Communique from Baby World

Man, I have been meaning to write this for sooo long now it is ridiculous! I think the last time I wrote was like, what, Macchu Picchu?

Anyway, as any faithful followers of my blog will be aware, I was due to return to the U.S. on April 30th, which I did, leaving Lima early in the morning and arriving in Las Vegas (via Bogota and Miami) quite late at night. My mom came and got me at the airport bearing gifts of vegan chocolate and hummus and pita, which was so amazing cause I was totally famished after going 24 hours on nothing but the paltry “meals” they served me on the plane. I will say that vegans are totally second-class citizens when it comes to flying- I know people always bitch about airline food being nasty, but compared to what we vegans are given, the “hot meat” meal always looks pretty freaking fancy to me. It’s like the people who plan out our meals must be the most unimaginative losers in the world- I open my little tinfoiled containers, always somehow holding out a secret hope for something decent, while simultaneously bracing myself for what I know is really under there- usually, congealed white rice next to a tragic, wilted 1/3 cup of reheated frozen “mixed vegetables” with a stale white roll and non-vegan margarine, with a fruit cup for dessert. Ugh. Meanwhile, everyone around me is chowing down on their pasta primavera with garlic bread, grilled asparagus & a little cake or whatever, and I just want to be like, “hello! Being vegan doesn’t mean I’m anorexic!” But whatever. Normally I just bring my own food but sometimes it isn’t feasible and I guess it just makes it that much more special when I finally arrive at my destination and am able to eat something that doesn’t make me feel despondent and irritable.

But I digress. So due to the fact that my flight out of Lima left 3 hours late, I almost missed my connection in Miami heading to Las Vegas, and this is how the airline managed to lose my bag for 4 days while I was visiting my parents in southern Utah. Luckily for me, I had sort of expected/ planned for the worst case scenerio so I had the bare essentials in my carry on, and the airline wound up giving me $50 to compensate for the undies and stuff I actually didn’t have so it all worked out- I got some free clothes and my bag came back to me in the end.

I spent 5 lovely days with my parents at their house, which somehow went by so fast it felt like I was leaving almost as soon as I showed up. I hadn’t seen them in nearly a year and I have to say I was feeling really glad to be home. Not as in Utah, but as in the U.S. and with my fam. I was liking South America in its own way, but because I was having to move around so often I never really felt like much more than a tourist, and didn’t really have time to meet many people to connect with for the last couple of months so by the time I got back I was really happy to suddenly be with people who have known me my entire life! And there was soy ice cream, which is always a plus!
My parents are growing a super cute garden in their yard, and it was great to be able to just go out and pick the lettuce that we were using in our salad that night. It makes me really want a garden of my own- just that feeling of accomplishment and connection to the ground and the food we eat seems so essential to really understanding where we fit in in the scheme of it all. That’s the one thing I really struggle with in SF- simply, almost nobody actually has a yard. There are little community garden plots, though, so I’m definitely going to look into doing that when I get back, though I fear it will be too late in the season to really get started on much by the time I get there. Anyway, we’ll see.

Can you tell I’m totally exhausted and just rambling off the top of my head here? I am.

Anyway, after my short visit with the folks it was time to head to Seattle, since Mo’s baby was due on the 10th of May. I flew in on the 6th, arriving in the afternoon, and was met at the airport by my Aunt Cindy and cousin John, who then went and collected my grandparents, who just happened to be flying in at the same time to spend the weekend with my Aunt and her family. I don’t see any of my family very often, so getting to see so many in such a short time span was definitely a happy aberration! We went out to eat at Applebee’s where I somehow managed to find a veggie burger and fries, and then spent the rest of the evening just catching up at their house. The original plan was that I would then spend the next day with them while Mo was at work and then go over to her house when she got done (this was the 7th, mind you, and she was still working as a “dog wrangler”, 3 days before her due date!), but that night Mo called me in tears saying she was having contractions pretty regularly and thought she was going into labor. I was totally hoping that this was NOT the case, since I was kind of stranded in Renton (a suburb about 25 minutes south of Seattle) and really did not want to wake up my relatives to drive me to the hospital in the middle of the night. Eventually Mo did go to the hospital but they told her it wasn’t time yet, shot her full of Morphine and sent her back home, so by the time I got there around 11 the next morning she was barely waking up from the opium haze they had put her in.

She continued to have contractions throughout the next day and so her friend Ruth and I walked her all over the place, recording the timing and periodically checking in with the midwife, who said that no, it still wasn’t time yet. Ruth was amazing, rubbing Mo’s feet and legs, bringing food, and just generally being a totally calming, upbeat influence throughout the whole thing. Finally, around midnight Mo’s contractions had become much stronger and more painful so we all loaded back up into Ruth and Lexa’s (Mo’s housemate) cars and went back to the hospital, where they once again reiterated that even though she was having lots of regular contractions, she wasn’t dilated enough yet so she would have to just go back home and wait. More morphine was given and we turned back around and went home.

Five hours later, the morphine was completely useless as Mo woke up and was absolutely sure that this time, she really was in labor. So once again we made the 30-minute trip to the hospital, and this time they actually admitted her, even though she was only dilated to 3cm. I think they realized that we were sick of driving back and forth and so probably weren’t gonna leave anyways so they just gave us the room rather than call the cops to get us out.

