Felices Fiestas!

Feliz Navidad y un Prospero Ano Nuevo!

Every family has their own unique traditions that often change into adulthood. This Christmas, as the only child of four to come home, I reflected on how our family Christmases have changed.

The holidays began with the hefting of the tree. It would be kept in the garage for a few days (leading my brother to believe as an adult that a tree needs to be kept cold before being brought into the house) until Dad struggled with it up two flights of stairs, scratching ceilings and raining needles over everything. This event was followed closely by the holiday vacuuming. We would decorate the tree with handmade ornaments and metal tinsel which unfortunately conducts electricity very well and eventually migrated from the tree to the carpeting, Christmas sweaters and anything remotely charged within a four foot radius. Then we'd set up the creche and tie our stockings on the entertainment center; the fireplace is downstairs and lacks a mantel anyway.

On Christmas morning we would run and perch in the living room. We never disturbed the inner sanctum of the parents' bedroom but adopted my father's own technique for rallying the troops - yelling - until we were allowed to open the stockings which held a treasure trove of lego sets, chocolates, and Christmas socks.

After the small taste of gift-wrapping we would all go to church where we would smoosh into the pews while trying to avoid actually touching each other. Afterwards, while still attired in relatively clean and unwrinkled clothing we were subjected to the annual family photo. This involved one sibling or another pinching or goosing another while our mother yelled "Not that smile! Your real smile!" as we grimaced to avoid flinching. After many years this joyous tradition became known affectionately (or less-so) as the "Christmas torture."

A big breakfast followed, with us kids eating as fast as humanly possible so that we could return to the living room. (Semi-annually my brother would be sick and miserable - which added an extra dimension to the festivities.) My parents, on the other hand, moved astoundingly slow, chewing more than absolutely necessary and insisting on coffee and a bathroom break as we yelled with increasing volume from the couch.

My mother gave out the presents, one to each person, and we would all open them at the same time. Santa was always generous and even included my parents who by the way had markedly different handwriting; I never figured this out. My best gift ever was new ice skates and as the youngest girl it was the only new pair of ice skates I ever got. When gift guessing/shaking one person always speculated that it was either a tennis racket or a hockey stick. To save money, or trees, my mother always reused boxes. You could always count on the Deb box making an appearance and our personal favorite, the cat box. The cat box, still in use today, is a green box that has a picture of two kittens gamboling with a Christmas wreath. In the spirit of sibling rivalry we declared that the recipient of the cat box was Mom's favorite for the year.

Christmas continued at dinner with the presence of Gram, Uncle John and Aunt Ruth, Joe and Mr. Pfister. Mr Pfister deserves his very own paragraph honestly. He was an ancient German man (I'm pretty sure this wasn't just my youthful perspective) who was so spry that he would always swing up the stairs on the banister. He had a dog named Wicket, equally ancient yet spry, who could jump at least ten feet in the air. Wicket was only allowed on the stair landing which I was perfectly fine with as he was a completely insane animal.

The Christmas spirit hasn't changed overly. The stocking gifts evolved into chapsticks and socks. The celebration just wouldn't be the same without the annual gift of lip balm! Breakfast is my favorite part as it is very rare that my entire family eats together. (My father has a slurping fondness for oatmeal that requires us kids to construct cereal box barriers to avoid seeing the gray mass in his bowl). The tree is fake. Some relatives are gone (including Wicket) and new ones introduced. My brother-in-law insists on putting hot sauce on the turkey. And this year I was declared the favorite!

Merry Christmas!

Doctores punto com

In Bolivia people get sick. (duh?) As such, they have developed wide ranging wit and wisdom inherent to folk medicine. If you suffer from intestinal parasites, stys, cracking joints or rashes among other ailments, please continue reading and you may find a cure!

• Got hiccups? Don't worry. You're growing.
• Intestinal parasites? Eat a piece of cheese and chase it with a shot of your favorite alcohol. As it happens, bichitos can't get enough of cheese. They'll swarm to it and then be killed by the booze. Not a bad way to go if you ask me.
• A sty? Or chalazion? Or whatever the heck they're called...eye pimple? Put a pair of dirty underwear on it.
• Gall bladder problems are a result of RAGE. (much like zombie-ism)
• UTI? You forgot to bundle your kidneys! (Don't ask. I'm not entirely sure how that works)
• Don't look at something you shouldn't. You'll get pink eye.
• Coke cures diarrhea. How's that for product placement?
• Beer, on the other hand, cures sore throats, hangovers and all sorts of social phobias.
• If you stand on something cold, you'll get arthritis. (Don't worry, beer will loosen those old joints up!)
• If you sit on something hot, you'll get a stomachache.
• Rashes can be caused by an unclean stomach. (I actually heard this from a medical professional.) However, hives can be cured by wearing clothing of the opposite sex.
• Sinning results in knee pain...or is it the atonement?
• and finally, semen is a phenomenal anti-wrinkle agent.

All better?

The evacuation aftermath

• The Washington Post published a front page article on PCVs returning to Bolivia.
  
  Highlights the deep connection we volunteers have with our community and our adoptive country...and the commitment some have to get the job done. I will probably regret forever that I couldn't finish what I started. But I will celebrate those who did.

