to something new, and something unknown. We have traveled here with intention and excitement, and no expectations.

The man working the gate let us through, he was expecting us. We walked slowly and carefully down the ramp to the dock, through a world still silent in the morning, waiting for the moment of meeting to break the glass that seemed to hang around us, hoping, nervous, excited.

As we saw the boat our excitement peaked and as we drew closer Rolf suddenly appeared on deck. I got within a reasonable distanceso so as not to to have to shout, not wanting to distrub that clear morning air, and said hello. Rolf saw us and smiled back, the waiting was over. We'd made it. 3,000 km, one border, a mountain range, a desert, three bus rides and countless hours of anticipation.

Deborah popped up from below upon hearing our voices and we got on board Northern Light. The begining of one adventure, the end of another.

I am so excited to be here, with Deborah and Rolf, and i know Jojo is too. I am sure i'll write you more soon, but for now, just know we're safe, happy, and here.

Best wishes from the beautiful region of Southern Chile and the edge of Patagonia. I wish i could share this with all of you more, but I cannot. The quiet, peace, and nature we are about to experience requires a certain solitude, and I for one will be appreciating that solitude after living in the blur and hubub of city life for so long. Until we speak again.

Eli

March 19th, 2006, Santiago, Chile

2006-03-19T17:28:00.000-08:00

We woke up in our bunks (I am starting to realize that by writing this blog 'journal style' almost every day begins the same way, please let me know if you are getting bored by that as well) and packed up for the bus trip to Puerto Montt that wasn't to depart until late in the afternoon, so we checked out and left our bags with the reception at Casa Roja.

On Sundays in Santiago, the museums are free so we decided to get some more culture by experiencing the Museo Chleno de Arte Precolumbino. The Museo Chleno de Arte Precolumbino is an amazing museum, and is small and located near the pedestrian mall and shopping center we visited earlier.. We walked towards downtown again, hoping to find some breakfast. But nothing was open, except for Subway. And we acquiesced, caving to the pressure of our stomachs. The sub was good, and we ate it on a bench on a plaza across from one of the main administrative buildings in Santiago. Once full and satisfied we found the museum and entered the permanent exhibit hall. It was amazing. Artifacts of all shapes and sizes, materials and construction. Some truly amazing pieces and all of them explained an aspect of the culture from which they came. Some of the most interesting pieces were;

A counting rope, that is a series of strings knotted and tied together to represent the populace of a region. Strings of different color and length are thought to signify different events or people of varying stature or families. When a new child is born a string was tied onto the cord representing the parent at a certain point to show when. The rope overall looks a bit like a grass skirt and I believe that is how it was worn by the person conducting the census.

A ceremonial bowl/plate (pictured below) showing a shaman dressed as a bird with a (presumed) dead animal below. This bowl was thought to be used in preparation of the ceremonial psychedelics commonly used in Peru. This sort of Hawk figure appears all over the world in shamanic traditions.

I also really like this hat.

We left the museum and did a little last minute shopping for our sailing trip. I bought a bathing suite/running shorts and Jojo bought some conditioner because even on a boat, it's nice for us to have soft shiny hair, right? We walked back to Plaza Brazil, stopping for cheesecake and chinese food to take on the overnight bus trip we had ahead of us. The restaurant was grand but the food was lousy. We got back to Casa Roja, grabbed our bags, and of course, our ubiquitous plastic bag of food as well, and set off on the underground for our bus.

By this time we were used to busses and bus terminals, but the lady who scornfully sold us our tickets deigned not to tell us our bus departed from the terminal across the street, so we had to do some hot footing with all our gear to make it, which we did, but we were again a bit out of breath when we got there (which reminds me is a trend on this trip, starting waaaaay back in Miami airport where we had to walk well over a mile to get to our plane to La Paz... mmmm). But aboard we were, in the last row (the same ticket lady had deceived us on this topic as well, but we had more room to spread so it was ok) and ready for a bad night's sleep.

General Sailing Terms

2006-03-19T15:15:00.000-08:00

General Sailing Terms:

Tack: to turn the boat and catch the wind from the opposite side of the boat, turning the bow through the eye of the wind (the wind direction). When the wind is in front of you, blowing against the direction you want to go.
Jibe: to turn the boat and catch the wind from the opposite side of the boat, turning the stern through the eye of the wind. When the wind is behind you, blowing the direction you want to go.
Bow: the front of the boat
Stern: the rear of the boat
Port: the left side of the boat.
Starboard: the right side of the boat.
Main mast: the mast that hoists the main sail and the genoa or jib, and has the boom for the main sail and is the middle of the boat. The boom is also attached to this mast, and the main sail is attached to the boom
Boom: A horizontal beam that attaches to the bottom of the main sail. It is used to tighten the bottom or foot of the sail.

Puerto Montt on the horizon

2006-03-19T12:16:00.000-08:00

We´re in Santiago, and i'm sitting in a retrofitted spanish mansion in Barrio Brasil that is now an excellent hostel, albeit one for backpackers and partiers and most of the people speak some form of english. It's under construction a bit (but nothing like the internet cafe I slept in in Amsterdam, Tarek, George... you _might_ remember that). It's quite an amazing place actually with 16 foot ceilings and all the original trim and detiling. the doors are all tall double doors with windows at the top and every door and window has shutters over the glass. There are two inner courtyards and they are filled with white plastic porch furniture and recovering tourists. It's quite a contrast, but beautiful none the less.

Jojo and I leave in about an hour for Puerto Montt on an overnight bus. It was all we could find to fit our schedule and budget. Pretty cheap actually, considering. We should wake up in Puerto Montt sometime tomorrow morning early and so will begin our adventure with Deborah and Rolf. My plan is to get off the bus and onto another local bus to the marina right away. If all goes well we might be sailing by the 21st and then... who knows what?

I'm so excited to begin this sailing adventure that this last bus ride seems like it will be even longer than the previous 26 hour ride despite it being half that length.

Oh well, anticipation is always one of the strongest and most confuddling emotions. It warps time and importance and quickens the pulse. Our health is fine and our emotions high. Santiago has been an excellent experience overall and we have slept well, ate well, and expolore much of Santiago on foot. Last night we walked a couple of miles across town to meet some people we had met the night before. We didn{t meet them, and after waiting 45 min we decided we might be in the wrong spot, so we crossed a big busy street full of high speed busses and to our suprise found some capoeira!!!! It was a group called Sur de Bahia or something and they were quite good and very friendly. I was about to jump in after watching for about 20 minutes and making sure it was "my kind" of capoeira when the roda ended and they commenced with samba de roda, more of a dance, and the leader, a Professor de Capoeira, was hilarous and awesome to watch dance.

Well, i've got to get going and catch a bus, so it's goodbye for now. We might get a chance to write one last time but there's no guarentees in South America. Only Best Wishes!

Eli

March 18th, 2006, Santiago, Chile

2006-03-18T17:27:00.000-08:00

Waking up in the comfort of a soft warm bed, with sunlight slanting in, gently lighting a space of volume and grace can cure even the most egregious ails. And as we awoke in such a state my smile and general feeling of well being was broad. We took our time that morning, and used the facilities included in our hotel bill to their fullest. Free breakfast, coffee, some sun on the roof deck and another hot shower for good measure. We packed our bags and checked out reluctantly. We did stick around however for a bit more, enjoying the comfort we'd purchased. One we were good and ready we walked down those stairs and out the door, down the block to the more budget friendly hostel we'd made reservations in the day before, Hostel San Patricio. We walked in and were delighted by the more hokey and surely less expensive atmosphere. It was around 2 p.m. and the entrance was warm, but a welcome refuge from the heat outside.

The matron came from the hall and told us "No room."
"But we have reservations" we protested.
"You must check in by noon" she told us with no small amount of disdain.
"You didn't tell us that yesterday" we replied, but to no avail. I told them "Gracias por Nada." and we left. I swore then and there to make sure that I tell the world of our mistreatment at Hostel San Patricio, and would not recommend it to anyone.

What to do next we wondered... go back to the lap of luxury? No, our wallets were not feeling that fat, and we had already been refreshed so the desire wasn't as strong. We proceeded to the internet cafe we had visited yesterday and called La Casa Roja, a backpacker's hostel according to the book, and only a block and half away. They did have room and were friendly on the phone. We hot-footed it there and check in with ease. They only had beds in a dorm style room as they call it. La Casa Roja is a party style hostel in an old colonial style mansion with the same high ceilings, but less modern refinery. It is beautiful though in it's one unique way, and it has a very lively atmosphere. We got our gear stowed and decided to head out and take in the culture of Santiago by eating lunch on Plaza Brazil.

After lunch we walked down Avenida Brazil to Avenida O'Higgins to a subway stop nearby. On the way I checked the map and noticed an interesting looking intersection nearby that we decided to check out on the way back. We took the subway to the University stop, which is also the bus terminal for south heading busses. There we bought tickets for the next day, for an overnight bus to Puerto Montt, that would get us there early on the 20th to meet Deborah and Rolf, my aunt and uncle, at Marina Del Sur to join them on their yacht Northern Light. Our destination and journey were beginning to feel like they might end, and on time too boot!

We took the subway back and walked towards the intersection I had noticed earlier. The street changed to cobblestone and the buildings began to change from a more modern flavor to colonial, and as we approached the intersection, to antique colonial with beautiful masonry and a human scale that has been abandoned by the needs and desires of modern building. The intersection was pedestrian only and had a fountain in the center, but it was small as well, perhaps 50 feet from building to building. There were benches and trees casting shade and comfort over the entire space. i was entranced and lingered as long as I could, my hands touching the stones that had been shaped and placed so purposefully and beautifully.

One of the buildings had been abandoned and appeared to be under some sort of renovation. A giant painting hung from the sill of a window on the outside, and a man was standing across the narrow street watching or waiting for something. I struck up a fragmented conversation with him and it turned out the building was being converted into a gallery for an opening one week later. We would be gone, but hopefully, back to see the finished product.

We continued to our hostel, took a nap and woke up in time to go meet our new friends. We decided to walk to Plaza Italia because we didn't know how far it was. It was FAR. All the way at the center of Santiago, Plaza Italia is a big and busy rotary, with an incredible amount of bus traffic, and is full of noises, smells, and people everywhere. It turns out Plaza Italia is a central meeting point for Chileans, and waited outside of TelePizza. I was hungry and bought one of the worst pizzas I've ever had.

We waited, and waited, and after 45 minutes had elapsed past our meeting point we decided to cross the big avenue and see if our friends weren't on the other side. As we crossed we found to our surprise and delight a Capoeira Roda (which is a game of capoeira played inside a circle of capoeiristas with music and song- if you want more information check out www.capoeiraregional.com) in progress! It is a testament to the noise and business of Plaza Italia that we didn't notice it earlier. The group turned out to be Sur De Bahia and they were very good. I was about to jump in after watching for a good 20 minutes to get a feel for how they play and how aggressive they were. However, at that same moment they switched to Samba de Roda (which is where everyone dances samba instead of playing capoeira). Oh well, but no big deal, I wasn't dressed for it anyway. We waited around for a minute and talked to some of the capoeiristas after and hoped to go to a class on our way back through Santiago after sailing.