Anyway, the nursing staff was amazing, and since Mo was on a maternity ward in a nice, super-modern hospital (Swedish Ballard) we had a whole “birthing suite”, which means that she got to stay in one room all the way from the time we arrived to the time she left with her new baby, and the baby sleeps in the room with the family (yes, there is even a bed/couch thing for the helper to sleep on!) rather than being wheeled off to a nursery like in the old days. There was also a Jacuzzi, which totally helped Mo to relax and took the edge off some of the pain that the contractions were bringing.
Her original plan was to do it all natural, without drugs or anything, but in the end the pain was so intense that her body wasn’t able to relax enough to dilate, so sometime around 1:30 in the afternoon on Thursday the 8th she had an epidural, which is a type of anesthesia that blocks your spinal pain receptors (or something along those lines), which allowed her to sleep for the first time in over 46 hours. The midwives let her sleep about 3 hours, until she was dilated all the way to 10 cm and it was time to wake her up to start pushing. The epidural had allowed her body to relax enough to finally dilate, and 30 minutes after they had her start pushing, out came Finn Patrick, a scrunched up, squirming, perfect baby. Ruth and I held Mo’s legs as she pushed, and we all got to see the whole process up close and it was seriously one of the most amazing things I have ever experienced! I even got to cut the cord once he was out, and took lots of gory afterbirth pictures just cause it was so crazy to me that all that stuff was inside there.

Anyway, little Finn was born at 5:32pm on the 8th of May, and was actually really calm and quiet his first few days out in the open. Since then he has become a lot more feisty, particularly when it comes to being a bit stubborn about not wanting to learn the whole breastfeeding thing. But he’s getting there, little by little, mainly due to Mo’s dedication to not just giving up and using bottles or formula for him. She has been really persistent, despite the challenges, in trying to make sure he is doing things as naturally as possible, since it is well known how much healthier it is for babies to drink breastmilk and bond with their moms by breastfeeding.
But anyway, even when he’s being cranky he’s adorable- within the first few days he had already amassed a number of nicknames, among them “glowworm” (particularly when swaddled in his light green snuggly nightgown with a little cap on his head), “wrinkle face” (when he gets frustrated/ is about to cry), "the Warden/Emperor/General" (when he is holding us all hostage, which is usually) and, of course, “The Finnster”, just cause we’re kind of jocks I guess. Ha ha.

Yeah, so anyway, I’ve basically just been here, kicking it in Baby World, trying to encourage Mo to sleep whenever possible and make sure she eats something other than cereal to stay alive. We actually managed to make it out of the house to get some groceries today, which has been on the list for a week and a half, and yesterday we went to Ruth’s for an impromptu barbeque, though as soon as Finn fell asleep Mo did too. Still, as exhausted as Mo is, she is holding up relatively well and has even managed to do a little hula hooping a few times since we got home from the hospital. Now the idea is to try to get everything as organized as possible so that when I leave there’s some infrastructure in place and she doesn’t lose her mind trying to do it all by herself.

Brad the Dad is being extremely frustrating, hovering around the margins and basically making a nuisance of himself, demanding to see “his child” whenever he feels like it while simultaneously refusing to fill out his half of the child support paperwork, claiming that he wants DNA testing “just to make sure”. He’s a totally manipulative little prick and by all accounts it would be easier for everyone if he was out of the picture completely, but the reality is he is Finn’s father and therefore has to be taken into account for at least the next 18 years. I’m hoping he’ll grow up enough in the next few years to be able to understand that Mo’s world doesn’t revolve around him anymore and that he needs to get his act together if he wants to set any kind of an example for his child. I’m not holding my breath but I guess there’s always hope.
Anyway, so that’s been my world as of late. Even though I barely leave the house and I’m not the one who had a baby, I still find myself exhausted by 1am and sleeping like a brick at nights, when I’m not up helping Mo deal with the screaming infant. I’m so glad I came though, cause it has been an amazing experience- I just don’t know how I’m going to leave them behind when it’s time to go back to SF next month.

I hope all of you are doing great- now that I’m back home, you call me if you want to just chat- it’s been so awesome to finally catch up with a lot of my friends on the phone after so much time! I am really excited to get back to the Bay and get going on some of the many, many projects I have in mind. The goal is still to go to school in the fall and try to avoid a full time job to whatever extent is possible! I might try to do a whole bunch of work right when I get back before school starts so I have a bit more leeway, but we’ll see.

Okay, that’s it. I’m super tired and it is my bedtime!

Love to all,

Pike.

p.s. If you want to see pictures of the baby,etc, go to my picasa page (http://picasaweb.google.com/veganpike) and click on the ones that mention Finn. Enjoy!

Machu Picchu

I'm not normally one of those people who gets really worked up over ruins or natural history museums. While I find them interesting and usually somewhat aesthetically pleasing, I have never really harbored a desire to be an archaeologist and spend my time "uncovering the mysteries of the past" or whatever. It's kind of like, I really like to understand a bit about the culture of the place I'm in, but when it comes to looking at site after site of ancient stones that we actually know very little about, I kind of get bored.

That said, I have to admit that not only Machu Picchu, but also the sites we visited along the way totally blew me away. It is SO beautiful there it is hard to even describe, and the photos I took don't even come close to doing it all justice. I think one of the reasons I really enjoyed Machu Picchu so much is that so much of it is still really intact, I mean like even in full working order, in the case of the water drainage systems. So it doesn't require quite such a flight of imagination to envision what life here was like, and, most importantly, the site itself is absolutely breathtaking. It makes a lot of sense that it was never found (and therefore never destroyed) by the Spanish simply because the location is so remote and so incredibly high- it sits atop a mountain peak, amid several other similar peaks, some of which are also built up and others of which are not. But who would of thought to attack there? Nonetheless, this gorgeous place was only used for about 100 years before it was abandoned, though to this day nobody is certain of why.

Anyway, even though really doing it right means getting up at 5am to catch the first hours of light, it was well worth the effort. After spending the better part of the morning on our little guided tour of the pueblo of Machu Picchu, I decided that I was feeling up for the hike up to Waynapicchu, a neighboring mountain that also has ruins at the top. The climb up Waynapicchu is grueling, but I was actually relishing the exercise, since I have basically become a human vegetable in the last year, lacking any kind of real cardio or legs workout. I was quite pleased at the fact that I was able to pass up most of the others on the trail too, and I made it to the top in about 35 minutes, though the average is an hour. I took my time once I got there, hot and sweaty, to relax, cool down, climb around, take pictures and eat my lunch of choclo (native, huge corn on the cob) and an apple, legs dangling off into nowhere at what feels like the top of the world. By the time I was ready to move on, I was feeling pretty good and energized again, so when I got to the crossroads that gave me the choice between going back to the entrance or descending to the bottom to see the Great Caves (also called the moon caves), I opted to press on and check out the caves. This, as it turns out, was perhaps a bit overambitious.