• The Democracy Center's take on Dismembering the Peace Corps.

the wonderful world of journalism

While in Peru I was interviewed by a journalist. Unfortunately, I feel that I was misrepresented. Below is a copy of his article and the response that I sent him. (I replaced my full name with Lenni as always)

-----------

Former volunteers upset over suspension of Peace Corps' Bolivia program

It took Lenni the better part of two years to win the trust of the people of Camargo, a farming town of 5,000 in southeastern Bolivia. The mayor agreed to partially fund the Peace Corps volunteer's proposal to have children plant fruit trees on main avenues. Lenni, 27, was about to be interviewed by a local TV crew when she got the call: The Peace Corps was pulling all 113 of its volunteers out of Bolivia. "I just started crying. I was like, I don't want to go!" recalled Lenni, a native of Monroe, N.Y., as she sat in a cafe in Lima, Peru. She is among more than 70 volunteers who quit the Corps rather than start over in a different country.

The hasty pullout came directly on the heels of Bolivian President Evo Morales' Sept. 10 expulsion of the U.S. ambassador for allegedly inciting opposition protests. Lenni was among disappointed volunteers who believe their government overreacted, hurting U.S. interests with the blanket withdrawal. True, some parts of Bolivia were dangerously unstable, but most volunteers felt no security threat, several told The Associated Press.

"Peace Corps, unfortunately, has become another weapon in the U.S. diplomatic arsenal," said Sarah Nourse, 27, of Mechanicsville, Md., another volunteer who opted out. Nourse had been developing trash management projects in a small town in the eastern state of Santa Cruz, the center of opposition to the leftist Morales. She questioned the wisdom of depriving Bolivians of a rare firsthand opportunity to weigh Morales' anti-U.S. rhetoric against real Americans.

The top U.S. diplomat for Latin America, Thomas Shannon, told The Associated Press that security was the only reason behind the "saddening" pullout. "We don't politicize the Peace Corps," he said. "Remember, the Bolivians on at least two occasions that I'm aware of said that they thought the Peace Corps was part of a larger intelligence network that they thought we had constructed in Bolivia. Those kind of statements we find very worrisome," Shannon said.

In fact, a U.S. Embassy security officer suggested to a group of Peace Corps volunteers during a briefing last year that they report any sightings of Venezuelan or Cuban activists. After the incident was publicized, the embassy said the officer had not been authorized to make such a request and he left the country.

Currently, 2,174 of the Peace Corps' 8,079 worldwide volunteers work in Latin America and the Caribbean. They are based in 21 countries in the region. Honduras and Nicaragua have the largest presence with 194 volunteers each. They are followed by:
The Dominican Republic: 193
Paraguay: 187
Guatemala: 184
El Salvador: 175
Panama: 174
Peru: 168
Ecuador: 155.

-----------

Dear -------,

Thank you for sending me the article. I'd like to make it clear that I feel that my comments were misconstrued and that the article was negative in its portrayal of volunteers, Peace Corps as an organization and Bolivia.

I regret the use of the word "quit" in the following sentence; "She is among more than 70 volunteers who quit the Corps rather than start over in a different country." Peace Corps volunteers in this situation are officially regarded as having completed their service in good standing; the opportunity to continue service in another country is optional.

A smaller issue, but equally upsetting was the portrayal of my project. Although it sounds nice that "The mayor agreed to partially fund the Peace Corps volunteer's proposal to have children plant fruit trees on main avenues" it was not accurate. The project was to be funded through Peace Corps Partnership and the fruit trees were to be planted in an individual school.

I understand that it is too late to make any changes to the article or remove my name but I wanted to have the opportunity to express my disappointment.

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

I should also add that I don't feel that Peace Corps's decision was an overreaction as stated in the article. They warned us that if political rhetoric increased, we would have to leave. It was unfortunate that it happened and that we had to leave our projects and friends. Also, I can't believe that he kept my quote as "I was like..." I mean, like, really, like, edit it out dude. And I wasn't there two years. And I didn't live in southeastern Bolivia. And Peace Corps wasn't quoted even after giving a statement. Anyhoo, after my comments, the reporter had the opportunity to make some minor changes.

Chau a Bolivia

It has taken a surprisingly long time to start writing this newest chapter of “Lenni’s Adventure.” As you may know, Peace Corps has been evacuated from Bolivia. After a week in Peru taking care of the plentiful and ever-present paperwork inherent to government jobs, we were set free to move on with our lives…to travel, to join Peace Corps in other countries or to face the terrifying prospect of job hunting.

But first, a history lesson:
Bolivia is roughly divided between East and West. In the western area, composed mostly of agriculturally unproductive high lands and mines, live the “kollas.” “Kolla is the original name for the fierce Aymara-speaking tribe that inhabited the land before the Incas came. The Incas, by the way, are the predecessors of the Quechua people who also continue to live in the West of the country. The eastern area is populated by “cambas” who generally appear to be of European or mixed descent. They rely highly on profits from gas, soy and cattle. Although there is a large division between rich and poor people throughout Bolivia, the wealth base is skewed heavily to the provinces in the east. (I’m not even going to get into debt relief programs and foreign aid.) Divisions between the indigenous populations of the western half of the country and the wealthier independence-seeking states in the east have existed for centuries and continue into the 21st.