After our friends didn't show Jojo realized she didn't have their phone numbers with her, so we took the metro back to Plaza Brazil. Santiago has a very nice metro subway system that is very easy to use and quite friendly and clean. Coincidentally a futbol match had just ended and the subway was packed with happy revelers celebrating a victory of the local team. The subway as resonating with chants and songs and everyone was radiant. The ebullient atmosphere was contagious and Jojo and I both joined in with big smiles of our own.

Once back in Plaza Brazil we found the phone numbers, but they didn't work as we found out later Diego's phone had died. Too bad for us, but we made the best of it and walked around Plaza Brazil, had a drink, and some desert and went to bed at a more reasonable hour than the night before.

March 17th, 2006, Santiago, Chile

2006-03-17T17:26:00.000-08:00

We arrived in Santiago in the afternoon, the weather was spectacular and the sun glinted off the buildings, big and small, new and old. Santiago is certainly the biggest city i've seen in South America, and by far the most European feeling. The city is beautiful, with broad avenues, plazas galore, and excellent colonial architecture everywhere. It is also more expensive, busier, and more polluted. Smog hangs in the air obscuring the famous and daunting Andes that lie just to the East.

We caught a taxi (for waaaaay too much, they totally ripped us off) to Barrio Brazil, and Plaza Brazil specifically. Again, we are guided by our book, and I want to take this moment to give a very special and very sincere thank you to my Mom for giving me that book. It has been such an amazing aid, and has enriched our experience, the value of that being totally uncalculateable.

Barrio Brazil is the East Village of Santiago. It is cool, hip, young, and has many hostels, restaurants, bars, and cafes. We had out taxi drop us off outside of an internet cafe on the plaza and we interfaced with the internet. Made our calls and decided to head to a hostel recommended in the book. It was not easy to walk comfortably with that large duffel bag that but I managed. I have no idea how far I walked with that bag (and my backpack of course) but it was as little as possible. By the time we made our two block trek to the hostel we were looking for I was sore and sweaty.

We had the address from the book, but found an entrance to a hostel with a different name and number. As we found this one first we decided to take a look. The ornate wooden doors opened to a colonial building and a wide and tall staircase. By the looks of this alone I knew it was not the 'value' hostel we had been seeking, but we thought what the heck, let's give it a try. So up the stairs I tramped growing sweatier, this new sweat now mixing with the toil and grime of the road (a 26 hour road film is substantial even if not visible). Upstairs it was cool though, with tall ceilings, fans dangling from above. The interior and decor spoke of high fashion done on a budget. Funky furniture made of mixed materials, bamboo, dark old woods, strangely curving members, and unusual brass fixtures. The couches were really pillows, over stuffed and set on a simple frame, but of materials and textures inspiring visions of the silk route and indian bazars. I knew right away we were out of our price range.

We spoke with the receptionist who was both friendly and a bit distant at the same time, a trait I'll have to study more before I can mimic it believably. They had a room, number 7 to be precise. They had a modern kitchen with everything and free coffee (I think Jojo fell in love right then and there), a giant tv room with a big flat screen, a dvd collection, and satellite cable. They had a reading room with a roof deck adjacent and a collection of books for trade. They had it all, and to top it all off, room number 7 had it's own bathroom and a nice, clean shower.

We backed out of there. Slowly, cautiously, and with pangs of regret and fantasies about our budget's buffer size we walked back down the stairs with that bag... and out into the heat and sun. Down the block about 100 feet was the hostel of our original intent, Hostel San Patricio. We entered through a throng of workers lazing in the shade at it's doorstep. The entrance of this hostel was more familiar. Filled with noise and old worn furniture, bizarre paintings and pictures, a cluttered desk and waiting room with a man slumbering in the corner. The matron greeted us with news that squirmed through my mind and pockets with ease and a certain amount of justification; "we're full." We made reservations for the next night, and exited back into the street from whence we had just re-returned.

It was easy to convince each other that one night of luxury after 26 hours of bus (well, 36 with a quick sleep between) was worth the hit to our bank accounts. We slipped back into the Happy Hostel and I lugged that bag back up those steps one last time. The lady at the desk had a knowing smile on her face and led us to our destiny, Room Number 7. We collapsed onto the bed, muscles unwinding, and relaxation evident in easy smiles and laughs. We'd made it Santiago and this was the life.

Our room had a short balcony with double doors and shutters, and when open, our room was filled with light, all the way up to the high ceilings. We showered and changed, and the light, the clean bathroom, and the room all to ourselves was like a renewal to our traveling spirits. After a quick nap we decided to head out. The Book listed some vegetarian restaurants, so we chose one in the center of the city and began walking east.

Santiago has some excellent architecture, both colonial and contemporary. Walking through the city like this, fresh from our nap, and fresh from the excitement of traveling and adventure was marvelous for me, and for Jojo as well I believe. The sun was setting behind us and casting it's orange hues on the tips of the tall downtown, and nearby apartment, buildings. As the sun set, and the sky darkened we wound our way in towards the city center. Unfortunately for our stomachs the place we had chosen was closed, so we asked the advice of a street vendor for a different vegetarian restaurant. She directed us further in towards the center, and through the main pedestrian and commercial mall of the city.

We found as we walked further in a city full of life and commerce. Vendors everywhere, stores open late, music, evangelizing, art, all the things you might and might not expect in a city anywhere in the world. We found our restaurant and sat down to an excellent meal, but again we were surprised and a bit off put by the relatively expensive cost of everything in Chile. To put it clearly, Chile costs about the same as the US. Some things are a bit cheaper but overall it is very comparable to Portland, or in some parts New York, Paris, London... you get the idea. Colonialism is very effective, and insipid. We could have been in Barcelona as easily as Santiago.

After dinner we walked through the mall, browsed some shops, and ate some ice cream. It was an excellent evening, and Jojo and I were living it up. We decided to go for a drink, and began walking back to Plaza Brazil. By the time we got there the night life had begun (Which means 10 p.m. at the earliest) and all of the cafes and bars were spilling out onto the sidewalks with tables full of merrymakers and diners. We chose one at random and ordered an inexpensive bottle of Chilean wine, and drank it slowly at a table on the sidewalk of Avenida Brazil.

After our wine and conversation (and some fending off of walking vendors, which are everywhere) we began to walk in the direction of our hostel and warm fluffy bed. As we were walking Jojo offered to give me a piggy-back ride, mostly as a test and display of her incredible leg strength. She managed to port me 30 feet, and as I dismounted we noticed some Chileans just behind us and walking in the same direction imitating our tomfoolery. They were laughing easily as were we, and we enjoyed that connection of a universal language as we crossed the street (all afoot).

We had seen on our setting out for dinner a bar a block or so from our hostel called Bar Estudiante, and it was still on our way back so we were considering checking it out for a beer before bed. The Chileans with whom we had already shared a laugh ended up entering the bar right in front of us, and as we entered and stood a bit self-consciously in the entrance we were welcomed to the table of our new friends.

Diego, Daniel, Jojo, and Eduardo were all excellent Chileans and lived in Santiago. We drank Cristal (the beer, not the champaign) and shared the usual fine things that people from different countries share when they meet. We talked about ourselves and our travels, and they told us about themselves and before we knew it we were toasting each other's health and inviting each other to our future weddings and homes. We finished our second round of big beers and Diego decided it was time to leave the bar (despite Jojo having put songs into the juke box that hadn't played yet) and head to Plaza Brazil for another round. We sat down by some bushes and drank shared another beer, but there was more fun to be had in the plaza. There are playground structures there built of concrete, slides, castles, and a dragon, all like something out of Parque Guiel by Antonio Guadi (which is in Barcelona, hmmmm... yet another connection)

We slid and played, and had fun, just like that. It was an amazing night, and a great introduction to Santiago. We made plans to meet again the next night and said our goodbyes, and made our way back to our heavenly hostel.

Santiago like you´ve never gone before

2006-03-17T14:05:00.000-08:00

Jojo and I have made it Santiago, one of the richest cities in South America. It shows. It feels like Europe, with all the old school beauty, all the old school traditions, and all the old. Architecture shows it´s age here like an ancient book, cover smooth from handling, pages yellowing and heavy with the scents of time passing by. Some buildings are so old they are falling down, but like any serious metroplis, they are being propped back up. But Europe is not all glitz and modernity, it´s also dirty and corrupt in parts. There is poverty and inequity, and by now it´s tradition.

Jojo and I took a 26 hour bus ride on the Santiago Express route from Arica. We left on the 16th at 1:30 pm and arrived at around 3:30 pm on the 17th. Arica is an 8 hour drive from La Paz, but it took us 13 hours due to more crazy stops and delays than I know how to write. The ride down from La Paz is breathtaking, and anyone (especially my Father) would be entranced by the valleys and a longing to return would take seed in any fertile imagination. Snow capped peaks skyscrape over rippling fields and lakes. My legs dreamed of stretching to beanstalk proportions and my feet of arcing through kilometers of brush as i stride through the clouds and peaks. I will return for the longing planted by my sunset views out the windows of our semi-cama bus have already begun growing.

Thankfully it is on my way back, and as this story wends through time and place so does my mind and my heart. A mountain pass, a high border check, passports out, passports in, we cross into Chile without fanfare and without expectations, only anticipation of the unknown yet to come. It was after midnight when we arrived in Arica, and it was to be just under 13 hours we were to stay. We could have stayed longer, and indded we may, upon our return, for there is beach that stretches for miles and miles in Arica, and hippies that live and share there (or so we´ve been told). But Arica was just a bed, and a TV in a hotel room for 9 hours. We watched American´s speaking English and fell asleep in a cama built for two. No semi cama for us, not the first night on the road.

We awoke after a full night´s rest and walked across the street to the bus station. We took the hotel closest and safest our guidebook offered, because Santiago beckoned, and we had no desire but to be on with our way. We heeded this call and found an express bus leaving in one hour. Just enough time to get some food in our bellies and some for the road. We booked seats together, far enough from the baño and close enough to the TV for comfort in all directions, but comfort does not come easy when seated for 26 hours. In fact, my rear is telling me to keep it short right now, so I will not digress.

The ride was wobbly and mostly smooth, at first through light sandy desert, then into rockier desert and as the foliage thickened and the cactuss sprouted, the sun dropped and the stars came out, the moon rose to our left, out the window Jojo accompanied. We ate the meals they brought, and got off periodically for the bathroom stops provided. We bought snacks and turned down offerings of others... a rythm of waiting pulsed in our collective bodies and internal clocks. How long could it take... how many hours had passed, had the sun set once or twice... how does waiting change the passage of time, or has it stopped completely.

I watched as the passengers dozed off one by one. My length too long again, I sagged, flipped, and stretched into the asile, feet hanging akimbo. I stared out the window at unnoticed stretches of road passed by. I pondered architecture and dreamed of places yet to be, and yet to be discovered. Finally i fell asleep, deep and complete, unaware of my discomfort or the presence of 40 or so other people dreaming all around.

__________________________________________________

I awoke suddenly to Men In Black 2 on the TV and Jojo awake next to me. I had no idea how long i´d slept or if indded I really had, but my watch told me to stop being silly and accept the (suprising) well reseted feeling in my brain, but my body spoke of no such relief. Waking did come gradually and the morning passed. The candelabra cactus bloomed on the side of the road and the sea came in and out of view as we made our way south. The sun roudned the sides of the bus like the hills weathered to the bare needs of nature we passed over, under, and around.

