I heartily apologize for not writing in quite some time. I was struck down by a two-month cold (still going strong) and a hearty case of culture shock. To be honest, I didn´t realize it was culture shock until yesterday. I just thought I was in a long-term crappy mood and having several more "I-hate-Bolivia" moments followed by fewer than usual " I-love-Bolivia" moments. It´s not like the culture is entirely different. The religion is the same, the language is familiar and I don´t really feel that much like a minority. If I were to use a metaphor, which I will, I´d say it´s like watching somewhat eating an apple and thinking, "That´s totally not how you do it! Everyone knows you eat around the middle first!" Of course, I could be anal about my apple-eating technique but in general it´s a feeling that people are doing things strangely. In general, I handle this well...stepping back, evaluating and perhaps adapting the new technique for apple eating.
Just to clarify, I think Bolivians eat their apples the same way but they eat oranges differently. They just unpeel a little bit and then suck the hell out of it. Also, they cut eveything into teeny tiny pieces before eating it.
Examples of Ellen´s culture shock: A few weeks ago I went into the office and was handed three rolls of toilet paper. Hooray! I then had to sign two different forms confirming that I had received said toilet paper and was told that it was mine and only mine and I should not let anyone else use my TP nor use anyone else´s. Ok. Later I went to use the copy machine where I was mocked for not knowing enough to bring my own paper. In my humble opinion, I think these sort of things should fit into normal operating costs. I mean does someone get penalized if they use more than their alloted three rolls?
When in Tarija I went to the post office to pick up a package. Package pick up, by the way, is only between 3:30 and 4 on Mon,Wed, Fri. I went to one window to pay 21Bs and the woman put three postage stamps on each package slip, two rubber stamps and signed them. She then told me to go into the first door on my right. Once in that hallway, I was told to go back outside and make copies of both of the package slips. (Why couldn´t the first lady have told me this?) So I did and returned and was told that since the packages had arrived eight days ago, I had to pay for eight days of storage. This I don´t understand. If I can only pick up my package three days out of the week, one of which was a holiday, I shouldn´t have to pay for the other days. Ah well. I did and returned. Then I had to sign each package slip and copy and wait for the customs guy who showed up 15 minutes late. He opened my packages, retaped them and sent me on my merry way. (One of the packages wasn´t even for me)
Yesterday I was riding in a bus when the ticket-taker didn´t rip every single part of my half of the ticket off. Rather than letting it go she tore the teeniests bits off (which by the way had no writing nor any importance to me) and handed them to me. Why?
Perhaps it´s not so much culture shock as it is beauracracy shock. (Did I spell that right?) They drill into your brain during training that this is normal. You will have a honeymoon period, then a culture shock, readjustment, further culture shock, further readjustment and then you´ll never wanna go home again. According to the time scale, my honeymoon period lasted way longer than normal.
Anyhoo, for the past month I wrote up a very informative presentation on trash management. AFTER my counterpart read it he told me that the schools had extended their vacations and that I wouldn´t have the presentation yet. Ah well, I´ll be ready.
I went to Cochabamba to reconnect with the other volunteers in my training class, present a diagnostic about my community, take some Spanish etc. Due to blockades between me and the airport I got to take a bus through Potosí. Let me tell you, Potosí is frikkin cold! (highest bus terminal in the world) But there are llamas! (although not necessarily in the terminal) Anyhoo, in Cocha I did get the opportunity to visit my host family whom I love so much. They are just so splendiferous. I went and played cards with the boys, they commented on the fact that I talk a hell of a lot more and we had a bunch of fun. (Eliz, they thank you for the cards. Perfect gift) I also got the chance to eat salteñas, buy some used clothing (which just cuz it´s used doesn´t mean it´s color-fast as I found out today by dying all my socks pink), get more vaccinations, eat in restaurants...and take a Quechua class. Quechua rox my sox. Who knew that I was capable of glottal stops and hacking and spitting like a pro? Y´all do now.
Let´s see. This Monday was Bolivian Independence day. I was not feeling well but didn´t want to miss it so I ventured out of my house where I ran into two guys I work with.
They invited me to march with them in the parade. This consisted of standing in the sun for two hours, waiting to march, and then marching one block past the mayor´s stand. That´s it. But it was fun to see all the schools in their formal get-ups and all the organizations that exist in the town. This one high-schooler pinned a Bolivian rosette on me. At first I thought he was some punk trying to cop a feel but it was a friend I play basketball with and I swear if I had a daughter I would fix her up with him. Anyone want to marry their daughter off to an athletic, respectful to women, good looking Bolivian? 
After the parade all my work peeps went to hang out and barbecue and I tagged along. Then I was asked to cook some sort of dessert for my friend´s go-away party. Apparently word has got out that I can cook. So after a shower and a nap (useless details, I know) I met up with a gal pal to cook apple crisp. The go away party was tons of fun...an "I feel like I´m with friends in the states" moment. However, I left early to go hang with my Bolivian boytoy because he was freaking out a bit. Every time he called a different male friend of mine would answer my cell demanding "Who is this? Why do you want to talk to Ellen? How long have you known her?" The last time I answered and they all started chanting "Seco seco seco!" which is the Spanish equivalent of "chug chug chug!" (Don´t worry mom. I wasn´t drinking. Also my friends apologized for mocking me mercilessly and promised to call me "American friend" instead of "gringa".)