In 2005, Evo Morales was elected as the country’s first indigenous president and soon began to lead efforts to give more resources and opportunities to the indigenous people. Unfortunately, many of Morales’ programs and policies resulted in alienating and angering the middle and upper classes. He has met huge opposition from the eastern states, who are now demanding economic independence and the control of their own gas revenues. Not necessarily a bad thing (this is how American states work too) it was presented in political propaganda as the refusal of the white elite to help the poorer (and darker) indigenous.

Bolivia survived several large political events lately without violence: elections to create autonomous states, the election of governors, a vote to revoke (or not) those same governors and the president himself, and the somewhat unlawfully drafting of a new constitution. However, the political situation in Bolivia has become increasingly tense over the past few months. Roadblocks have become a constant, restricting travel and causing shortages of food and gas in many communities across the country. In addition, several protests over gas revenue and their distribution have become violent.

As you all know, the United States is heavily invested in the future of Bolivia. It has forgiven their debt, taken an active role in the “War on Drugs” and provided 120 enthusiastic young people to do on-the-ground development work. (Side note: I’m not a fan of war on drugs but it’s a huge and un-ignorable factor in this history lesson.) This intervention has led to heightened suspicion of Americans’ motives, particularly among the higher ranks of Bolivian government, accusations of spying and just general tension. Last week Evo Morales informed US Ambassador Phil Goldberg that he was no longer welcome in Bolivia and asked him to leave immediately. Hugo Chavez, president of Venezuela and ally of Morales, followed suit and sent Venezuela’s ambassador home, too. The US reacted similarly, ejecting both countries ambassadors to the US.

This is when I started to freak out. Every night, my neighbors and I would get together for coffee and the news. Politically liberal and educated, we often spent that hour yelling at the television and getting angry at the one-sided political commentary. We actually had a game to see who could watch the news long enough without changing to a different (news) channel. It seemed that no one knew exactly what they were fighting for as violence increased in the provinces of Tarija, Pando and Santa Cruz. Economic autonomy? Distribution of revenue? Racism? Just plain being paid to protest?

Generally, Bolivians are a “take-to-the-street” type of people. This is there way of being heard and achieving change. Blockades and protests are frequent but generally don’t last too long. This time it just felt different. I should specify that effects were not really felt in my town. There was no chicken and less gas but there was no violence or anti-American sentiment.

September 11th I woke up in my typical anniversary funk. I was trying to avoid televisions for fear of seeing any twin tower images. I had a bad day anyway. When I went to my counterpart agency, to verify that they had paid for my radio and television shows, I overheard a conversation assuring my Peace Corps boss that yes there was a landing strip in a nearby town and no there were no blockades between the main office and me. Instead of dwelling on this obvious reference to a possible evacuation I went to the radio station to schedule my shows…where I learned that the student presenters had never shown up and the manager had accidentally been given the money for the TV shows too. I went back to the agency and from there to the TV station to straighten things out. I was being asked to give a brief interview for the local news when my phone rang. Could I please leave for Cochabamba that night? Peace Corps wanted all volunteers in one place. Reading between the lines I begged for an extra day to prepare and burst into tears. (Never got to do that interview.)

Compared to many other volunteers, my evacuation experience was a piece of cake. Some friends came over for a goodbye fried chicken and tea and I had time to warn several profes of my disappearance and pack my things and requisite underwear; in a rare turn of events it was all clean. I had the luck to travel to Cochabamba with my bestest Peace Corps buddy the incomparable Juice and there were no blockades or violence or anything interesting (besides llamas) between my destination and me.

In Cocha we learned that we would be evacuated to Peru and before boarding the plane we found out that the program in Bolivia was suspended indefinitely. Through this experience I have decided… that when someone is puking that they should be babied like a 5-year old. Their hair should be held, their back should be rubbed, and someone should tell them (as they are airlifted in a military transport to Peru) that the bag that they are puking in has a hole in it and they are actually vomiting all over their last pair of clean pants which will be seen by several Marines, 112 Peace Corps volunteers and the American Chief of Mission in Peru. Yes I vomited all over myself. Apparently crying for days, a bacterial parting gift and air transport in a C130 don’t combine for a positive travel experience.

But good friends, a beautiful country, smiling children, a friendly people, and the opportunity to make a dent in the world did combine for a positive Peace Corps experience, one that I will remember for years…and which will cause me to regale you with uninteresting and oftentimes inappropriate diarrhea, llama, fish head soup, or mistranslation stories.

Thanks for reading.