Our bus mates were friendly and varied and we all made due with each other and our conversation skills (or lack thereof). The food came again for lunch and by the time it was done the spreading breath of a foul beast called modern development reached the landscape around us. Santiago pounced on us like a elephant on a mollusk, and with all the inevitability you can imagine we arrived.

The scramble for luggage from the bus was hilarious and necessary. Pick pockets and petty theivs are a byproduct of wealth and tourism, and we were not caught unaware. Jojo and I located ourselves on our map and chose Barrio Brazil (the East Village of Santiago (there´s even what appears to be a Canal Street on our southern edge!)) and headed off to the Plaza Brasil to use the internet to contact friends here. The plaza is also in close proximity to some hostels in my book. We contacted the great wide interweb and headed off to find housing. The first place we found was actually down the street from the hostel we intended to check. Ít was a VERy nice place with matching prices, but it was our ultimate destination as the cheaper alternative down the street was full. It is a very nice place and we will get our 27,000 pesos out of it if it kills us.

A private room and bath with a nice big soft bed. Our travel sores and woes will be soothed by this peaceful retreat, and by then we will be ready for the final leg in our trek to Puerto Montt. Deborah and Rolf are expecting us and we will meet them as planned. Until then, we explore Santiago! Any recommendations or suggestions are welcome (Mike!) and I wish the best to you all, and may love fill your hearts and minds. Until we meet again, Best,

Eli

March 16th 2006, Arica, Chile

2006-03-16T11:23:00.000-08:00

We woke up, showered and checked out of our hotel. We crossed the street to the terminal with disbelief... the cars here actually stopped for pedestrians!!! What a shock coming from La Paz where if you're not out of the way, you are fair game. The shocks didn't stop there though, once we got into the terminal we found to our displeasure that the exchange rate of two years prior, when my guide book, and it is the most recent edition, was published, was way off. The book listed 640 Pesos to 1 Dollar, but in 2006 it is 515 Pesos to the Dollar. Quite a difference and I leave it up to you, Travis, to calculate the percentage.

So we bought our tickets to Santiago on an express Pullman Bus that was to leave in an hour and half. Plenty of time to stock up for the 26 hour ride. Yes. 26 hours. So we did what we could to procure supplies for such an adventure, and boarded our Semi-Cama for the long ride south. The desert terrain was interesting enough, and then the videos came on.. oh my. A sweet two hour special of Marco, the Mexican musician. they just kept on bringing him these awards, every time he tried to exit stage right, they brought out another award for him, so he did another encore. It was awesome.

How much can you say about a bus ride? It was long. Not bad. Slept pretty well.... but oh, the one thing I forgot to mention. Pullman Bus food: carefully tailored to your eating pleasure, only the best, white white bread bun with a single slice of cheese. Some peanuts, and some cookies. All specially crafted to stop you up for the length of the bus ride, and however long it takes you afterwards. Truly a culinary delight unsurpassed in the world of bus food.

Travels to Chile, Part 1, March 15th 2006, La Paz, Bolivia

2006-03-15T10:31:00.000-08:00

We bought our tickets to Arica Chile, which is basically directly west of Bolivia, and indeed was once part of Bolivia, the day before, and were taking the absolute latest bus we could from La Paz. Our departure was to be at 1:00 p.m., from the main terminal. It is not far from Jojo's house, but not walking distance. We packed the night before and I brought everything I had at my hostel to Jojo's house to facilitate this, and to facilitate a quick and easy checkout the morning we were to depart.

I awoke to my watch's alarm, dressed, said my goodbyes and my will returns to the friendly people at my hostel (Hostel La Paz City to be specific, if anyone needs a recommendation) and walked with the excitement of a beginning and new horizons in my footsteps. It was, as usual, a beautiful day in La Paz.

I arrived at Jojo's with enough time to do one last internet connection, gather our things, and get a cab to the terminal. Jojo was in a similar state of preparedness but for some last minute emailing as well. I began to get a little nervous as my planned departure time passed and Jojo hadn't returned. She did get back soon after and we were only 15 minutes into my buffer zone. Did I ever tell you I like to plan? Perhaps I am even a bit compulsive about this sort of operation (mmm... word choice is coloring in my character nicely) and like to know where, when, and how, so this 15 minutes wasn't a big deal, but it got me started a bit nervously.

We gathered our bags, A backpack each, and one large duffel that had our foul weather gear, and most of my clothes. We also had some provisions in a plastic bag, to accompany our stomachs on the bus to Arica, which would be, we were told, an 8 hour trip. This plastic bag would accompany us for the entirety of our trip, reincarnated in different colors, designs, and qualities.

Jojo hailed a taxi on the corner and said he was an honest guy, something not rare, but not necessarily common. The fare was 10 Bolivianos to the terminal. But, he said, there is a demonstration today so we have to go around. And go around we did. Farther around the city than I had ever been. Into neighborhoods I had never seen, across a bridge I had only glimpsed from another bus before. Around we went. He was brave. He moved with the confidence and a sureness borne only from years of experience. He knew the limits other drivers could take in risking their cars. He understood the implications of positioning and posture. He was my favorite driver ever. We were moving when the city was at a standstill... and time was ticking, but it looked good... we would make it.

And the traffic slowed, and slowed, and stopped. We were closer, but still too far to walk. Traffic stopped in narrow lanes and streets lined with colonial buildings, mostly in disrepair. Beautiful antique buildings that looked their age but beautiful to me none the less. But my appreciation was being overtaken by my anxiety. it was 12:45, we were supposed to be there by 12:30.... no matter, nothing leaves on time in Latin America (or so Jojo told me). It was 12:55, I began to get agitated, the bus would leave without us (No Eli, they probably can't leave either, due to the traffic). Ok. ok. It was 1:10. They're gone I complained bitterly, we may as well just turn around.

What! Oh nay! So pessimistic, and I couldn't help it! This, my dream trip, to go sailing with my aunt and uncle in waters described as breathtaking and rugged. The peaks of Patagonia, tempting my on my imaginary horizon were slipping away... sliding into the smoke coming from a bus in front of us. It was not until later that I realized I am allergic to traffic! It makes me break out in hate and animosity. Boils of pessimism and a rash of negativity. I needed relief! I needed something, please, I was dying, chocking on fumes, suffocating on delay.

We moved, we were moving, the roads began to clear, it was 1:25, I began to recognize landmarks, we were near. Terminal HO! 1:30 and we were there, Jojo sprinted to the terminal as I got our bags out and our money ready, a tip (unheard of for taxi's i've heard) in my hand ready to be transfered should Jojo return triumphant... I waited as the seconds stretched my nerves... would we make it, would we embark..

Jojo's compact form came bouncing out of the terminal doors at a dead sprint, concentration drawn on her face. They were still here! Still here but leaving RIGHT NOW! We grabbed our bags and ran. I followed her bobbing auburn hair to a bus backing out of it's berth, and we jumped in, bags akimbo, breathing hard, but on board. Whew. An auspicious beginning, but a beginning none the less. We were bound for Chile, and a traveling we did go.

---------------------

The bus was what is known as "Semi-Cama" or semi sleeper. Biggish comfy seats that recline waaaaay back (now remember, so do the seats in front of you) and a bizarre leg rest that flips down. This was my first real experience with South American Bus Travel which I soon learned is the main mode of transport, and is used by all for every type and distance trip available. It was a pretty pleasant ride, the high planes of Bolivia with mountains topped in snow poking up along the horizon, and broad green plains between. Settlements pepper the landscape with old and new buildings, but mostly adobe. Every settlement has walls that seem neither to keep anything in or out, but mainly to mark space. Some are made from rocks that are strewn about the landscaper liberally, cleared from one spot and piled into barriers. Most are made from adobe though, and are attached to dwellings, occupied and abandoned.

From La Paz and El Alto (the city above La Paz, but connected to it) the landscape rises uniformly to the pass, and border with Chile. Route 11 connects La Paz and Arica, and it is a singularly beautiful road. The border check, and Pass, are adjacent to Parque Nactional Lauca, which contains (indeed, right next to the road) the highest navigable lake in the world(whatever navigable means in a lake). Unbelievable peaks rise out of the plains in solitude, round, and cone shaped, with smoothed tops, all covered in thick and fissured snow. Each peak beckoned me with a desire to jump for the bus and hike to it's peak. Long empty valleys with roaming alpaca, and spots of clear blue water stretch between each peak, and the Windigo grasped at my hairs threatening to pick me from my seat and run, with lengthening footsteps through the high planes, until I was gone, merged with that perfectly clear and pure air, whistling forever through those lonely peaks.

But it was not to be, and can only remain as a hope, or a plan to be completed in some unknown, and distant future. The bus kept on bussing, and the sun set on those mountains, casting them in orange red and purple. As we left the border and those peaks the bus began to descend into stark, empty, desert. We were passing through the desert that is northern Chile, which houses the Atacama Desert, the most arid desert on earth. Down down down we went, switching back and down, around great mounded desert hills, with deep dark valleys.

Night was deep and dark, the stars clear and sharp in the desert air. We stopped for a brief bite at a Chilean truck-stop. Jojo and snuck on a couple of beers, and drank in the new scenery and flavor on Cristal, the main beer of Chile. Every seat was full, but we stopped at what I know believe was Putre, a small, old, desert mountain town (with stone faced terraced farmland, that I hope to visit in the future as well) and picked up more passengers! It turns out the bus was to continue to Iquique, a few hours farther south that Arica, and those of us who would be departing in Arica, would be giving our seats to all the people now standing in the aisle. Now standing right next to me. Two large men, impudently encroaching on my American sense of personal space and comfort. It was 8.5 hours into what was supposed to be an 8 hour trip, and I was already uncomfortable. Jojo, sitting in the window seat was undisturbed, but I began to grow hot, fidgety, and down right unpleased. For some reason I thought buying a ticket with a seat number clearly included meant I would have the comfort afforded to me by that seat, and not have to share a portion of my head space with the belly of some unknown, and unapologetic person.

But that's just the wrong attitude, and I overcame my discomfort and eventually struck up enough of a dialogue with the belly next to me to get it to open the hatch above and get some much needed ventilation into the compartment. It worked, I cooled off, and before I knew it, we had arrived in Arica.

It was late. 11:30 p.m. to be specific and Jojo and I did the smartest thing we could think of and go across the street from the terminal to the hostel recommended to me in my guide book Lonely Planet: South America. Which is an excellent book and has been invaluable on this trip. We checked in, got in bed, and watched some American TV before we switched off, and ended the first day of what would certainly be an excellent adventure. Goodnight Bill. Goodnight Ted.

Almost time for Chile

2006-03-13T12:14:00.000-08:00

I know it's a bit odd to be writing about Chile on a blog titled Bolivia Bound, but them's the breaks. Jojo and I head west to Chile (Arica, first, it's the destination most busses take towards Chile) and then south.... waaaaay south. All the way to Puerto Montt. Check out this picture from Google Earth to get an idea of where and how far we'll be traveling to meet them. It's approximately 3,144 km. We're leaving on wednesday, the 15th I think, and we should arrive in Puerto Montt on the 19th, so we can wake up and meet Deborah and Rolf on the pier.

This is a very exciting moment for me, and the fulfillment of a dream i've had for a long long time. To sail with my aunt and uncle, to adventure in such a pure fashion. I'll be offline for a while once we get on the boat, but until then, i'll try to keep you posted.