The trail was gorgeous: as it snakes down the mountain (through a combination of carved stone steps, normal dirt path and lashed-together wooden ladders, depending on the steepness), the air becomes less dry and the vegetation more tropical, with lush green vines, twisting trees and wild orchids of all kinds tangling into a thick forest on all sides of you. I continued on for around 40 minutes, down, down, down, and then came to the first bit of ruins, which was some kind of hallway that I couldn't really determine the purpose of. It was a little complicated getting down from that first part, but when I did I immediately spotted the brightly dressed woman who had sat across from me on the train the night before. She was perched on the ledge of the overlook, moving her hands in front of her and chanting some kind of hippie mantra, I don't know what. She ignored me and I looked behind her and saw another middle-aged woman, this one slightly less woo-woo seeming, sitting on a carved stone bench inside the mouth of the great cave, talking to her friend in Spanish and then contorting herself so she was sitting upside down now, her head hanging close to the ground and her legs perching atop the stone, attempting to balance like that. I did my best to pretend they weren't there and went on about my way, walking into the cave, which had been meticulously inlaid with stone walls and cupolas, where, if my guide is correct, is where the Inkas would have placed their precious ceremonial objects to be displayed while they used the space to perform rituals and religious ceremonies. There was also the "double carved" door jamb, which was only used for holy buildings. I ventured further back into the darker part of the cave, but even though there were obviously more structures built up back there, I didn't have a light and the damp darkness that pervaded it creeped me out so I left.

Climbing back out and back to the main site proved to be a lot more of a challenge than coming in had been. I noticed that when I stood still my legs started shaking, so I figured the only thing to do was to keep walking. I tried to take it steadily, not going as fast as I usually like to in order to pace myself, but after climbing steadily up for more than an hour, only to come to a place where I then had to descend and could clearly see that ahead of me I would have to RE-ascend that which I was about to "undo", I started to feel annoyed. The Inkas were some tough mothers, that's all I can say. About two hours after I had left the Cave of the Moon, I finally reached familiar ground again, where I had originally come in to climb to Waynapicchu.
By the time I stumbled out, I was hot and sweaty, my legs were shaking and sore, and I was ready to go back to town and take a shower.

Leaving wasn't that easy either, since without a map, Machu Picchu is something of a maze, and more than once I found myself following labyrinthine pathways only to wind up at a dead end stone wall. But eventually I did make it out, only to discover that my tour company had only sent me with a one way ticket- I had no bus ticket back down. Annoyed (since I had actually already paid the exhorbitant $12 roundtrip fee with my tour), I eventually convinced the surly woman behind the counter to at least give me a student priced ticket, which she did, only to get me out of her hair I think. While waiting in line for the bus, I noticed a man who had just been delivered by stretcher to the front of the line. He was covered to his chest in an orange bodybag, but he was conscious. The woman beside me couldn't help but explain to me, in a loud New York accent, how they had been "stuck behind" him the whole time on the top of Waynapicchu, and how he had somehow managed to injure his leg and a rescue crew had to come and carry him all the way down on the stretcher, a feat I can hardly imagine as even being possible. By this time the man was being helped up and the bodybag was pulled back to let him out, and the leg that was revealed did indeed look pretty badly broken- it was all purple and swolled, from foot to about halfway up his lower leg. Poor guy. He looked dazed, and the woman beside me just continued to complain about how every time she had tried to get around the rescue party she still ended up behind them, which had clearly been a great nuisance to her. I just gave her a look of disbelief and commented how horrible it must have been for the guy and the rescuers, and she shut up shortly thereafter.

So yeah, it was a little rough, but it could've been a lot worse!

When I got back to town I went to the local "hot springs", which proved to be a lot less lovely than I had imagined, since really it was just several concrete pools full of dirty-looking water, but still , I think it was good for me. I tried to ignore the Pink Floyd and Bob Marley that was being cranked from the loudspeaker, and befriended a nice girl from Slovenia, a doctoral student who had just arrived from Bolivia that day and was exhausted. We hung out in the warm water until our skin was all pruny, and then went to eat and have a drink in town before we went our separate ways. For the first time in days, I slept like a baby, completely exhausted but warm and cozy in my hostel room.

I took the train and bus back to Cusco the following morning, and now, here I am, typing away at the ONLY wi-fi spot I could find in Cuzco, a super bougie restaurant/ cafe, hoping they don't say anything about the fact that all I've ordered in the past two hours is a tea. Tonight I will take a 5pm bus back to Lima (about 22 hours away), where I will spend my last few days before I head back to the US! The goal is to try to find gays. We shall see.

I hope this finds you all well and good. Other than having to pee right now, I myself am doing great, and can't wait to see you all again and eat delicious soy ice cream and vegan donuts! It's so hard to be vegan here! But I am staying stong- just a little cranky about it.

Big hugs to all! xoxo, me.

Uros Islands, Peru

April 18th, 2007 (more or less)...

Well, I finally left Bolivia. Sometime last week (time is all a blur now), I got on a bus in La Paz and crossed the border into Peru, where I decided to stop and stay in Puno, a small town on the shore of Lake Titikaka. The guidebook had described Puno as pretty, so I was unpleasantly surprised to discover that this was patently false. Like many other latin American towns, Puno is crowded & filthy, a messy jumble of half-completed buildings stacked on top of one another, all concrete and rebar sticking out unevenly like the half-eaten innards of some unfortunate savannah prey. The way to get from the bus station into town is by mototaxi, which is a fun experience in itself, since really what we're talking about here is a actually a dangerous combination of a motorcycle up front, with two wheels and a little covered carriage dubiously welded onto the back. It's fun.