Travel = Glamour

The past month or so have been kind of slow. I finally quit English classes and must say that my overall health greatly improved as a result. The schools were on vacation for a month because 1) it's winter 2) the teachers were on strike and 3) there was an election and they wanted everyone to go on vacation and not vote. I packed up and headed to Stephanie's site for a weekend which turned into a week's stay. I helped her out a bit in her library and we celebrated Dia de San Juan with salchichas (hot dogs), canela (cinnamon tea spiked with liquor), chispitas (sparklers), and fogatas (bonfires). I went into the city for the 4th but no one was around so I tooled around being touristy for once, checking out the churches and markets. My city routine generally involves eating. I eat bread and hot cocoa in the hotel and then head to the market for api (purple corn drink), pastels (fried cheese pastries), and a liquado (milk shake). Then up to the church for saltenas (baked meat pastry), the café for apple pie and the pizza place for dinner.

My neighbors and I have been trying to be more neighborly so we celebrated el Dia de la Amistad (Friendship day) by having a hot dog dinner complete with gift exchange. I got a stuffed rabbit that giggles when you squeeze it. Oh boy.

Last weekend was the Festival of patron St. Santiago. The festivities were kicked off on Thursday night with a procession through town. Each school made a float representing the saint. Friday was a Mass and yet another procession. Saturday and Sunday was a Santa Anita or sita which is basically a carnival with gambling games and miniature toys. For example you can buy miniature money if you want more in the coming year, or mini bags of flour, or gas tanks, or mini clothing. There were barbecue stands and the standard wine vendors. And that's about it so I leave you with this tome:

The general stereotyped Peace Corps Volunteer is a dirty hippie trying to distance him- or herself from all the unsavory aspects of life in the United States (poverty, foreign policy, racism etc.) by, perhaps ironically, trying to present a positive face of the US in other countries. But there comes a time in every PCV's service when they recognize how truly splendiferous the US is. I mean where else can you find such a wonderful interstate highway system complete with well-stocked, generally clean rest areas?

The main means of long-distance transportation here in Bolivia is bus. Please take a moment to recall all those reasons why you don't travel by Greyhound. Now don't get me wrong. These buses aren't rickety old yellow school buses handed down by other developing nations. (Those are reserved for intra-city travel and are repainted in a stunning variety of colors.....

...see?)

Flotas, as they are called here, are instead rickety old Greyhounds (sometimes also painted brilliantly). The only difference between US buses and Bolivian flotas are minor. Flotas don't have bathrooms, animals are more-or-less allowed, the schedule is oddly limited, the roads are often unpaved and narrow, clinging to the sides of mountains, and the drivers often bring their wives along. This, by the way, is a good sign. If the wife rides shot gun there's very little chance of plunging off a cliff. Although your chofer will want to show off a little he won't want to kill anyone.

Let's discuss:
Bathrooms – some buses have established stops where there is a restaurant or public bathroom. (Oh there are so many places this narrative could go!) The bus from Tarija northwards, for example, pretty much always stops in Iscayachi which as the locals joke means "between two cold places" and is described by the resident volunteer as "like a Wild West town on the moon." For 50 centavos you get a wad of pink tp and your very own stall. Sometimes there's running water. Sometimes not. Sometimes there's a toilet. Sometimes not. On the Inca trail I encountered a flushing hole in the ground. Unlike the Colombian high schooler in the next stall, I thought it was neat-o-keen especially compared to the Peace Corps training center which has dark unlockable outhouses with wood blocks where your feet should go but which in my personal experience are not a very accurate guide. (I evidently must assume a wide left-leaning stance.)
Often there is no bathroom or it's locked or the TP lady is on lunch break. In this case people drop trou pretty much anywhere. There seems to be no effort to find a comfy spot….unless you're my work counterpart who searched for twenty minutes for an appropriate tree to water. I don't have any particular horror stories but on my most recent trip to Tarija I had to water a tree so badly that I had to ask the bus driver to stop just for me. As my friend Oscar says, "Anything's better than the Potosi bus terminal" which, by the way, is the highest in the world and has indeed been patronized by yours truly. How's that for distinction?

Animalitos—to be honest, the only times animals have been on my bus were when I was carrying one. I brought my kitten to the city once. Unfortunately we were sitting in the way back wedged next to a cholita wearing a traditional skirt with its hundred traditional underskirts and covered in a thousand layers of blankets. Neither the cholita nor Maní enjoyed the ride. I once saw a woman in the bus terminal with a couple of lambs in her bag and several times have passed minibuses with flocks of sheep strapped on top. Those sheep looked friggin terrified.

Schedule—for some reason, all the buses to a particular destination leave at once. For example, all the buses going through my town to Tarija leave at 6AM or 10PM. The theory is that if one bus breaks down there will be four other buses to help out. The last bus however is screwed. Asi es la vida.

Road conditions—There is a reason the volunteers in my region are flown everywhere instead of being made to take the bus. Roads in the Tarija area are unpaved, narrow, and curvy and generally have a lovely view over a cliff. In fact, the road to Entre Rios is so curvy that buses only leave at night so that oncoming traffic is easier to see (headlights). I cross through at least one river to get to the city, more during rainy season. However, I can count the times I thought I would die on one hand, and two of those times were in private vehicles and one of those times I asked the driver to go slower and when he didn't I puked all over his car. Take that!