Best,

Eli

Hello readers! Some important info for you!

2006-03-01T09:15:00.000-08:00

Well, I've just added four big posts below, and I want to guide you a bit before you read them. They are necessarily posted most recent at the top, which means if you read straight down you'll read about our return before you read about our embarcation to Carnival! So here's my suggestion... follow these links and read this one first, this one second, this one third, and this one last.

Also, I've added a link on the right bar, just below Jojo's blog link that is my online photo album. It's pretty self explanitory, and I'll still add photos where important here, but for now, photos live on Flickr.

Salud!

Eli

Monday, Feb. 27th, The Return

2006-02-27T11:00:00.000-08:00

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!

Sunday, Feb. 26th Carnival Continues

2006-02-26T10:56:00.000-08:00

We awoke as I expected a few times during the night to people stumbling in drunk and sober. Some to sleep, some to deposit a too-drunk friend. It was not a problem though, and our extreme tiredness and comfortable bed allowed us to sleep mostly through the night. In the morning we awoke and dressed, not quite for the same degree of protection and dirtiness, but definitely ponchos included. I sat and read in the peaceful courtyard for awhile, sitting in the intense sunshine. It was a beautiful Jamie told us of a street where some of the costumes would be sold, so we grabbed our books, and trekked off.

We found the street mentioned above accidentally and enjoyed an impromptu concert from one of the finished marching bands. We wandered the streets of Oruro, kindly much more flat than the eternal up and down of La Paz. We stumbled across a small plaza with some fruit stands, and purchased some snacks for the road. We wandered in towards the main square and to our shock found the exact same scene from the day before. LIke Saturday never happened. Packed, crazy, music and dancing. We diverted and found a small restaurant called the Gnome (with a picture of a gnome in a cauldron) and ate some breakfast food, basically a thin pancake wrapped around scrambled eggs with stuff mixed in. We decided not to head back to the square, and instead walked back to the small plaza and sat a read.

it was beautiful there. The sun was strong and a man was watering the grass with a perpetual smile on his face. Kids ran and played and sprayed each other with water, and people stared at the gringos as they meandered past. We read together and talked between passages. After a while we headed back to the hotel. We ran in to Javier (Juan-Ma's brother) and his friends there, and they insisted we come with them to the parade route. There was no denying him and we all crammed into a cab and drove to another part of the parade route. We purchased a case of beer and climbed a precarious ladder into the stands. It was mayhem like before, and after a few moments we got into the mood of carnival and began the toasting, tossing, and dancing.

I was wearing my poncho and for good reason, globos were being thrown with abandon and the sun was beginning to go down. A group of girls across the way found us a good target but their aim was off, and ours was true. The pace of the parade groups began to slacken and after much deliberation and the sun decidedly setting we went down into the parade route. Javier is the leader of our capoeira group here and we toyed with the idea of playing capoeira in the street, and after much confusion, and some walking down the route a ways we did indeed begin to play.

Our commotion attracted others and before we knew it there were people coming in and out of the knot of people we had created. Most weren't capoeiristas, rather break dancers, but it didn't matter. The revelry was the point. Music wafted and crashed, the parade surged and stalled. We grew tired and it was time to find our friends. Like a human chain Javier, his chica, Jojo and I wove our way through the parade, dancing between dancers and swerving between musicians. People in the stands whooped and hollered. We wove and dove, snuck and got stuck. After no one knows how far we found the same square we had visited before, where it was rumored, Juan-Ma and Maren and potentially others were carnivaling.

After a very tight and mostly uncomfortable search Jojo and I decided to split. Her claustrophobia and my weariness of the stench and more appalling sights of carnival proved to be the deciding factors and we faced the double bottleneck one last time to escape from the square. This was possibly the toughest of the escapes and the press of bodies was alarming and scary at times. I tried to enforce a perimeter around Jojo with my arms but it was impossible. Eventually she snuck through a hole between the stands and the cage and escaped, and i followed through the cage after her. Now, we weren't necessarily ready for bed, and I was hungry again.

We found a woman (a cholla, the word for a native woman, but not necessarily polite or accepted for everyone to use, so I use Senora) selling the most delicious smelling empenadas, or fritters, or something. A mix of batter, potato and other ingredients I could not identify. I only had a 100 Bs bill (which is $12.50, quite a hefty sum in Bolivia, enough for a day easily, unless you are purchasing objects of value or going out) so we decided to find a bar to have a last drink in relatively quite and peace (imagine going into a bar for peace and quiet!!!). The first bar we found was it, and we knew it. A Karaoke bar!

Jojo and I settled into a booth facing the dance floor and were brought drink menus. After unsuccessfully ordering two times i settled on a vodka and juice. they didn't seem to have everything on the menu which is forgivable as getting supplies up the street leading to carnival must have been difficult for days. Someone was singing but we couldn't locate them on the stage/dance floor.... they were in their seat! And then someone at the bar sang! What was this place I wondered... oh well, our song selection was in and we came up quick. It was a total eclipse of the karaoke bar. We took the stage. We swung and danced, we cavorted and missed lines on the bizarre radio rendition, and received a round of applause. It was tough leaving after that number, but I had my change and fritters were calling.

The fritters were indeed the most delicious thing I could imagine. They were warm and fresh. Filling and light. Utterly amazing and at .125 cents apiece, you can't really beat it. Why do I keep giving you all the prices.... it's a cultural potentiality. I can come here and live, eat, adventure, and enjoy myself at a cost that is manageable and sustainable on my savings for a long long time. The cost of living is low here, because of many factors, and one is quality of life. Poverty is abject here. It is mirrored in the industriousness of the people and the nation of Bolivia. The waste and excess of carnival is an engorgement of the people. A gesture of rebellion at the harshness and difficulty of life in general. You should see the things the people of this area can do with a potato! This is the land where the potato was first cultivated, and i have heard through reliable sources that some people survive on potatoes and coca leaf alone.

Jojo and I walked back to our hotel and once again fell asleep peacefully and satisfied with our carnival experience, and me, very satisfied with a full belly of delicious potato fritter.

Saturday, Feb. 25th, Carnival begins... slowly.

2006-02-25T10:48:00.000-08:00

I awoke at dawn. I was the first one up. I was as dry as a sitcom in England and there was nary a drop of water I could drink to be found. Ah, i snuck out of bed and let a sleeping Jojo lie (something I think you are all aware was a good move by now). I slipped on my hiking boots, which were the only shoes i brought due to their durability and waterproofness, and ventured out into the courtyard.

Glory in the sun that sloped in softly illuminating the very air, clear in this high desert town. Wind rustled the leaves of the tree growing out of the central planter that occupied the central third of the ground, the rest paved in stone and concrete. A large concrete sink, propped permanently on concrete block anchored the end of the central planter and glistened with the promise of water, and sever diarrhea. Peeling paint and chipped plaster, rough red brick and curtained windows all around, tile and corrugated metal roof sloping in, teasing my tongue with toughs of collected rainwater. Tall double doors barred the entrance, and exit. I tested the lock. Familiar in it's function, easy out, but only a key to let you back in.

I opened the doors... another set let out onto the street. Propping the doors open I peaked out onto a foreign street that hours before I had arrived on, but now, in light, something completely different. And yet the same. Across the street and down a bit was a storefront, barred and closed in the early morning hours. No water. Not yet. I tried sleep again. The light kept increasing. Primary colors enameled my view of the window. Blue paint on the walls of our shared room. Red sill and yellow outside, the light picking out the contrasts and softly illuminating the day. I lay in repose and pondered the world, the hemisphere, the country and city i was in, all foreign, but for the warmth, and softness, the even calm breaths of the body next to me. Jojo in peaceful slumber, warmly reassuring me. I lay down and calmed my breath and in that peaceful pose I relaxed into a state of composure and serenity, and I knew, all was well, and our adventure only just beginning.

The doors creaked open and three Pacenans entered. Two assisting one (I've just learned that he was Condor, arms spread like the iconic bird of the Andes, it's a term used here for just this situation, and now one of my favorite words). We met Pepe. He was _wasted_ like it was carnival, and his job was to set the standard for all of us sleepers. Good natured, hilarious, and complete in his waking-ness of the inhabitants of the room. He knew some english and was sure to use it. Eventually he fell asleep and his companions as well. Pepe could have been one of those moments of disaster but instead he was excellent and humorous. Everyone fell back asleep but me, so this time i rose again and went out to the street. Much to my mouth, throat, and body's delight the store across the street was open. I purchased four large waters and went back to the hostel. My dehydration was about to be confronted and the day met with vigor.

As everyone else began to wake and gather we donned our clothes in preparation for debauchery and dirtiness. Jojo, Maren, Lauren, Juan-Ma and myself donned ponchos. Most people have clear plastic ponchos that rip easy but cover completely and look sorta futuristic. Others have light but opaque plastic ponchos more like mine, and a few, hard core soles have the full on tent-forming snap closure poncho like me. They are all hot in the intense sun, and they trap not only heat, but all the swat and moisture you can generate to boot. However uncomfortable they are, they're worth it. Globos rain down from balconies and rooftops, or are thrown from people passing by on foot or by car. Squire guns are a common factor as well, although they pale in comparison to the globos for sheer soaking ability. But most hazardous is the spray foam. It comes cheap and goes a long way. some spray a mist of soap type foam and others a stream of suds, more akin to shaving cream.

It's out and out warfare like when you were a kid and the entire neighborhood was armed on the hotter days of summer. People of all ages hawk globos (pre-filled or in a bag, full of potential) and foam. People of all ages buy and use said armament. Just walking to the parade rout, which is the center of carnival, is a test of evasive maneuvers and dampened pride. A globo thrown and 40 kph from a van moving 30 kph is a 70 kph surprise that is a test of strength, of both character and reflex. Showing too much of either will only attract more, semi-unwanted attention. But it's all in good fun! And the fun doesn't even remotely stop there.

Towards the center of town (and believe me, that is an assumption I cannot back up. Usually, I make it a priority to understand the lay of the land, but in this case, Carnival overcame any 'usual' activity or understanding, and I left Oruro with little of the usual knowledge i generally gather) is a square, and around this square the parade route goes, "U-ing" around three sides. Lining the parade route from beginning to end are bleachers, assembled specially for carnival, various in number and type, and made of wood, metal, or some combination of the two.

We waited in line for a few minutes for a gap in the parade. Once clear has been signaled by the police (again in amazing numbers! more than I could ever have guessed) the people on either side are allowed to pass through a gauntlet. The gauntlet is made of a metal cage with two lanes, in and out, between the bleachers on the "out" side of the route. Bleachers tower over both sides and the gap is constantly being crossed above by beers, globos, and other products purchase from vendors below and outside the bleachers. Police line up to create a gauntlet across the street, presumably preventing people form impromptly joining the parade up or down the street. Passing trough this gauntlet is risky business, as you are prime and easy targets for globos.

We got to see Pepe again right before we went in. He was being kicked out by the police much to his dislike to which he protested passionately. The police, so cavalier in their displays of force and tear gas were surprisingly gentle with him. It did take some serious poking for him to ultimately weave and sway his way off, through the crowd

Once through the interior of the square was a have of quiet and a modicum of peace. Being surrounded on three sides by a degree of insanity and excitement only lets a person relax so much. Juan-Ma led us to an area of bleachers that supposedly housed our seats. There is no way, in all the chaos, that 'seats' can be saved, reserved, or acquired. It's a free for all of good fun and cheer. And Beer.