Anyway, the first hostel I went to was the one I had found in the guidebook before my arrival. The entrance was shabby and barely visible, and once I had navigated the narrow concrete pathway up to the "entrance", I realized that it actually wasn't marked. So I hazarded a guess and walked into a small courtyard draped with drying laundry, only to startle a very old woman and her family, who were having lunch. Oops. After an awkward moment of trying to explain to her that I was looking for the hostel, a younger woman appeared in an adjacent doorwaya and showed me back the way I came, to a barely marked door with a bell so high she could barely reach it. We rang the bell a good three or four times, but nobody ever answered, so, shrugging our shoulders, I retreated back out into the chaotic streets and and headed for the only other place on my list, the Hotel Monterry, which was located smack dab in the center of the tourist strip. They gave me a room with a nice German girl who has been living here with a Quechua family as part of her religious studies thesis project.

By the time night fell, I had learned that the vegetarian restaurant that the guide had lauded as having "amazing traditional Peruvian dishes with fake meat, fresh local veggies and quinoa" was no longer in existence, having been replaced by some run-of-the-mill, overpriced tourist meat restaurant. Instead I found the only other veggie restaurant in Puno, which was lacking in atmosphere and not that exciting but given the circumstances, was still much appreciated. I had also learned that Guang, the nice boy from New York that was my seat companion on the bus from La Paz, had been absolutely right when he told me that Puno was incredibly boring. It was. The German girl and I went out to the "rock pub" around the corner that evening, but after 2 cups of coca tea for me and a couple of coffee/ liquor concoctions for her, we were both over it and decided to go home and sleep.

The next day I was torn about what to do: just get out and head straight to Cuzco, or stay and try to see the mysterious "floating islands" on Lake Titikaka that are made from woven straw. When I learned that there was a group of islands only 30 minutes by boat from the town, and that I could go see them and still be back by early afternoon, I decided to go ahead and check it out, just because they sounded so intriguing.

I got a boat from the main dock, eschewing the myriad tour offerings since I had been warned that the tour companies give practically nothing to the actual indigenous communities they visit, and I didn't really want to give my money to someone so they could further exploit a group of people who have virtually nothing to begin with. Anyway. The Lake itself is gorgeous, a beautiful clear, cold blue with the snow-capped Andes Mountains surrounding on all sides. When we finally arrived at the first island, we were helped to "dock" by the local women who were waiting to help peg us into the soft, straw-covered surface of the island by a rope.

The islands really are incredible- apparently they were first built to avoid invading forces, be they Spanish or from other tribes, using the reeds that naturally grow very tall and very quickly all over the lake. The indigenous people use the reeds for everything- they are woven together beautifully to make boats, houses, and, of course, even the very islands themselves, which are about 3 feet thick in most places and need to be supplemented with fresh reeds every week or so. They are even edible, though I have to say, not that tasty. It's amazing! Obviously, I went nuts taking pictures so if you are curious or if I'm not explaining it all that well, just go look at the photos and you'll understand what I'm talking about.

Anyway, we spent several hours hopping around to the various islands, looking around, talking to the folks who live there, who mainly wanted to sell us souvenirs but were friendly nonetheless. One woman I spoke with showed me inside her house, which was tiny but cozy, made of wood, reeds, and little else. She proudly demonstrated the sole electric lightbulb that was strung from a cord and served as the house's only light source, and explained that after several islands had caught on fire as a result of spilled candles, ex-president Fujimori had donated solar panels so the islanders could have enough electricity to light their homes without the risk of burning to death, since the houses of dried reeds are basically a tinderbox waiting for a spark.

Eventually, it was time to leave, and I bid Ana goodbye with a small donation, and we all climbed back in the boat and headed back to solid ground.

A few more little things

First of all, Erica in San Francisco pointed this out on the listserv we're both on, and I just have to say that THIS is why I really, really love San Francisco. Never let it be said that embittered leftists don't have a sense of humor:

http://presidentialmemorial.org/


Okay and the other thing is that I put a bunch of pictures up on the internet (after a whole bunch of hemming and hawing cause I am not exactly "tech-savvy", to say the least). So I don't know if this link will work or not, but I think so, so give it a shot if you've got a few minutes to kill:

http://picasaweb.google.com/veganpike

And finally, last but not least, if you are a California voter, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE be sure to vote in the upcoming summer elections to say NO to the repeal of rent control. If this legislation gets overturned, me and basically everyone I know in SF will be homeless, and I am not even exagerrating at all. It really is just like that. My landlord has made it crystal clear that she wants to up the rent once I leave, since she won't let anyone else on my lease, as that would guarantee them the same rate I'm getting (which, at nearly $2,000 a month, isn't exactly a steal as it is).
Anyway, climbing down from the soapbox now, so yeah, that's all...

xoxo, Pike

Esperanza de Libertad, continued.

I’m back! In La Paz, that is…

I had a fabulous time at Esperanza de Libertad, in spite of the incessant insect bites, tropical heat and humidity, and constant cleaning of animal poo off of everything in sight.

This past week we did all kinds of work: we planted yucca, harvested rice, cleared a bunch more grass and weeds with machetes (not easy, especially since the first day our machetes were really dull- it made a world of difference when we sharpened them!), and I found myself furiously chopping firewood in 90-degree sun on more than one occasion, since there is no gas or electricity there and we need the lenas to cook with. But most importantly, we got a new monkey!

The newest member of the Esperanza clan was named Negrita (little black one), but I renamed her Paula since I figured that two nearly identical spider monkeys named “black one” was a bit much (the other one’s name is El Preto, which is Portuguese for black). She was living in an open yard behind someone’s house, tied to a tree almost all of the time. She’s smaller than Preto and a lot more shy; in fact, she was completely terrified when we came to get her, shrieking and backing away like we were trying to kill her. But she has acclimated really well, and is already holding her own against Preto, who can be something of a playful bully, and we let her off the cord after only 2 days because it was obvious that she felt more comfortable.