Bus travel also involves the en route movie, temperature fluctuations, chatty and/or smelly seat-mates, drug checks, and the possibility of getting kicked off because the company has overbooked seats. I've seen Terminator at least thirty times. (My personal favorite is "Killer Sheep.") I've frozen. I've baked. And I've had hour long conversations about armadillos. Isn't travel glamorous?

Glossary
Asi es la vida: Such is life. C'est la vie.
Centavos: cents. Bills are known as Bolivianos.
Chofer: driver
Cholita: woman who wears traditional clothing
Drop trou: drop trousers or to remove your pants to urinate, defecate or fornicate.
Flota: bus
PCV: Peace Corps Volunteer

The hills are alive...

...with the sounds of Bolivia

So I´ve been thinking about all those weird Bolivian things that I already take for granted...like burros and pigs walking down the street. Or buying everything I own on the street. Or eating soup with every single lunch. So today´s episode will be "The Sounds of Bolivia"

There are of course the semi-typical village sounds of church bells ringing in a non-harmonious manner at LEAST an hour before the 7AM mass, the premilitary kids chanting in the streets (and now the real military sent here to guard the newly nationalized telephone system), and all variety of school noises and those produced by obnoxious kidlets. Also (how could I forget?) the school band that practices every night until 10 or 11PM. Their repertoire includes "The ants go marching two by two" which is apparently some manner of Bolivian fight song. They have no concept of tuning and although I do not have perfect pitch I often find it very painful to listen.

Some punks making noise.

Less-expected noises include the garbage whistle, the gas horn, the news, and whistling. Every week the trash truck comes through and one of the two guys riding blows a whistle to signal to all the houswives, servants and yours truly to come running out to throw their garbage on the truck. It used to be fun (because what little girl doesn´t fantasize about being a garbage woman when she grows up) but now I miss people to pick up my trash when I´m not there.
I may never have mentioned that ovens/stoves are supplied with propane gas tanks. I probably didn´t because I didn´t want anyone to worry that I´ll explode...as I worried when my landlord held a lit match to the tank to see if there were any leaks. "I´ll just wait out here ok?," I yelled from the patio. Or that time that some (male) friends lit a fire under the tank to "loosen" the small amount of gas left. Anyway there is a gas truck that comes by honking "GAS!" like an overgrown water buffalo. You bring your tank outside, pay, and get a full tank to lug back to your kitchen. This may be the only reason that the Peace Corps application asks if you can comfortably lift 40 lbs, a question to which my doctor answered "sometimes" because she didn´t want me to be disqualified.
Whistling. It seems that Bolivians (meaning high school-age males) have their very own language of whistles. These are not the typical "Hey there hot stuff!" whistles but are more like calling cards. "Hey! It´s Juan! Come downstairs" or "Jaime is here." I was told that by the end of my service I would know when someone was whistling for me and who it was but I think it´s a boy thing (like making machine gun noises.)
Sometimes if there is a special event, another noise enters the mix. We have a taxi especially rigged with loudspeakers. Someone sits in the back yelling the announcements about the upcoming circus or basketball tournament.

So Thursday was Corpus Christi. I missed the typical procession and Mass to go out to the campo, hike around, and take some GPS data. Sometimes I´m not sure if people are messing with me here...like that time that my host mom told me that my host-bro had accidently hung the previous volunteer´s cat. So this time I wasn´t sure of the truth when I got into the car to leave town and was told not to worry because our driver also drives race cars. Unfortunately this race car driver had spilled a bottle of vinegar in the car and between the speed, curves, and smell...I DIDN´T puke! As it turned out the hike was a side trip because out driver wanted to go to Potosí to look for these two guys who may or may not be selling their 50s era trucks. We wound up way out where I had a stereotypical (and before then unexperienced) Peace Corps experience...the one where a bunch of little kids run up to touch you and then run away giggling. Finally the brave ones started to ask a bunch of questions like who´s my mom, who´s my uncle, where do I live, do I speak Spanish. I am often asked, after I´ve been conversing for ten minutes, if I speak Spanish...generally by drunk people.

We finally left, checked out an old church where community members had done amateur excavations (AAGGGH!), and hiked up the cliffs to check out some caves (more like big rocks balanced on little rocks), prehistoric art and the local Inca trails. We also tried several joke allergy remedies like throwing rocks from the cliff into the river, licking large piles of dirt, and breathing deeply...didn´t work.

Sunday was an auto race...through our narrow village streets. We have one newly lame dog and my racecar driver friend crashed into a wall about ten feet from where I was standing. I left when then this really weird drunk guy decided to stand outside of the store I was in yelling (loosely translated) "Blondie! I just wanta drink with you! I know you´re not married! Come here damn it blondie!" Got to say...ruined my day.

Monday was the anniversary of the state and there was a "parade" with the typically horrible school bands. Then I went with some friends to eat barbecue and play cacho (dice). Tuesday was Mother´s day! This means that the kids here haven´t had school for the past three school days.

A Kingdom for want of a...

...nose.