No more news.
Just to clarify, I think Bolivians eat their apples the same way but they eat oranges differently. They just unpeel a little bit and then suck the hell out of it. Also, they cut eveything into teeny tiny pieces before eating it.
Examples of Ellen´s culture shock: A few weeks ago I went into the office and was handed three rolls of toilet paper. Hooray! I then had to sign two different forms confirming that I had received said toilet paper and was told that it was mine and only mine and I should not let anyone else use my TP nor use anyone else´s. Ok. Later I went to use the copy machine where I was mocked for not knowing enough to bring my own paper. In my humble opinion, I think these sort of things should fit into normal operating costs. I mean does someone get penalized if they use more than their alloted three rolls?
When in Tarija I went to the post office to pick up a package. Package pick up, by the way, is only between 3:30 and 4 on Mon,Wed, Fri. I went to one window to pay 21Bs and the woman put three postage stamps on each package slip, two rubber stamps and signed them. She then told me to go into the first door on my right. Once in that hallway, I was told to go back outside and make copies of both of the package slips. (Why couldn´t the first lady have told me this?) So I did and returned and was told that since the packages had arrived eight days ago, I had to pay for eight days of storage. This I don´t understand. If I can only pick up my package three days out of the week, one of which was a holiday, I shouldn´t have to pay for the other days. Ah well. I did and returned. Then I had to sign each package slip and copy and wait for the customs guy who showed up 15 minutes late. He opened my packages, retaped them and sent me on my merry way. (One of the packages wasn´t even for me)
Yesterday I was riding in a bus when the ticket-taker didn´t rip every single part of my half of the ticket off. Rather than letting it go she tore the teeniests bits off (which by the way had no writing nor any importance to me) and handed them to me. Why?
Perhaps it´s not so much culture shock as it is beauracracy shock. (Did I spell that right?) They drill into your brain during training that this is normal. You will have a honeymoon period, then a culture shock, readjustment, further culture shock, further readjustment and then you´ll never wanna go home again. According to the time scale, my honeymoon period lasted way longer than normal.
Anyhoo, for the past month I wrote up a very informative presentation on trash management. AFTER my counterpart read it he told me that the schools had extended their vacations and that I wouldn´t have the presentation yet. Ah well, I´ll be ready.
I went to Cochabamba to reconnect with the other volunteers in my training class, present a diagnostic about my community, take some Spanish etc. Due to blockades between me and the airport I got to take a bus through Potosí. Let me tell you, Potosí is frikkin cold! (highest bus terminal in the world) But there are llamas! (although not necessarily in the terminal) Anyhoo, in Cocha I did get the opportunity to visit my host family whom I love so much. They are just so splendiferous. I went and played cards with the boys, they commented on the fact that I talk a hell of a lot more and we had a bunch of fun. (Eliz, they thank you for the cards. Perfect gift) I also got the chance to eat salteñas, buy some used clothing (which just cuz it´s used doesn´t mean it´s color-fast as I found out today by dying all my socks pink), get more vaccinations, eat in restaurants...and take a Quechua class. Quechua rox my sox. Who knew that I was capable of glottal stops and hacking and spitting like a pro? Y´all do now.
Let´s see. This Monday was Bolivian Independence day. I was not feeling well but didn´t want to miss it so I ventured out of my house where I ran into two guys I work with.
They invited me to march with them in the parade. This consisted of standing in the sun for two hours, waiting to march, and then marching one block past the mayor´s stand. That´s it. But it was fun to see all the schools in their formal get-ups and all the organizations that exist in the town. This one high-schooler pinned a Bolivian rosette on me. At first I thought he was some punk trying to cop a feel but it was a friend I play basketball with and I swear if I had a daughter I would fix her up with him. Anyone want to marry their daughter off to an athletic, respectful to women, good looking Bolivian? 
After the parade all my work peeps went to hang out and barbecue and I tagged along. Then I was asked to cook some sort of dessert for my friend´s go-away party. Apparently word has got out that I can cook. So after a shower and a nap (useless details, I know) I met up with a gal pal to cook apple crisp. The go away party was tons of fun...an "I feel like I´m with friends in the states" moment. However, I left early to go hang with my Bolivian boytoy because he was freaking out a bit. Every time he called a different male friend of mine would answer my cell demanding "Who is this? Why do you want to talk to Ellen? How long have you known her?" The last time I answered and they all started chanting "Seco seco seco!" which is the Spanish equivalent of "chug chug chug!" (Don´t worry mom. I wasn´t drinking. Also my friends apologized for mocking me mercilessly and promised to call me "American friend" instead of "gringa".)
No more news.
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