However, before we could attain our seats, both Jojo and I needed some food, and finding a good vegetarian option within the square was an impossibility neither of us had considered. So out through the gauntlet again we went, through both bottlenecks (before you enter the street and then off the street through the cage again) and into the streets full of vendors and carnivalers alike. We walked for a block and then another, following the rule of 'left' (always go left first, duh) until we stumbled across a pizza joint. We ate vegetarian pizza (for anyone who doesn't know yet, Jojo has sacrificed her veganism for the huge amount of convenience of being able to eat anywhere other than home), had a liter of Coke, and then coffee. We used the relatively clean facilities and after the hour and a half all that took, headed back to the entrance.

The line had grown, and lengthened in duration proportionately to the intensity of revelry brought on by the increased energy of the parade. We waited. And waited. The line itself was an atmosphere of revelry. People passing by selling things, food, globos. People stationary selling things. Everyone in line was involved. A group of people in front of us were purchasing globos and throwing them at passers by with regularity. Their targets seemed to be of two varieties; other groups with a water war in action, and gringos. Let me digress; gringos stand out. It's a fact of life here. Gringos tend to be taller, and of course there's the skin. The people of Bolivia range in shades, but most are a dark brown, with dark hair (although not always brown, and not always natural). There are many gringos, from all over, not just Americans. Argentineans, who tend to be lighter, seem to attract similar attention, Europeans from all over, and some Australians. There do seem to be a number of Asians as well, but it is very hard (for me) to distinguish Asians from South Americans. Some of it is due to ancestry, some to culture. But as far as I can tell there is a clear division of Gringos and Locals.

Let me affirm here that I do not mind the ever present label of Gringo, as I am here, giving gringos a good name. It is not a negative, or a pejorative. It can, and often does, connote dismay, but just as often it's a descriptive word. On the other hand Yankee is most definitely a pejorative. "Yankee go home" is a catch phrase, and is sometimes the only phrase in English some people know. It will come up again.

I will add that after a good amount of observation in the line, Jojo and I joined in the globo warfare, buying a bag of our own, which I then smuggled into the square. Not a big deal as people sell them everywhere, but I was told that if the police gauntlet saw them, they might discard my precious globos. After waiting about an hour and a half in line we made it into the square. We found the tell tale boots of Maren, and the sneakers of Jamie, and slithered our way into the stands with them. This is where carnival is truly appreciated, and where I came to understand the fun and humor with which carnival must be celebrated.

Jostling and positioning for a stable stance of a wide wooden plank surrounded by the multitudinous rabble of carnival I made friends. It didn't matter who or with whom, if you were nearby, you were a friend. Beer is shared and spilled, poured onto heads and lost in a frenzy of globo onslaught. Beers are shard. They are given away. Metas matas, 'seca' (dry it, or bottoms up to you), anything, just avoid the spray foam in my beer please. I will forever have a fear of soapy beer now, and the bitterness that follows a gulp of beer, laced with foam will stick with me, but let's not kid here, nothing like that can ruin the fun of Carnival.

I can only imagine that if i ever see again and meet the guy with the curly hair and white t-shirt across the parade route in the stands opposite me we will be friends. It would be a testament to non verbal communication and our accurate throwing arms, and above all, our good natured taunting. I know he nailed me, right in the hat (with a wide weave to emit heat, and permit water from a globo), and I know I got him, high in the chest, with a spray to cover both head and abdomen. I remember giving Jojo a globo at one point and she hurled it high and short, and it drenched the entire front of a police man across the street. the expression on his face, of hurt pride for an instant, and that reflex passing, of good natured submission to the spirit of carnival, will be with me forever. If only I had a camera.... but on second thought, I don't think cameras work well covered in foam, beer, and water.

We danced with the dancers, parading for miles to the tunes wrought from tuba, baritone horn, trumpet, drums and cymbals. We whirled with the devil costumes and stomped in step with the diableros. Men scurried between the dancers and musicians feeding beer to parched performers. Costumes were diabled in accidental attack by gleeful globosers. And field repaired just as quickly. Women in native garb of layered and ruffled skirts, and hand sewn and embroidered camisetas. All adorned with the standard bowler hat of the indigenous women. The parade is hard to describe. Every province, town, and region is represented by a group and most are a variation on a theme. I am sure there is a very well studied, professional description of the reasons, and culture, that the parade expresses. This is not it. The men dress as devils, and the women as she-devils. Wearing masks of erie expressions and vacant stares with garish makeup. The dance is choreographed and representative of something. The music is a three step beat that keeps the whole parade moving, all day saturday, all night saturday night, all day sunday, and I can only presume, all night sunday.

Jojo and danced and drank in the stands for hours. Hours that stretched until near sundown. We left in a haze of heat and booze, the smells of beer, people and other unseemly odors mixing with our own sweat. We faced the dual bottlenecks again and escaped through the confusion of street vendors and globos. Jojo bought some beautiful earrings from a traveling artist (most likely from Argentina, it seems to be a thing for them) and we headed home.

Once back in the quite of the courtyard and our rooms we enjoyed a collective nap with our friends and friends of friends. I have no idea how long we slept, except that it seemed like hours and could have been minutes. I woke up more or less sober, and a group of us gringos, Juan-Ma in tow, went looking for grub, and found a Hare Krishna vegetarian place that served an amazing lasagna.

After dinner, and some hand washing with dish soap that left my hands worse off than before, we went back to the square. I couldn't find it within myself to drink again, but that is what the situation called for. The tradition is to dance and drink all night, then follow the parade route to a big plaza and dance while the sun came up. Jojo and I felt the pull of this tradition, but the sounds, and smells, and our lack of insobriety prevented us from joining in. We sat in the square for a while, watching, talking, listening, and deciding. Bed time for us.

We returned to the hotel, and found the room quite alone, and together, comfortable and warm, fell into peaceful, sleep.

Friday Feb. 24th; Carnival in Oruro, Feb. 24th-27th

2006-02-24T10:40:00.000-08:00

I woke up in my nest of pillows with uncertainty hanging over my sleeping bag like flies on a picnic left unattended. Curiosity, tentativeness, excitement, and for certain, future enjoyment. Jojo wanted to be prepared so we packed a bag each (a backpack for mobility) with all the pants, t-shirts, long sleeves, warm garb (including long underwear), and extra socks, that we didn't mind mussing. We'd been told it would be messy. Indeed this would have to be true if the week of globos (water balloons) leading up to this weekend was any indication)

We knew two things at least. We would be taking a bus TO Oruro, and we would be staying in a hotel with a bunch of other people. This guaranteed that we would make it there, but we held no guarantee that we would be staying in our own bed, or even the same bed each night. So Jojo and I took a micro to the black market. This is really just THE market in La Paz. It's a combination of indoor and outdoor booths that sell just about anything (although I've heard, and hope to find out, that Seis De Julio, the market in El Alto, is the biggest and best).

We had two goals, and I had a third. First, sleeping bags, and second, ponchos, and my third, a sombrero to keep the sun off. We found sleeping bags for about $15 US apiece in an outdoor store the size of a burrito stand, and i bought a serious poncho. The kind with snaps and a hood that you can use as a tent if you have to. Jojo bought one of the 4 Peso clear plastic ponchos that we soon learned are all the rage come carnival. I did find a sombrero at a sombrero store, and bought a cheap Aussie outback hat against the wishes of a style and gringo conscious Jojo. I liked it.

Back to Jojo's apartment and we secured our newest supplies. Then it was time to set off and the adventure really began. Jojo, Lauren, Maren, and I in a cab, to pick up Juan-Manuel at El Centro (where we do Capoeira and J-M's Parents run a school). The taxis in La Paz are excellent. The price goes up per person but it's always a flat negotiated fee from the get go. Although I have learned that you can "continuar" for more if you so desire. There are no seat-belts as I can find and if you were in America you would insist on either getting out of a such a vehicle or you would never enter one.

But this is La Paz, this is Latin America, the rules are different. I'd hold on to the side of a bus it they would let me, but that's not the way here. the roads are too narrow, and the traffic too tight. Anything attached to the exterior of a vehicle, parked or in motion, is in danger of being removed forcibly and i am sure, the only apology would be a honk. Not sure weather the honk would mean sorry, or get out of the way, but I can guarantee a honk you would here.

The traffic does move though, and if it doesn't there's a cop there to wave people through and issue some kind of ticket I think. The cops here are in force and ever present. They carry guns of every shape and size (mostly big automatic looking guns) and some have canisters of tear gas with spray handles that they use to point and gesture with cavalierly. I feel safe in some ways, but less so in others. The biggest fear is the language barrier. So my ready defense is to put up my hands and look gringo.

With Juan-Manuel in the cab we had our next destination set. The Stadium is a central feature in La Paz and all things mobile are near it. La Paz is a somewhat Baroque city with central features and roundabouts. The main avenues and civic and governmental features are incorporated in this fashion, but the rest (and majority) of the city is a convoluted network of either up or down streets and cross streets. La Paz is in a hoja, a bowl, or a cauldron. The world Olla means the same thing, but is spelled differently and the distinction is unclear. This stadium is near the bottom or valley of the bowl and is surrounded by plaza and roundabout.

Our taxi let us off across the street from the stadium in front of a fast food joint. Most of the fast food places in Bolivia from what i have seen are chicken based. Pollo is worked into the name in some way. The only others are Hamburger related, and I've even seen a burger king (and a Mac Hamburger, i swear!). I got some fries to share with Jojo as we entered the first of many waiting periods of the weekend. Bolivians seem to display an amazing amount of energy and excitement, and an equally amazing capacity to not plan and not do anything about not planning. There's a collective lackadasicalositude that permeates the culture, and i think it's excellent, although frustrating for me at some points. This will be come clear as you read, and indeed at two points I took it upon myself to show innovative and direction in a city and country in which i have no idea which way is north (although up I do have a handle on).

After a brief waiting period Juan-Ma's friend Forrest found us. It turns out he was the organizer of the bus and he led us to our chariot of debauchery, a couple of blocks away at another roundabout. We boarded the bust and the five of us Plus Jamie, a friend of Maren's from college (whom we met at the chicken spot) secured seats in the front three rows on the left. We got on the bus around 5. And we waited. After about half an hour it became clear we could not leave yet, and would leave in another half an hour. So Jojo Maren and I decided to make a beer and bathroom run. Beer is sold in a minimum of one block intervals and more likely there are three stores per block that will sell you something like beer.

Bathrooms however are another story completely. However Jojo and Maren and very inventive and creative people and they have a nose for and experience in finding a place to go. Around the corner and up a half block we found a Toyota dealership. Maren and Jojo sweet talked them into letting us use their bano and I let the ladies go first. By the time it was my turn and I was in situ Maren got a call on her cell that the bus was leaving. Immediately. I was frantic but calm. I made haste slowly (thanks to you [you know who!]). THen we ran. we ran with beers jingling. But we made it... in time to wait again. A false alarm (as I knowingly told the girls as they ran behind me back to the bus).

We waited for heaven knows what. I went to the store again. And when i got back it was time to go. By now it was 7:30. I hope the times add up, but all I know is we were moving and the sun was going down. The bus traversed the traffic of La Paz like a rhino moving through canoes. We reached the rim of the crater and set off south along a smooth highway. I learned a new phrase 'metas matas.' It means Half and Half or basically you drink the top and i'll drink the bottom. I also learned a new word 'vacas' which means chip in fore booze.