So recently I completed my first year as an official Peace Corps volunteer. I was only in site for the first seven hours of the day...five sleeping, two freezing my backside off in the plaza while waiting for bus to Tarija and reflecting on my first year. (To be honest I didn´t reflect that day cuz I was so angry that they told me to come to the bus stop at 5:30AM when the bus came at 7. And I even asked what time the bus came the day before, that particular bus, not the other lines)
Let´s see. After one year:
--My hair is longer. It also appears to be blonder. I think I might look older but that could just be the gigantic wrinkles between my eyebrows from squinting all the time.
--I still procrastinate. I still hate doing dishes and I still leave all my clothes in a pile to be sorted later. I clean slightly more frequently because my room is the size of a postage stamp.
--My sarcasm has mellowed a bit. maybe. Mostly because it doesn´t translate. I am still brutally direct which has been referred to recently several times as "having balls." As it happens we had a situation recently where one of the new trainees told the country director about some rule breaking he had seen, resulting in some shady dealings and the loss of a spectacular volunteer.
--I am better at small talk. My friend Doña Maria says that her heart leaps when I walk by because she knows I will stop by and chat....usually about health problems (she´s 70), the scandalous dress of women today, and our neighbors. This does not mean that I will join a conversation of more than three people unless you try to tell me that coral is the biggest animal on earth, the holocaust didn´t happen, or you ask (someone else) if I understand Spanish....but then the convo may take an unpleasant turn.
--I still dislike kissing people on the cheek (the typical Bolivian greeting). This may be a depth perception thing though. I am so unsmooth. As such I continue to trip, fall over, and bump my head. I had hoped that my new glasses might help but this Sunday I walked into a pole and yelled F!%/k that hurt! (in English) in front of 20 small children. After recovering we crossed the river to have a picnic and several races. After some time, instead of using sacks to have sack races the kids started hiding in the bags. I think you had to be there. We were in a field of cacti and scattered among the plants were several colorful, chattering, rocks. Lunch was tomatoes, sardines, bread and cheese. That´s new too. I never liked tomatoes before I got here... nor peach flavored products, hamburgers and more soda than I´ve ever had in my life. I avoided organ meat until last week when I was served liver and watched to make sure that I ate every bite.
--I still have a skewed sense of humor. Bolivians make a big deal out of town/county/state/country anniversaries with parades and speeches and such. For April 3rd, the anniversary of Camargo, all the students (and I) marched to the plaza and lined up....to wait an hour for the hung-over dignitaries to show up. (For full disclosure, I also was hung-over.)When they finally came they made a bunch of long speeches to no one and then we marched again. In all seriousness, the mayor has someone specifically to make sure that the marching is done correctly. I am always tempted to stop short, or skip, or wave to the mayor.

Have set a deadline to quit English. I was visited by the Peace Corps boss-man this week. We had a meeting with my counterparts and then went to visit one of the schools where the profe and I had big plans to plant fruit trees. But her proposal got turned down so the boss man (Remigio) and I went into action trying to figure out if we could make it my project instead. Just at that moment the irrigation committee was having a meeting in a beautiful sprawling hacienda so we went to see if we could convince them to go in on a water tank. Meanwhile, we were served "refreshment" which turned out to be undistilled grape liquor....oops

I still don´t journal every day, still haven´t read War and Peace, still don´t like Bob Dylan, still have no idea what I wanna do with my life...but I have a year left. I started by celebrating my year with my buddies, dancing and looking for a tall young man for my friend who is recently broke up. Funfun.

Oh yeah. The nose. Evidently my allergies are really bad in this country and I now have sinusitis and am leaking boogers all over and coughing and stuff. I leave you with that image.

Craaaaaazy

Sorry it’s been so long. I had a temporary lapse of sanity and agreed to teach English classes in one of the local schools. This will probably cause complete and permanent insanity. I have 6 classes of about thirty kids and absolutely no control. Individual children are great but as a mob I’m not a fan. I actually tried to quit. However, as if on cue several 9 year old boys ran up yelling “Good morning teacher!” (in English!) to hug me so I agreed to wait until they contract a new person. I think they have plans to trick the incoming volunteer from Spain to do it. I don’t even know if he speaks English.

I also work in eight schools doing environmental education. Three of those schools have projects left over from a previous volunteer and apparently I am supposed to make sure that they’re sustainable. How I’m to achieve this hasn’t been communicated to me. But I’ve been having some issues with communication lately. For example, my friend stopped talking to me for two weeks because I didn’t wave at him enthusiastically enough as he passed on his motorcycle. In my defense, I wasn’t wearing glasses so I didn’t actually recognize him until too late.

This weekend, after several hellish English classes and a splendiferous session cleaning out the tree nursery with my fourth graders, I went to visit another volunteer in her site. We sat in her new library for a few hours, made ghetto sushi, hung with some buddies and finally went to the bar (I’ve visited several times and we never manage to make it there) to dance. Evidently I have some sort of dancing talent…but I think that Bolivians just have limited exposure to black people. On Saturday we went out to the town of Incahuasi (house of Inca in Quechua) to watch an auto race. It started two hours late (of course) but the campo outside of town is so beautiful and we occupied ourselves by talking and drinking beer. We met a man nicknamed Underwear who carried me across the river so I could take photos. There was also a corn fair so we ate a lot of corn-based products.