On her second day there, we discovered a super disgusting, gnarly wound on her finger that has apparently been festering there for a long time, because the whole tip is basically rotted off and when we squeezed it and cut away the dead part, there were tons and tons of microscopic eggs inside- ewwww!!! I’m not generally a squeamish person, but this was almost too much for me. Between the pus, the blood, the dead skin, the open wound and then the eggs, I have to admit I was kind of freaking out. But we got all the nasty stuff out eventually, and disinfected it with some super heavy duty animal wound cleaner, so hopefully it will heal up okay now. I was concerned because she kept gnawing at it, but it did look a lot better the next day so fingers crossed. If not, it’s time for the old antibiotics.

Ixiamas, the small town nearest to Esperanza, also turned out to be a really sweet little place. Franci knows just about everyone and so hanging out with her meant I got a warm reception. We went out to the “disco” on Saturday night and had a lot of fun dancing to music I would never normally dance to, with tons and tons of sweet boys I would never normally dance with! They were all really curious about me, both because I’m a foreigner and because of my tattoos , so I got to meet about half the town’s eligible male population, who all turned out to be very sweet. One thing that is really great about Latino guys is that they know how to dance and they’re not afraid to move their hips, which in the US just doesn’t really happen! I’m so used to seeing all these really fun girls dancing for all they’re worth with their male dancing partners just looking awkward or not really doing much, that it is super refreshing to be surrounded by young boys who are clearly very much enjoying wiggling their hips and shoulders to the music and doing lots of fancy footsteps that I can’t possibly keep up with!

The next day was when we went to go pick up Paula and do our shopping for the week, and then it was back to the farm. Franci had to leave for La Paz to take care of some document-related something or other on Tuesday, so it was just me, Inez, baby Marcos and the animals for the next few days, but it was really nice and calm, too.
Anyway, I have tons of great pictures of the various plants and animals and people that make up Esperanza, so I will try to put them up on this Picassa thing. I put up a few others already but it’s a little confusing how I’m actually supposed to use it, so yeah, I don’t know if there’s a link or what but I’ll figure it out…

So now, after a grueling 26-hour bus ride that took all of yesterday and last night over bumpy, dirt roads, through small rivers and streams, and yes, even a stretch on the infamous “Death Road” of Coroico, I am back in La Paz, and trying to have a mellow day while still making good use of my time. I’m back at the apartment of my German boys, Tobias and Martine, and let me tell you that taking a hot shower today was like heaven on earth! In the jungle it was just the opposite- I looked forward to the cold water showers so much I wound up washing two or three times per day on really hot days, but here in La Paz it is totally freezing! I think I’ll only be here a couple of days, and then head to Cuzco via Lake Titicaca, since the clock is really ticking now on when I have to head back to the states. It’s hard to believe I’ve only got 3 weeks left! But I’m super excited about Mo’s baby, which is due on the 10th of May… I’m really hoping the little guy holds out until I get there on the 6th to be born, since I want to be there to help out with the birth. I keep having all these visions of a tiny pink bundle sleeping in my arms, and carrying him around in a sling and generally playing the role of aunty to a newborn- my maternal instincts have kicked in big time now that I’m closing in on 30! I’m seriously considering figuring out a way to be a foster parent when I get settled down a little more, but I’m not really sure that it’s possible right now, especially since I want to go to school. We’ll see.

Anyway, I will keep ya’ll posted from here on out, and try to get those pix up asap. I hope you are all doing great, and if you want more info about Esperanza, please check out their website at www.esperanzadelibertad.org. They can really use any help you can give and are in the process of trying to figure out how to become more self-supporting. We’re thinking maybe cacao trees, to produce organic cocoa to be sold overseas… I have to do some research, but it seems viable. In the meantime, help ‘em out if you can! The animals will thank you!

xoxo, Pike

p.s. Okay, I have no idea if this will work, but try clicking here to see some pix:
http://picasaweb.google.com/veganpike/EsperanzaDeLibertad

Esperanza de Libertad: the first week!