Bolivians like to drink; a lotalot. One of the preferred methods (other than beer, yea!) is to mix rum with soda of any type. Orange, pink, red, brown (Coke is very popular here, and excellent), whatever. Then you drink it out of little plastic cups. You can even buy a bottle of rum, and a bottle of soda (for 13 Pesos which is less than $2) and it comes in a bag with about 5 or 6 plastic cups. And you can buy it anywhere, just like beer... maybe even easier than beer.

The people of Bolivia are extremely friendly. Universally. They may not look it, but they are. Smiles are not set naturally or consistently on their faces but they come easily when greeted in a similar and friendly fashion. Indeed even the most uncomfortable and unfortunate looking person will smile back. Perhaps it's a sign of the universally low economic standards that even the people who seem to be at the bottom of the bottom heavy economy are still a vital and crucial part of this culture. I do not posses the expertise or knowledge to make an educated guess as to the cultural dynamics and humane issues that comprise this elegant yet swarthy people. All I know is people, and kindness, when i seek it.

I got very drunk on the bus. Drunker than i intended or realized I was getting. It is one of the few times I have done so in recent memory and There is a moment i regret from this trip. The bus ride was dark and crowded, with stops for gas and refills (and emptying as needed on any drunken bus ride). The night air and wind on the high plane swept through the darkened and bustling and sometimes flashing and bright (like Las Vegas from a distance) stops we made. I could not locate on a map or draw from memory the flashes of recollection I have of running off the bus and guarding as the ladies went tinkle behind a parked truck, but I can tell you it was whooping and laughing, fun and sneaking.

Back on the bus at some late moment in the ride Jojo told me people die every year at carnival. I have run with the bulls, i've jostled in a crowd too thick, I've perched on the edge of a cliff, and even climbed up and down in places not meant for such pursuits. Yet this news, in the state I was in, scared and upset me so that I became hot a bothered towards the bearer of such bad news. It was a moment of cultural anxiety exacerbated by intoxication, and fear coursed through me. I can assume now that my fear was furrowed in the state of mind and level of (or lack thereof) control I had at the moment. Had I been told earlier in the bus ride, I don't think I would have been even remotely bothered or concerned, but at that moment I began to fear for my own life. I chalk this one up to adjustment, to newness and to displacement, but when my head cleared of the fear and alcohol I told jojo and I tell her again now, I'm sorry.

It was a quick departure from, and scramble for our stuff on, the bus and into a taxi that took us to our hotel. The hotel... a place of solace and quite in a den of insanity and energy. LIke many of the buildings here in Bolivia the courtyard is the center and nexus of the building. Interesting that it is where and what the building is not that defines the building most aptly. I digress and will return, but the night we arrived I neither recognized nor pondered the architecture, instead, Jojo and I found and occupied a bed, and together in embrace and in our sleeping bags we found sleep.

Week One, a summary, Feb. 16th - 23rd

2006-02-23T16:12:00.000-08:00

Sunday I woke up with a cold and a desire to check out of my hostel.
It wasn't my style, and they wouldn't let anyone up even to visit.
and it wasn't worth 60 Bolivianos a night. So i got out of bed
around 1 pm... i slept in and was still adjusting, so i let myself
have a relaxing day. I took a shower and then went out to call
jojo. I had walked home alone and promised to call when i got up.
By the time i called her it was nearly 2 pm and she was really
worried, and I think it was sweet, and not entirely unwarranted.
However, i told her my plan to check out and head up to their
apartment. When i got back it was 2:15 and the people at the hostel
wanted me to pay for another day, because checkout was at 2 pm. They
were kind though and remitted because i couldn't really understand them.

A quick taxi ride up the hill to the apartment and I felt better.
Everyone was cleaning up and we decided that it was impossible to get
truly clean without a mop and some other vital tools. So we all
headed out to the Black Market.

We got there via a Micro (a mini van that is all seats, one driver, and one caller (who leans out the
window yelling to people where they are headed (which is redundant
(like these parentheses) because they have signs in the front
indicating the same thing) but it gets people's attention and, hell,
why not?) which is a truly amazing and quite alarming experience.
The driver concentrates solely on the road (thank god) and swerves
with expertise and daring around any obstacle. This includes but is
not limited to: people, dogs, other cars, micros, and busses,
potholes, detritus, and dogs dogs dogs. We arrived safely in the
heart of a bustling economy.

The black market defies explanation and is an immeasurable affront to
the senses. Booths crowd the sidewalk (and indeed take up the entire
sidewalk in parts) and clutter the alleys. There are special streets
and alleys dedicated to permanent booths with roll down fronts, as
well as temporary (although that temporality may be limited to
seasons and life-spans of materials). Certain sections or alleys or
zones seem to be somewhat more dedicated to certain wares, and
believe me, you can get just about anything at one shop or another.
However, these are mostly the acoutromonts of modern living.

I have
been told, but not seen, that the market in El Alto, and the Witches
Market in La Paz hold even more mysterious and varied objects, all
for sale, and all at greatly reduced prices from what you are
accustomed to paying. In all the demeanor of the salespeople is less
aggressive than your average mall salesman, with the prompting for
prices solely in the hands of the consumer. There are snacks and
refreshments of all sorts. More sausage and carne than you can
digest and breads of all shapes and sizes. Underwear, socks, pants,
skirts, t-shirts (some utterly amazing designs), sweaters,
sweatshirts, jackets, shoes, cosmetics, products I could not
identify, food, cleaning supplies (mission accomplished!), bedding,
school supplies, cooking supplies, herbs, vegetables, pasta, rice,
everything. I was amazed and after about an hour, utterly
exhausted. Indeed so tired was I that i took a cab home alone with
all of our collected purchases. And I relaxed, and read, and napped....

When everyone else returned home we cooked dinner and I made quinoa
and vegetables for dinner, and Jojo and I ate with Maren, and felt
both nourished and spent. There is a video rental place around the
corner and Jojo and I watched a Old School with Maren. Since I was
feeling ill Jojo in an act of angelic grace and generosity gave me
her bed to sleep in, and we switched in the night, to cushions of the
floor of her room.

Monday, Feb. 20th dawned clear and beautiful and I prepared myself
all morning for my first Spanish class at 3 pm. I walked down to
Speak Easy Institute for my lesson with Jenny, a native of Bolivia
from Bení, a town lower in altitude and warmer in disposition. The
lesson was very good and I felt very comfortable talking to her.
After the lesson i called the apartment, and trucked up the hill from
the Prado (the main drag in the valley) up up up to the apartment on
Calle General Lanza.

I made my famous pasta sauce and we all dined on Linguine and sauce,
with garlic bread made by Lauren. We tried to watch Old School with
Maren and Juan-Manuel. Maren wanted Juan-Ma to see a movie with Will
Ferrel but either Juan-Ma was too tired or the humor is too cultural
because he went to bed before it was over and so did we, only to
watch Battlestar Gallactica miniseries. Lauren went over to Andreas'
house around midnight so i got to sleep in a bed again. There's
something fun and relaxing about watching movies here. It's almost
more relaxing than at home because it's a bit of something missed.
Also, I have not rushed once since being here, and I don't have much
of an agenda yet because of the altitude, so I'm just enjoying my
time and doing whatever i want. Sleep was sound and deep and I awoke
to the sounds of birds and sunlight streaming in the window.

Tuesday, Feb. 21st.
I woke up feeling pretty good, however Jojo was feeling worse. It
appeared she had caught the cold I was desperately fending off. Not
to be put out, we went out for a late breakfast/early lunch to
Mujeres Creando, a women's rights group who call them selves Feminist
Anarchists and have a sweet lunch spot and health food store. It's
close, just down Lundetta and a block to the right on 20 De Octubre.
We enjoyed the meal and some excellent quinoa soup (with a chunk of
meat in it, that Jojo passed off, and I ate... i appear to be getting
my carnivore's tooth back).

Mujeres Creando is an all red colonial
building with black graffiti slogans painted on the walls inside and
out. The stark black and red recalls the severity and militant
nature of communism and a hint of the Red and Black Cafe back in
Portland. A hangout for all subversive and alternate thinkers and
performers. Indeed Mujeres Creando has speakers classes and events
to further the rights of women. Women's rights are a big issue in
this country and with Maren Lauren and Jojo. The culture of most
Latin American countries is patriarchal (from what i've been told and
seen) and the rights of women here seems to be a pivotal issue on the
streets and in the home.

Jojo is considering volunteering with M.C.
and it will be interesting to see how the fight for rights here
compares with what i know of my own country, and the history of
equality in the world.

After lunch we had another interesting adventure. Jojo's belly
button ring was causing her irritation and eventually was lost due to
it not being in place. So after lunch we walked to the Prado (which
is central to the entire city) and caught a micro for 1.50 Bs
(remember it's 8 Bs to $1) to Zona Sur where Jojo knew of a tattoo
and piercing shop where she could purchase another ring. The ride
down from La Paz to Zona Sur is a twisty and precarious journey. The
Micros and Taxis, busses and cars, vie for speed in a three lane road
with no divider. The middle lane is for passing both directions and
the hairpin turns crisscrossing the river allow for much excitement
and pondering of mortality.

Jojo described it as a nintendo game and
I can only agree. I was like a bird in a cage pivoting left and
right to stare out the windows, left, right, front, back, to observe
the unusual and unique landscape the the architectural response. In
the deep valley where the river falls steeply the foliage grows thick
and rich. On the ridges above all that can be seen is the erosion of
the rocky soil and formations like I've only seen at Bryce Canyon
Nat'l Park in Utah. A solitary high rise perches above an
outcropping half way to Zona Sur, and the lower we get, the more
European everything looks. By the time we've reached our destination
we could be in Barcelona, but for the crater we are in, and Illumani
towering above.

Zona Sur has Burger King and all the conveniences and comforts of an
American suburb. There are a few tell tale differences (like the
dark skin (although less dark here on average) and the green garbed
police on every corner (and they all have big guns). It feels more
like Israel than Europe, though that is a small distinction only a
certain demographic will appreciate. We find our tattoo shop and
it's closed. A half-hour trip for naught. there is a grocery store
across the boulevard and we do some shopping, but before the store
can re-open I have to head up to my Spanish class. So Jojo put me on
the right Micro and I got to sit up front. It is an equally exciting
ride back up, and it felt good to be on my own exploring such an
interesting place but i have to admit, i was a little nervous about
doing the right things on the bus and getting off at my stop.

Worry not though faithful readers (indeed you must be i you've made
it this far! Kudos to you and my extreme thanks!) I made it off in
time and got to my class with time to spare. Jojo met me after this
class and we climbed the hill together this time, and I think I had
some excellent pizza. Once home we heated up some leftovers and
relaxed. Lauren had received some great news that day and told us
she got into Tulane with a full ride and a stipend. We didn't have
too much energy to party but a bottle of wine was all we needed. I
slept on all 6 couch, love-seat, and chair cushions that i assembled
into a very comfortable nest in the living room.... and I drifted off
to sleep.