Sunday we came back to my site for a fair to promote eggs as we are friends with several of the technicos who work on this project…including the boy who I slighted with my weak wave. Steph and I ate lots of egg-based products including a slightly disgusting batido (egg beaten with wine). Then we all went to a barbecue afterwards where once again I impressed with my dancing ability.

As Dad says whaddelse. I got asked out by a 60 year old man. Got my butt kicked in basketball last Sunday. Peace Corps cancelled a project development workshop for my group. Attendance to this workshop is mandatory if you want to ask for funding….so we’re a bit screwed. The politics are heating up again as they amend the new constitution, accuse volunteers of being spies, and stay out of that situation with Columbia .

On Father’s Day so we had a party at work where the guys had to sew buttons, dress babies and peel potatoes; I can say that they can all do those things better than me.

For Easter I planned to hike up to the stations of the cross on the mountain above town but my students me fallaron. Instead I was kidnapped and forced to peel thousands of fava beans for the traditional Good Friday lunch of locro (fava beans, pumpkin, corn, peas) and aji de haba (fava beans, cheese, sardines, corn, peas, potatos and hot red sauce). Gas was had by all.

That´s so not very newsy...really all my time has been taken up with teaching english, planning to teach english, and complaining about teaching english. Besides that everything is going swimmingly and I have a few good garden projects on the horizon.

Fotitos!

The view outside town!
My favorite English student and her kidlet at graduation!
Shimu and I at the high point (literally) of the Inca Trail!
Macchu Picchu!

In the latest news:

Peace Corps Volunteers and Fullbright Scholars in Bolivia have been asked by a US Embassy Representative to spy on Cuban and Venezuelan nationals. See here and here. A huuuuuuuuuuuge breach of protocol (to ask such a thing) any compliance with the request has been denied as both PCVs and Fullbrights are specifically apolitical. The US Embassy has also acknowledged the error as such.

Cuban and Venezuelan nationals are in Bolivia to enact various social programs in the country´s ongoing socialist, um, consolidation. (ie we´re rolling with the socialist homies and they´re paying for stuff.) In my own town we have Cuban doctors which guarantees good music playing in the bar for at least a few months and Venezuela has funded quite a few construction projects. We also had, for a time, a tall leggy Venezuelan number doing literacy programs. I didn´t have much interaction with her because I only understood about 4% of the words coming out of her mouth.

This, by the way, could get Peace Corps kicked out of the country.

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Peace Corps´official statement is linked to the link above. but if you care for it in Spanish (por si a caso) aqui está:

DECLARACION DE CUERPO DE PAZ

Desde su inicio en 1961, Cuerpo de Paz, ha mantenido el firme mandato que sus voluntarios se mantengan al margen de cualquier actividad oficial correspondiente a la política extranjera de los Estados Unidos, lo que incluye el involucrarse en actividades de inteligencia. Este mandato ha sido reforzado constantemente por todas las autoridades de Cuerpo de Paz desde hace más de 46 años.

Cualquier conexión entre el Cuerpo de Paz y la comunidad de Inteligencia comprometería seriamente la capacidad de Cuerpo de Paz de desarrollar y conservar la confianza de la gente del país en el que el voluntario presta sus servicios.

Consistente con la política de cada una de las administraciones de Cuerpo de Paz desde 1961, el Director Ron Tschetter, quien es un ex voluntario que hizo su servicio en la India (1966-1968), ha sido explícitamente claro en reafirmar esta antigua política y, una vez mas, asegurar que el objetivo de los voluntarios de Cuerpo de Paz es trabajar en el servicio a la comunidad, solamente.
La política de Cuerpo de Paz en contra de las conexiones de inteligencia, se basa en la autoridad general del Director Mundial de Cuerpo de Paz, provista en la sección 5 (a) del Acta de Cuerpo de Paz, de establecer términos y condiciones de servicio a los voluntarios, y por el Acta de Servicio Extranjero de 1980, y la antigua y siempre vigente política de la Agencia de prohibir cualquier conexión entre Cuerpo de Paz y la actividad de Inteligencia anunciada por primera vez durante la Gestión del Primer Director de Cuerpo de Paz, Sargent Shriver en 1961.

Desde la apertura del programa de Cuerpo de Paz en 1962, más de 2500 Voluntarios norte-americanos han servido en Bolivia. Después de un receso que comenzó en 1971, el gobierno de Bolivia formalmente solicito a los Estados Unidos que este retorne a Bolivia, y por lo tanto, el Cuerpo de Paz re asumió sus operaciones en 1990. Hoy, 130 voluntarios están trabajando en Bolivia en las áreas de agricultura, desarrollo de microempresas, educación, saneamiento básico y proyectos de medio ambiente. En los lugares que así lo requieren, Cuerpo de Paz también integra a voluntarios capacitados en informática y tecnología para expandir el acceso a la tecnología entre la juventud boliviana, agricultores, micro empresarios y municipalidades.