Hi ya´ll! Well, I know I haven´t been here for a week quite yet, but I just really quickly wanted to write a teensy update on what I´ve been doing so far.
When I first arrived last Thursday, it was incredibly hot here, so I spent the first few days trying to adapt to the heat. The bus ride from Rurre to Ixiamas took about 5hours, and I was melting in my seat the whole time. When I finally arrived, I managed to locate the hotel where Stella´s friend Franci had said to meet her (she rents a room there for when she is not on the land), and I waited about an hour until she appeared. Franci is really, really amazing! She is totally badass and is also one of the nicest, most unpretentious people I have ever met!!!
Anyway, we had to spend the first night here in town because her car was leaking oil like crazy and we couldn´t fix it in the dark, so my first glimpse of Esperanza was the next day, Friday, late in the morning. There is a family (Franci´s nephew, his wife and their adorable little boy Marcos) who lives there, so Inez (the wife) was there with little Marcos to take care of the animals while Franci was gone. Inez is also extremely cool, a super tough lady who is also a really good mom. It is hard to believe she is only 22!!!
Anyway, the animals living there right now are a fun bunch: there´s the extremely mischievious spider monkey, Preto; a tejon (kind of like a raccoon but different- you can google it) named Luchita who has an injured leg; a little turkey hen; two lodos (a kind of parrot), & two dogs. Preto and Luchita love to climb all over everything and everyone, and find it especially amusing to try to run into the kitchen/ my bedroom at every small opportunity! They also both love to be cuddled, especially the tejon, which is really fun cause her fur is soft and she is super small (she´s still a baby), and she makes these really cute chirping noises when you pet her.
My first few days there, the only long pants I had were my jeans, and it was way too hot for that, so I ended up wearing a skirt and flip flops but boy, did I pay the price in mosquito bites! Both of my ankles were so bitten up that they were completely swollen, and it is only now that they are back to normal size, though the hideous bright red spots are gonna be there for awhile, not to mention the itching. But it´s been really fun, too. The work on the farm is not easy but it´s really amazing what they´ve accomplished so far: when they started there was only grass, but now they have corn, bananas, peanuts, peppers, papayas, mango trees (babies, still not producing) and lots more being planted. Yesterday we planted 52 baby banana trees which should start producing fruit in about 8 months or so, according to the old guy down the road who sold them to us. Everyone is so sweet here- it was raining when we went to get the plants, and we hadn´t yet dug the holes yet, so in a split second he announced that he and his two sons would be coming with us to help us get the bananas planted faster. We were all completely covered in mud and it was really hard work for the next couple of hours, but it was really fun, too! Preto kept trying to destroy the new trees, which actually isn´t that hard since they are so tiny still, but we managed to salvage them alright and I think it will all turn out okay in the next few months. After the rain let up I went with the girls and Marcos (age 2 1/2) to go hunting for wild limes and chirimoya, which is maybe the same thing as a custard apple? Not sure. But it´s really, really good, enough to get both Franci and Inez way up in a tree trying to knock down the riper ones with sticks. A little scary, but fun, too!
There is also a little stream near the house, so the first day I was here we went to the stream and did laundry and generally cooled down, which was fabulous. The next day we cleared grass, which sounds like no big deal but let me tell you, it is NOT easy when you are using really basic tools and it is about 100 degrees outside!
Anyway, I need to go cause this internet is really slow and really expensive, but I will write more soon. I can´t believe that in one month from today I will be at my parents house in Utah! I can´t wait but I also don´t want to leave!
big hugs to all, pike

Going into the Jungle!

Hey everyone! This is gonna be a quick one cause I am just about to get on a boat and cross the river away from civilization for the next two weeks. I am in Rurrenabaque, Bolivia, in the tropical north part and I am on my way to Esperanza de Libertad, where I guess I will be helping them build stuff and hanging out with monkeys, or something like that! Vamos a ver. Anyway, I just wanted to say that if you don´t hear from me for a while, don´t panic, I´m probably okay, i just won´t have much access to the internet until I get back from Esperanza. I hope you guys are doing great. I wanted to put up a post about going to the Salar de Uyuni, which I did almost a week ago now, but I haven´t really gotten it together to write it. So if you´re curious, just google it and you can see what i´m talking about. It´s a really famous and beautiful place, so there should be plenty of photos and stories and stuff like that. Okay, big hugs to all! xo, Pike

Sorry to Whine, I am totally okay and all that.

Hey, so sorry if my last post was a bit melodramatic... Just for the record, that happened over a week ago and I am totally fine now. I didn't lose my main bag, just the stuff I had brought for the overnight, so even though it really sucked to lose stuff like my air mattress, my favorite skirt and shirt, glasses, sunglasses, and lots of little things that generally make my life more comfortable, I want to make it clear how grateful I am for the stuff I DIDN'T lose: my passport, my spare debit card, my computer, my camera, etc. And that I never even saw who took it. I think it would be way more traumatizing to get robbed to my face than behind my back. Even though it is far more cowardly to steal from someone who doesn't even know you're doing it. Whatever.
So yeah, don't worry about me, I'm fine, I'm in La Paz now, desperately trying to catch up on my blog updates cause I have actually been doing tons of stuff that is really interesting, which means I haven't had time to write about it! Which is kind of a good thing, right? Right.
Okay, thanks, that's all....
lots of love to you all!
xoxo p.

Trouble in Tarabuco

Sucre:

I was staying on the floor of some very nice, if sort of hippie-ish, guys I met on Couchsurfing in the lovely town of Sucre, Bolivia. Another girl, Celeste, who I had also met on Couchsurfing, told me that a friend of hers was organizing a trip to Tarabuco for the annual indigenous celebration that happens there, and if I wanted to go it would be really fun. So I said sure, why not? Sounds like a good time. At 4 the next day, we met up in town and waited for the bus to come and get us. When it eventually did come to pick us up, we realized that this was not going to be the normal 2-5 people trip that her friend, the local boyfriend of another gringa who lives in Sucre, had taken her on before. This time around the bus was packed with dozens of screaming, rambunctious teenagers, and as Celeste and I were the only gringos and also, I am certain, by far the oldest ones there, I hoped I wouldn't feel too out of place for the next few days.

As soon as the bus started its engine, the teenagers all at once lit up cigarettes and began puffing away with wild abandon, as if to assert their independence by choking us all to death with their putrid fumes. I pulled down my school-bus window and tried my best to stay in the current, despite the fact that it wasn't very warm, and shot school-marmly death looks at every underager with a cigarette in their hands. It didn't work.

Anyway, after a little less than two hours our journey was already over, and somehow I had survived, so I was happy when we all clambored off the bus and into the chilly air of Tarabuco. After a few minutes of confusion, we picked up our things and allowed ourselves to be herded down and through several winding cobblestone streets until we arrived at a rundown, nondescript building on the corner of two equally non-descript streets. Stepping through a low doorway, we were in a tiny courtyard of sorts, with doorways into other rooms to our left and in front of us, a large pile of rubble and a crumbling doorway hung with a sheet and marked "bano" to the right, and a set of steep stairs leading to another room above it all just ahead and to the left.

I was already exhausted from a poor night's sleep the night before, so I hadn't counted on staying away long when we mounted the steps and set up our things, all of us in one room, blankets and sleeping bags directly on the hardwood floor. I was looking forward to taking a stroll around the town, maybe getting a bit to eat and then heading to sleep, hopefully even finding somewhere to fill up my hot water bottle along the way so my feet wouldn't freeze in the frigid night air of the uninsulated room. Celeste and I had seen a cafe that looked promising, so after chatting for a while with some friendly boys who had offered to show us around the town, we decided to go check it out and then meet up with them later in the square.