Wednesday, Feb. 22nd.
I woke up again at the apartment, and Jojo and I were feeling lazy so
we lounged. It has come to my attention that when things are not of
my initiative I tend to have more trouble remembering the salient
details, like departure time. So the lunch we had planned, to meet
Lauren at Armonia, a great vegetarian buffet place that is now a
favorite, started on the wrong foot. I thought we were to leave at
12:15 to meet Lauren but as it turned out, we were supposed to meet
her at 12:15. I made us about five minutes late and I deserved the
recriminations I received. My distress was relieved however by
Lauren never showing, so I was wrong, but I guess Lauren was
wronger. Either way the food was excellent! After lunch we had a
bit of internet then walked around that area of La Paz (I think it's
called Sopocachi, but it's hard to know where certain Barrios begin
and others end). We ended up taking a cab home, but not before i got
to enjoy some Coco(nut) Helado (ice cream) that was absolutely
amazing. The ice cream in La Paz is excellent. More like gellato
but really quite good. there are many ice cream parlors and it's
always a good place to use the rest room and as an excuse enjoy
something sweet. This was the case today, and we stopped at a place
called Dumbo (after the famous Disney Elephant). It's a chain here
or at least as far as I know, only here. But the day was beautiful,
and we were feeling pretty good just walking around. I think we had
some fresh squeezed orange juice too. The people on the street have
booths everywhere and they are all variations on a particular theme.
One is the fresh squeezed juice theme. The vendors spend most of
their time peeling fruit so that when a consumer approaches they cut
the fruit (usually orange or grapefruit) in half and squeeze it right
in front of you with an old fashioned lever press juicer. The juice
is so good here. Ah I could eat it every day. It's usually 2 Bs
which is $.25. I should be drinking it every day. I just have to
find a booth that I can remember where it is! They seem to be pretty
stationary. Other booths are different. There's the bottled drinks
and other stuff booth, and there's the news booth, and you can't
forget the DVD and CD booths... but one thing these latter booths all
have in common is a telephone! A land line style telephone that you
can use for 1 Bs per min. and it's the only way to call locally.
It's weird to see these temporary structures (Adam, you'd love these,
and they way they lock up at night... i'll photo some and send you
the link.. yes I will send it to everyone! don't worry!) with such a
facet of permanent life present. My perception is of course very
skewed due to my perspective, but it is one of those things that I
never could have imagined and is always stranger than what you
expect. But the thing is, you can get just about anything you would
need for daily living on a street corner. And almost without
exception the people are extremely friendly and helpful. One thing i
forgot to mention is that the bottled beverage and general stuff
booths all sell Kleenex or toilet paper. this is because in Bolivia
you always bring your own toilet paper. Only bathrooms in homes have
rolls of paper in situ. It must have something to do with the
culture but I also think it might be in some way linked to the fact
that toilet paper does not go in the toilet here! Instead of rolls
of paper all bathrooms are equipped with a waste bin. The paper goes
in the bin because of the sewer system that appears to be standard in
Bolivia. It's these little differences from everyday life that seem
to be the most subtle but also the most telling. The reflexes that
we develop that we think (assume??? gasp!) are standard and useful
the world over are the hardest things to change. But adapt we must,
and on we go.

We had dinner with Lauren that night at a french restaurant called Le
Bistrota. It is by far the nicest restaurant we've been to and I had
some amazing crepes. After dinner Lauren went off to see Andreas who
is rapidly becoming her boy friend, and Jojo and I walked home slowly
and leisurely by way of the video store. That night we watched Dukes
of Hazard and talked with Maren for hours. I slept again on my nest
of pillows and found comfort not only in my location but even in my
lack of permanence. I am traveling and so far, just being alive has
been all that's mattered. I'm sure i'll find something more
permanent and lasting, but for now, it's good to be in La Paz,
feeling the peace all around.

Thursday Feb. 23rd
The details of this day seem to be lost in the confusion of what
comes next and what came before. One thing I can tell you about this
day is that I went to Capoeira. I went alone because Jojo was not
feeling up to it and her wrist is still really bothering her. The
best part was finding it all on my own. I navigated the streets
mostly from memory and a few street names. It's up to Plaza condor,
then right on Boquerone past Plaza Marti and Plaza Israel (it's got a
big menorah!) and then Right on Calle Colombia. Capoeira is in a
very small space with two columns and a parquet style wood floor that
is so slippery I know i will be building muscles in places i have
never even recognized before.

Tomorrow we head to Carnival, and there is much to do, so i bid you
adieu.

Best from Bolivia!

Eli

Pacenan Construction

2006-02-22T10:15:00.000-08:00

Pacenan Construction
Originally uploaded by eliahusevenseven.

This is a very typical La Paz construction technique. Concrete

construction using sticks to support the floor forms. The structure

will be infilled with hollow bricks and glass. What's truly

startling to see is when the hollow bricks are used as masonry

structure alone!

Favorite Lunch Spot in La Paz

2006-02-22T10:09:00.000-08:00

Favorite Lunch Spot in La Paz
Originally uploaded by eliahusevenseven.

This is one of our favorite lunch spots in La Paz. Like many it's a

buffet style with soup, salad, and a main course, with Mate and

Desert to follow.

Day 3 in La Paz, Saturday and I've got a cold.. boo hoo.

2006-02-18T16:08:00.000-08:00

By now this update is very old, and I've been here two weeks, but I
am trying to keep this as journalish as possible. So please bear
with the old news and trust that the next update will bring us as up
to date as possible.

Day three in La Paz begins Saturday morning as I wake up in my bed
sometime after noon about as thirsty as I have ever been. It seems
that high altitude, jet lag, and alcohol consumption (we went to a
bar called Tetecco's last night that is mine theme) are three sure
factors that contribute to extreme dehydration.

As I lay in bed i
realized moving was difficult. in fact rolling over seemed nearly
out of the question. But as surely as i'd not planned on becoming a
desert, I had planned well, and on my night-stand was my cammelback.
And sure enough I was able to suck the remaining moisture out of said
oasis to enable me to fall back asleep, now out of water.

When i awoke again, sometime in the hazy future beyond my initial parching I
was once again consumed with the need for water, and a lot of it.

I pulled on my shoes and headed out the door of my Hospidaje down one
block to Plaza San Pedro. Like many plazas in colonial or
colonizer's cities, plazas are generally based round one or two (of
two) things: a church or a monument. Plaza San Pedro is the former
and has a beautiful colonial church on one side, and a Prison on the
other. This prison has a rich back story and used to be one of the
most interesting tourist attractions in the world. It used to be
possible to visit the interior, until an event called "Black
February" when there was a riot. Indeed there are bullet holes
through the front main gate reminiscent of the occasion. I
understand it is still possible to visit the inmates with a certain
key word or two and some gifts. The plaza beckoned me with her
kiosks on every corner supplying my, by now, extremely needed water.
Water in tow, i headed back to my room to get ready for the day. By
the time i'd changed and headed back out it was 2 p.m.. I called
Jojo at one of the corner calling centers to find her worried sick
about me, as I hadn't called or talked to her since i'd dropped her
off in the cab the night before. She was ready to go and came to
meet me in Plaza San Pedro. We had plans to meet Miguel to go to the
black market (which is really the main market of La Paz), when we
arrived at his place his sister or cousin said he was still asleep
and had been "very drunk" the night before.. thank god, because my
(and jojo's it turns out) hangover was just beginning.

We found a vegetarian restaurant nearby, and sit down to eat. It's
another buffet type, but only the salad bar, and after the salad they
bring you soup, then 'segundo' which can be anything. It turned out
this place was some sort of vegetarian christian cult with ufos and
Jesus adorning the walls. It was good but neither of us felt well
enough to eat our whole meal.

From there we head home. I started feeling worse as the day went
on, and eventually after a nice dinner we all started thinking about
going out. Friends came over and the party began, but no one ended
up going anywhere, and at about 1 AM i headed home alone. It was an
easy walk but i was feeling pretty low by then and it was all i could
do to practice my invisibility skills till I got home. It was a
thankful Eli that got in bed (with a full bottle of water next to me)
and slept long and hard.

Day 2 in La Paz Friday, 2/17/06

2006-02-17T13:49:00.000-08:00

Today we awoke late, and not from the best sleep. Jojo has a tiny bed and a thin mattress. I woke up earlier than she and decided to let her sleep in as long as possible. I tried to sleep for a bit, but instead read and got curious, and hence, the walk.

The apartment we have landed in has three bedrooms and many other rooms and is pretty big. the light comes in from two sides and relegates electric lighting unnecesary during the day. The entrance courtyard had a gate and the front window looks out into this narrow court. The main door to the apartment is on the side and is equiped with a standard Bolivian lock that closes tight and strong as soon as the door is shut. The front gate has a similar lock. These locks have a small lever on them that you slide to retract the wedge, and both have a dead bolt that can be operated only with a key.

So my walk begins without keys. I couldn't find them without waking the sleeping Jojo (something I have learned to avoid) so i decided i would just let the front door close behind me and explore the area until i thought it was safe to wake Jojo from her slumber. As the front door shut behind me, the sun warmed my face and the air sparkled with the rarity of high altitude. It's clean and pure, and the only emmisions i breath are from the busses or taxi's that careen past and speeds that would shock most americans. If you've never been to a place like this (Mexico qualifies, as do parts of Spain, and Asia, at least the part's i've glimpsed) you can't imagine it, if you have, then you know, and dodgin traffic becomes a necessity and not a jay-walker's risk. I digress, and i usually do. So out i come into this beautiful morning, Bolivianos (that's the currency, and the people, but here I mean the currency) jingling in my pocket, and I arrive at the front gate. Locked. And I mean bolted.

I was faced with a dilemma. In this courtard are three doors. The door to our apartment, the door to the apartment above and a door to a small seperate building that is an office for the landlords that live above. I had not yet met these Bolivians, and I felt that introducing myself in this sticky situation was not how I wanted to start a new friendship. I went back to the door. No luck, locked as it should be. i went over to Jojo's window. Knocking could not rouse this sleeping beauty, and as I said above, would not be the best nor kindest way to start her day. So I went back to teh gate. Most walls in La Paz that adjoin public ways have shards of glass mortared into the top of them so jumping or climbing is out of the question, luckily for me, this was not one such wall and I contemplated my options. Do I sit in this courtyard and wait for Jojo or someone to come and open the lock (and get that uncomfortable feeling I get whenever I folloow the footsteps of a resident into a building that's supposed to be secure) or do i jump. My first morning in La Paz and I'm either slumming in a courtyard in which no one knows I belong, or breaking rules that I don't even know how to say. So of course I jump.

It was a good landing and with all the casualness I can summon I start off in the direction most obvious, downhill. You see, everywhere in La Paz has two directions. Up or Down. This being my first full day, I chose down.

One of the greatest things I have discovered about La Paz is that wherever you are, whatever you need is nearby. This is an amazingly lassiz faire economy and the people here are amazing capitalists. Within view of our front gate is a Paperelia (I think that means they sell supplies for school and other aspects of life and work), a butcher shop, an internet and phone cafe and a corner store that sells every food and drink product you might need. Convenience is paramount, it's a buyers market. So i walked around. I went around the block and up the street and down. I saw more crazy auto maneuvers in that kilometer of wandering than I see in an entire year in the states, but no one flinches. I saw things I cannot even describe or understand. Shops and workspaces, food and drink, doors and windows that defy my mind in construction and use. I am being vague because my memory mirrors this image. It is a whir, and with 10.000 feet of adjusting still to do, I excuse myself for now.