La seguridad de los Voluntarios sigue siendo nuestra primera prioridad. Debido al ambiente en que se trabaja, el Cuerpo de Paz basa su seguridad en minimizar los riesgos a una mínima expresión e incrementa la seguridad proveyéndoles una experiencia significada a los voluntarios y a sus familias anfitrionas. El Cuerpo de Paz esta celebrando sus 46 anos de servicio en la casa y fuera de ella. Actualmente hay más de 8000 voluntarios haciendo su servicio, 37 años en el campo. Desde 1961, más de 190.000 voluntarios han colaborado en promover un mejor entendimiento entre los norteamericanos y la gente de 139 países donde los voluntarios han servido. Para ser voluntario de Cuerpo de Paz, se requiere ser de ciudadanía norte-americana y tener al menos 18 años de edad. El servicio de Cuerpo de Paz es un compromiso de 27 meses.

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Amanda H. Beck
Directora de Prensa
Cuerpo de Paz

Peru and Carnaval

"The Lenni" has returned victorious from her vacation!

So ladies and gentlemen I recently celebrated my one year anniversary of living in Bolivia. How did I celebrate? By leaving the country. On the 24th I boarded a bus in La Paz and 13 hours later arrived in Cusco, Peru. There I met up with my partner-in-crime "the Shimon" to explore the city before leaving for a 4-day trek on the Inca Trail. We were accosted by an army of street vendors, discovered a new cucumber fruit, and snuck into some churches (during services so we didn´t have to pay) and museums. Cusco is way more cosmopolitan than La Paz and although a range of good food (and candy bars) were a nice change of pace it was a bit weird to be a gringa tourist again.

On Friday we woke up at the butt crack of dawn to meet our guide and porters and drive to the trail head. I must admit, that starting I was very nervous that I wouldn´t survive the trail, that my little legs would fall off and my lungs would explode. Shimon and I were the only members of our group so our anthropologist guide had time to explain every little thing to us. I swear he could identify every plant on the trail, knew everyone who lived there, and helped me with my Peruvian Quechua (which is different than Bolivia and I´ve since forgotten). The first day he set a very nice strolling pace on the gentle trail. We stopped half a zillion times to take photos of hummingbirds and orchids and learn a bit about the Incas. (Hey Mom...we killed a cochinilla bug!) The villages on the trail have to haul everything in on the trail or by horse. But the tiendas catering to hikers still sold food (Milky Ways, animal crackers, gatorade) that I can´t get in Bolivia. Maybe I´ll tell the tourism guys here that if they sold animal crackers we´d totally get more tourists.

The next day was pretty much all climbing...up to an altitude of 4215m. Shimon left me and the guide (Ebert) behind because our strolling pace was too slow. But Ebert and I enjoyed the opportunity to keep a steady, non-stop, slow pace that allowed us to talk about politics, plants, and my tendency to use Bolivian slang. At one point the guide commented that I was the only one smiling as I hauled my butt up the mountain but after that day I was pretty much sore until a coupla days after the hike. The next day was relatively gentle but a bit boring...it rained a lot. But we did have more opportunity to talk to more of the hikers. It was a bit weird being one of the only gringos more or less conversational in Spanish and people addressed me in both languages.

The last day we set out for Macchu Picchu racing to the Puerta del Sol (Sun Door) to see the sun rise over a view of the Inca site. Unfortunately every other hiking group also left at the same time so it was like a race with people on your heels at all times. It was the fastest I hiked the entire trip and was not entirely enjoyable..especially cuz it was foggy and we weren´t gonna see the sun rise anyway.

We arrived in Macchu Picchu and got a nice comprehensive tour (after using the lovely flush toilets). Every day there is a limit of 500 tourists on the trail and I think 3000 at Macchi Picchu itself. But because we went in the rainy season it wasn´t too full. It´s not really an adventure. You have porters who carry all your crap, set up the tents, cook delicious meals, wake you up with hot tea etc. There is no way you can get lost and the latrines actually flush.

We had two more days in Cusco which was taken up mostly by sleeping and watching the primary results before taking a 10PM overnight flota to La Paz (and then to Coch). Unfortunately the flota was very slow, immigration took forever and we didn´t get to Coch until 11PM the next day. We ate some pique lo macho. I got a vaccine. And then we caught a taxi to Oruro where we met up with a whole heap of volunteers to party and celebrate Carnaval. On Saturday we went to the main plaza to watch all the traditional dancers and participate in a raucous waterballoon-shaving cream fight.Shimon went back to La Paz and the states Saturday night and due to a lack of buses leaving directly for Tarija, I left for Potosí on Sunday afternoon. Unfortunately I missed my connecting bus and due to an overwhelming urge to sleep in my own bed and see my kitten I paid an arm and a leg to take a very bumpy 4hour taxi ride home.

Yesterday I went to my village´s traditional Carnaval celebration (dancing) where as one of the only resident gringos I got pelted with waterballoons. Unfortunately I couldn´t find any of my friends so I left when it got dark to avoid being cold and wet. Today the festivities are continuing but it´s a bit more family oriented.

I´m trying to reflect on how/if I´ve changed after a year here. At the very least I´ve read 60 books (not a change just a lot) a list of which I´ll post eventually if you care. I can say that I have fewer personal space issues, I can sleep in any moving vehicle, and I´m better at talking to strangers.

Feliz Martes de Ch´alla