The cafe, it turns out, did in fact have a few vegetarian items, which is something of a miracle in a Bolivian town of such a small size (only around 1,000 people live there), so we ate avocado sandwiches and drank hot tea before heading out to the main square, where all the festivities were to take place the next day.

When we arrived, the first thing Celeste showed me was the massive, impressive statue of an indigenous warrior standing over the body of a slain Spanish conquistador, his chest a gaping hole, with the warrior holding the man's heart in one hand and his mouth dripping with blood, as though he had just taken a bite. It was then that Celeste explained to me that the celebration we were there for is actually an important holiday in the local indigenous cultures because it is the commemoration of a battle in which the indigenous tribes managed to defeat the Spanish (and lead by a woman, no less!!!), and is a reminder that the people here were not willingly defeated, but fought to the death to protect their homeland and traditions.

This sounded pretty great to me, except that being a gringa, I felt a bit of awkwardness too since my very presence there was, in some ways, part of a different method of colonization, and I really didn't know how welcome we would be. In any event, we gawked at the statue a little bit longer and then decided to go get my hot water bottle so we could ask the cafe if they would fill it up for me, since we were both ready to turn in for the night. But when we arrived back at the house, we found that the door was padlocked and there was no one around to let us in. Annoyed, we looked around for the guy in charge, but he was nowhere to be found. Someone else mentioned that the door would be open again by midnight, so we would just have to hang out until then. Okay, so I wasn't happy but it wasn't the end of the world.

We went back to the square and ran into Ricky, the friendly other tour guide we had been chatting with earlier, and he took us to go buy coca leaves and showed us the traditional way to chew them; removing the spines, and carefully placing first 5 or so leaves in your mouth, then taking a tiny, tiny bite of a piece quinoa charcoal/ corn substance that, when rubbed against the leaves, releases the juice more efficiently. The thing with coca leaves is that the effect is really nothing like the highly concentrated extract that we know as cocaine- rather than a super stimulant, it has been traditionally used for thousands of years to help people deal with altitude sickness, as an analgesic (it did actually feel like a bit of novocaine had been rubbed on my gums), and as a way to physically cope with the incomprehensibly hard labor forced on the indigenous people by the Spanish conquistadors and in the mines. I tried a little for about an hour or so, but the numbness kind of just made my cavities more sensitive to the cold, and I wasn't very into the feeling of having a big wad of leaves shoved in my mouth like tobacco. But it's an experience, so I'm glad I tried it!

After hanging a while in the park, we went to the dance that everyone else was at, just around the corner from the house, and actually had a lot of fun dancing to an extremely weird mix of reggaeton, terrible latin pop, fantasy metal, and traditional Bolivian music. The scene was actually so bizarre it was funny: at first, we were just hanging out and kind of group dancing with Ricky and a couple of the boys who had been friendly to us before (they all used to work with our intrepid "leader" as tour guides for a different company). Then this extremely wasted, obnoxious American girl, "Heather", decided to come and besiege us with how excited she was to meet another American, and started aggressively provoking our new friend Ricky into... I don't know what.... saying, "oh, you know, Ricky, he is SUCH a SLUT!!!" and we were just like, "whatever dude, whatever your going for here is none of my business" but still, it took her ages to finally go away, and by that time Celeste and I had just started dancing with each other and this apparently made our new friends feel unwelcome, so they went with Heather, which was fine too. It was then, after we had tired of dancing and realized it was about midnight and decided to leave, that the 15-year-olds struck.
Innocuous enough at first, I said, "why not?" thinking it can be fun to have an innocent dance with a kid young enough to be my child, more or less.

Things are different here.

I don't know if it's just because we are gringas and maybe are generally all thought to be totally up for whatever, whenever, or if they actually expect to make out with every girl they ever dance with, but I have to say it took me the better part of an hour to actually convince this kid (this was after dancing- very, very badly on my part- for quite a long time without unsavory incident) that no, there really is no way on earth that I'm going to kiss him, and not just because I'm waaaaay older than him.
Celeste was having a similar issue with her 15-year-old, so eventually we finagled our way out of there, though not before having to physically confront a completely different guy, this one a part of our tour group, who was drunkenly trying to prevent us from leaving. It's a good thing I'm not scared to use force if I have to, though thankfully it hasn't really ever come to that. I think that as soon as someone sees that you are more than willing to put up a fight that usually is enough to make them decide that it's really not worth the effort. I grabbed his arm and shoved it out of the way, ushering the both of us out of there and back into the cold night air.
Anyway, by this time I really was tired and grouchy, and seriously not in the mood for anymore dancing, dealing with drunken strangers, or anything else but sleep. But of course, despite the fact that by now it was 2am, the door to the sleeping space remained padlocked when we arrived and no one seemed to know where our guide was at. We spent the better part of the next hour scouring every plaza, still-open bar and party-sounding place in the tiny town, without ever encountering Celeste's friend, until finally we returned to the house and found somebody who knew somebody else who had the keys. And thus, we were finally let in the house, only to realize that there were lots of people there already, they had apparently just been locked in, as we now were as well.

Even though it was freezing, I had my really fancy little air mattress and my halfway decent sleeping bag, so that combined with how exhausted I was helped me fall asleep fairly quickly. Unfortunately, I wouldn't get to enjoy it for long, since sometime 1 to 2 hours after we finally made it in, so did all the others, many of whom were still up for partying. This included the obnoxious guy who tried to block us from leaving the party, and it took a lot of restraint for me to not just totally lose it and start screaming at him, since he was flipping the lights off and on and running around the room like a demented puppy on steroids. The others were complaining as well and eventually he settled down, but by this time it was something like 5am and we didn't have long until the light came in again, waking him and all the others. Soon I was trying hard to ignore the inevitable sounds of waking that were happening all around me, determined to cling to every potential minute of sleep I could possibly muster. It was sort of working for a while until, out of nowhere, I suddenly had the sleeping bag ripped away from where I was holding it over my eyes, and the demented face of that same guy (!) started shouting at me that we had to get up! we had to get up!!! now!!! and I totally lost it.