There are many vistas in this city and I will try to post some pictures soon, but if you can find a street that runs STRAIGHT down or even across there is a vista, and one unlike any you have ever seen because as far as I have experienced, La Paz is unique. The locas call it a hoya, which means bowl or crater or cauldron. The buildings are like encrustrations on a tidal hole. It's as organic a city as I have ever seen and no one here cares about right angles. Shoot, may as well call them wrong here because they wouldn't be right, nothing here is perpendicular or parallel. There are edges though, and everywhere. Some sharp, some blunt, but edges exist in a tangled maiasma or human growth and crystalization. I enjoyed a few of these amazing vistas through the utterly clear air. Clouds on the artificial horizon (created by the bowl I am in) mask the soaring peaks that I know surround this rare place. I return towards our apartment ready for a break. The gate is still locked. This was unforseen, and I have no excuse other than stupidity or light headedness. I wait for a moment pondering the three doorbells on the gate. I have no idea which one summons the slumbering dragon, or the as of yet unmet spanish speaking landlord. Neither sound attractive so off I head. Again.

The corner store looks like a good option and my now rumbling belly speeds me in this direction. Now, I am not a spanish speaker, but I do know enough to get buy and this paltry ability rewards me with two pieces of bread and two pastries. I wander back by a different route to the same locked gate. This time I have hope! there is a gentleman standing in the door to the upstairs apartment (this door faces the gate) and through some luck and imagination I am able to persuade him my girlfriend is asleep in the apartment and my friends Maren and Lauren have not given me keys. He lets me in and this time i make sure to keep the deadbolt unsprung. Jojo is still asleep, and although I had left the window open for air, I do not dare use that portal to yet wake such sleeping grace as I know Jojo maintains. This was the opportunity I needed to introduce myeslf to the landlords and their dogs (Tuto and something else my mind refuses to remember... pele, or pepe, or polo, something...).

So off again I go. Again. This time it's up. The shops get a bit rougher as i ascend and at some point I decided that I had gone high enough. the erosion of the sidewalks, the increasing bizzreness and diversity of things for sale, and the more unusual glances I get the slower my step until I find the only direction I can go now is across the street and back down the very same road. Near the bottom of this stretech, and back at the intersection of General Lanza (the street we live on) a woman sells fruit. I can only name a few and Platanos and Mango become the cacrifice with which I shall console the ruefully awakened dreaming Jojo. No luck. Not even a flutter of an eyelash. She's about as asleep as I have ever seen her, and rightfully so. Our first day and our flight were exhausting. So i leave my offerings on the window sill outside of her room, and, you guessed it, off again.

This time I just go enjoy the views. I even sit down for a minute and soak in the sun, but there really aren't many places to sit on these streets. Some streets are all seats (or rather stairs, but they are used equally as both), and some squares have benches, but overall, there aren't too many places to stop and sit. I was walking very slowly though and around the block I went, as slowly as my comfort level of the overly curious seeming security guard would allow. When i returned this time I was determined. I rang the bell right outside our door and lo and behold, Jojo arose to the occasion and let me in with the promise of a fresh fruit breakfast with warm pan and pastries. The day had begun and my curiosity about La Paz had begun.

Shortly after breakfast we tried to call the number give to us by American Airlines to receive our bags, but no one would answer. After a few tries I noticed on the receipt they gave us that the office closes at 9 am. The only flight in gets in at 6 am, when we got in the previous day. So oh well, one more day without bags is not that bad.

We prepared ourselves for our first full day in Bolivia and donned our walking shoes (meaning the shoes we wore on the plane) and headed out. Jojo led me on a slow (lentamente! thank you Vince!) walk down and around from the apartment. We walked through a market that was mostly food stuffs, and I say stuffs because I do not have a name for most of what I saw. This is a truly foreign land, with equally foreign foods. There are more different fruits and vegetables that I think i will learn in our 6 month stay. From the market we walked futher down to Plaza San Pedro, where Jojo directed us to a very unassuming door with a buzzer high up on the frame. Once rung a woman answered the door and Jojo asked if Miguel was in. To her delight and my introduciton he was. Miguel had been in contact with Jojo for some time before our departure about certain aspects of what we might need when we arrived. Miguel is a friend of Jojo's from her previous trip to La Paz, and has remained a dear friend. Indeed he is an amazing person to know here in La Paz and hooked me up with a sweet hotel (more on that later) and an place where i can get one on one spanish classes! I'm signed up for Monday and tuesday of next week for 2 hours each. Should be very educational.

After Miguel left us to see his friend we headed back up the hill to the apartment and prepared to relax. We did as such and must have eaten dinner or something but the next thing I remember is going to a bar owned by a friend of the ladies. It was a very cool, small, double story bar with great music. The beers are very good and big here and I enjoyed a couple of them. I also enjoyed the company of many Bolivians and a couple of Chileans who invited Jojo and I to stay with them when we travel through Santiago to Pureto Montt. From that bar we went to Toteco's, which is a below ground mine themed bar/club. It was great and we danced and danced, and i talked to more bolivians, and just had an all around great time. At one point I got a little frustrated by the machismo and the tough beats that I have no idea how to dance to, but other than that it was amazing. One bolivian even gave me his bracelet (like the LIVE STRONG one's) with his futobl club name instead of a slogan. At the end of the nigh I took a taxi home with Jojo and made sure she got in safe, then went down to my hotel and crashed... hard. It was an awesome introduction night for La Paz nightlife and a good time overall.

Fist photo in La Paz

2006-02-17T10:16:00.000-08:00

Fist photo in La Paz
Originally uploaded by eliahusevenseven.

La Paz is beautiful and complex. Streets and buildings cram in to

the bowl within which La Paz sits. Across the way is the opposite

side of the city with dwellings encrusting the steep hillside.

The Condor Has Landed; Thursday, 2/16/06

2006-02-16T13:08:00.000-08:00

Greetings all from the high peaks and valleys of the Andes.

Jojo and I touched down early Thursday morning in the pure light of the mountain morning. My disorientation of the early morning, the long flight (a red eye from Miami after a day's crossing the states), and the thin air seems like a dream of ages ago. There are enough signs of western culture in the airport and enough of the strange and new that it is not easy to understand completely what I had just done.

But as soon as we stepped outside into that fresh morning, and the air and sky met my face for the first time i began to understand just where I was (but not when, jet lag had turned my clock upside down and backwards, but we located ourselves temporally after a first and much needed nap). The airport that serves La Paz is actually in another town, above the bowl within which La Paz encrusts. El Alto is the name of this high spare airport and indeed, landing here requires a special speed and skill that only certain adventurous pilots would desire. This leads to the first hurdle we encountered and I am sure not the last. Our checked baggage was left behind in Miami due to weight restrictions on the airplanes that land at this altitude (La Paz is at 12,000 feet and El Alto even higher). The people working the service counter seemed to be well adjusted to this sort of problem and assured us bilingually that our luggage would be delivered when it arrived on the next flight, the next day. So off we were, in a Taxi, to 1921 General Lanza, the apartment that Lauren and Maren have rented with a room for Jojo and a crash pad for Eli.

Our taxi driver was very knowledgeable and knew right where to go. The driving in this area is not something to be taken lightly. It's about as ordered as an ant colony (which is to say very ordered while seeming completely chaotic). Upon first inspection the regolith of La Paz is mostly small stones and soil. This makes the buildings that cling, burrow, and perch on it's convoluted contours seem tenuous and indeed dangerous. The buildings... i must save that for later because they are of particular construction and uncertain permanence but hold a beauty i cannot seem to verbalize. The apartment (within which I am now writing this post) is quite nice and reminds me of something you could find in southern Spain or Mexico. There is a front gate and a courtyard with whitewashed walls. The front door opens off this court which serves double as a driveway. Like almost all doors that I have passed through, they are double, and most often only one side is used. Here is where I have discovered a sense of where and when I am. I am too big to fit through the one side without turning my shoulders. In fact my head and shoulders seem to stick out wherever I go. Not so much as they may in other parts of the world, but I am definitely taller and broader than most, and (as my feet are sticking out off the end of Jojo's bed where i write) in some ways I just don't fit.

So let me sum up this first day. We arrived early, made it to the apartment, and met Lauren. Maren had just left for work. We relaxed and slept, and got some food (where Maren and Juan-Manuel met us, and I met them) and slept more and then went to see the Capoeira class that Jojo first ginga'd in. It is a great class in a small space with two very dangerous columns. I even played one game with Juan-Manuel before I had to stop and let my heart rest, but don't worry friends, I didn't push it at all. We walked home from there with Maren, Lauren, and Juan-Manuel. Maren left and Jojo and I went to sleep. It's not easy sleeping at 12,000 feet, but when you're tired from all we'd experienced this first day, sleep comes quickly and gratefully.

Peace and love from La Paz.

Eli

On our way

2006-02-15T10:17:00.000-08:00

Jojo and Eli, off to Bolivia, in the Portland airport. Bon Voyage!

US trying to sow further discord in Bolivia

2006-02-08T17:15:00.000-08:00

So in yet another underhanded move by the Bush Adminstration military support has been cut for the Bolivian government. This move has the potential to anger the militarty there, who are responsible for many of the coups that have taken place. Through american policies, Bolivia, a DEMOCRATIC country will be destabalized. How American is that to you?

ONE WEEK TO GO

2006-02-08T17:05:00.000-08:00

The final countdown has begun. Time is ticking out from underneath all of my assumptions, by structures, my social comforts and norms. I am preparing to embark into what is unknown. Into the future. Beyond my past, beyond what I can even imagine. It is so exciting and also excruciatingly nervous. I skitter from one extreme to another. From being jubilant and floaty to being nervous and rumbly. My building blocks that construct my world image seem to be growing transparent. Like the caves of my mind and all of my experience are turning into holes in the air, or pockets in clouds. Everything begins to loose material. To diminish in solidarity and at the end, I will be free.

Puerto Montt

2006-02-03T12:40:00.000-08:00

1 rest palafito angelmo_JPCT_220705
Originally uploaded by chilefotojp.

Well i'm getting ready to go... it's a big process, and I keep reminding myself of where i'm going, so here's a shot i found on Flickr of Puerto Montt... what a cool building... I CAN'T WAIT!

Setting up Sustainabilty Contacts in S.A.?

2006-01-24T14:50:00.000-08:00

I just contacted Glen Glibert, President of the Cascadia Green Building Council, whom I met last week at a company lunch. He put me in contact David Gottfired who started the US Green Building Council! This is exciting for me because it could lead to some sort of partnership with the World GBC and then to some actual exchange while I am traveling! If nothing happens, no big deal, I will be doing my own research and exchange no matter what. I am so excited! 22 days to departure! Let the countdown begin!

A photo test

2006-01-24T00:14:00.000-08:00

A photo test
Originally uploaded by eliahusevenseven.

A photo test

2006-01-24T00:12:00.000-08:00

A photo test
Originally uploaded by eliahusevenseven.

2006-01-23T17:09:00.000-08:00

I've been preparing for my departure for Bolivia ever since I got my ticket (it's amazing what one click of the mouse can do to you). Here's my latest exciting preparation; I finally decided on a camera to take on our travels. I will take pictures of moments and share them with the world. Oh boy, I can't wait! I'm really already gone in many ways. Check out so to speak. Bon Viage!