Anyway, after repeatedly warning him to get the fuck out of my face (to the best of my ability in Spanish), the douchebag finally listened and left the room, and by that time i was so over it all that I just decided to get up anyway and try to make the best of it by getting some breakfast and tea and hopefully just getting through the day. Celeste agreed, and so we packed up our things, arranged ourselves the best we could, and then realized that there was just this big room with everyones's stuff in it, which seemed a little sketchy. Just then, though, Celeste's friend the "tour guide" finally made an appearance, still totally drunk from the night before, and assured us that after we left, they would be locking the whole place and then we could all come back and get our things at 3, when we started re-gathering to head back to Sucre.

This sounded slightly dubious but we really didn't have any other option, being, as we were, in a tiny town where we knew no one on the biggest celebration day of their year, so we shoved our things into the corner and tried to make them appear as innocuous as possible, and left.

The day itself actually went okay from that point, starting with our breakfast of hot tea, fruit smoothies, bread and jam and a traditional drink called Api, which is like an extremely sweet sort of mash of purple corn, cloves, cinnamon and who knows what else, served thick and hot in the morning. After eating, we headed for the main square, which was quickly filling up with people from all over the region, indigenous and non-indigenous alike. The sounds of drums and pipe music was in the air, and the excitement in the air was tangible.

Although the early morning air had been cold and crisp, by 10 am we were peeling off the multiple layers of clothing we were both wearing, applying lots of sunscreen to help shield us from the steadily strengthening sun. We shielded our eyes as we strained to get a better view of the dancers in the parades that were now underway, the women in their incredible sequined shawls and traditional dresses, the men in elaborate hot pink costumes as well with capes, dome-shaped form-fitting hats, knitted legwarmers and jangly spurs on the wooden sandals that were strapped to their feet, which sounded like tambourines as their feet all hit the pavement in unison.

After watching the dancers for a while and snapping some photos of the incredible statue, we wandered around the mercado, just browsing at all the different things that were on offer, everything from little old-fashioned tins of lip balm to yarn to food of all kinds to llama fetuses to bury under the foundation of your house, a tradition that is thought to bring luck by appeasing the appetite of Pachamama, the earth mother goddess, from whom the native people believe they are directly descended. For her as well it is customary to tip 3 drops of any alcoholic drink to the soil before taking a drink, to prove that in everything you have remembered from whence your sustenance comes, something I learned from our mine guide at Potosi. But I digress.

After the markets, we ran into a friend of Celeste's who informed us that our other friends from Sucre (the ones I'd been staying with) were all going to meet up in an hour or so on the main field, which normally is used for football games but today had been transformed into a massive dance-off arena with a huge pole in the middle adorned with brilliantly colored ribbons and flowers and laden with all kinds of food and drinks- we surmised that this was to be the prize for the best group of dancers, since Celeste had seen a similar custom at Carnival. We didn't find our friends, but we did eventually find some shade and hid out there, eating soggy, greasy french fries until we were feeling cold again and ventured back out into the sun. Eventually we did locate our crew, and we all went to a little place with a patio and sat around, enjoying the beer (shared, the brazilian way, from a large bottle amongst many people, served in small glasses) and having a lovely time just chatting and hanging out, something of a refuge from the chaos all around us outside.

By this time it was nearly two, and Celeste and I wanted to try to get one more little bite to eat from the friendly cafe before it was time to recollect our things. So we said our goodbyes, since the others would not be coming back on the bus with us, and went to eat and chill before the journey back, and it was as I was getting ready to pay the bill that I realized that, somehow in all the chaos (and most certainly in the crush of the crowded streets), my little billfold with my cash, driver's license, credit and debit card had disappeared.

I was in a bit of disbelief at first, not understanding how this could have happened, but really, it is obvious enough: I was wearing my little "punk pouch", sort of a fanny pack that Ju in Rio had given me, and since it is not directly attached to my body and since the main compartment is located on one side of my butt, it is not brain surgery to figure out that actually I had made myself an easy target by storing my wallet there while walking through pressing crowds of people.

So although I was upset, I wasn't going to freak out about it. I lost about 50 bolivianos, which is equal to something like $7, and my cards were both replaceable. So, finally accepting my fate, we turned and went back to the house to get our things and get out of there. I was ready to leave.

When we showed up at the doorway it was open, so we walked into the courtyard, up the stairs, and into the room, giving it a second for our eyes to adjust to the darkness before we could accept what was before us there: that being, exactly, nothing. No people, no stuff, just a blank room with another door leading into another room, from which we could hear voices. I opened the door, and there, to my left, were three people, fully dressed, just hanging out on a bed and looking annoyed at my intrusion. I asked about the stuff, and all they said was, "the guys came and took it all". "What guys?". "I don't know. Just a bunch of people were here and they came and got everything." Celeste and I exchanged looks and asked a few more questions about whether they had seen our things specifically, etc, but those people were really not helpful; they suggested we find our friend since it was probably him that had come and grabbed our things.

So once again, we set out in search of this "tour guide", and once again who we found instead was Ricky, who quickly explained the situation to his other friends, and attempted to reassure us that it was likely that Celeste's friend had grabbed our things and was hanging onto them somewhere.

So we waited, putting out the word that we were on the lookout for flaky space-case tour guide boy. Less than 10 minutes later, there he was, trotting over to us with- wait! Is that our stuff?! For a moment I felt a rush of relief, until I noticed that while he did have both of our sleeping bags and Celeste's bag, my brown one was still absent. So I uneasily enquired about it, and he looked back at me blankly, as if I were testing him and he wasn't sure what to say. I asked again- "y mi bolsa? De tela, y color cafe? No tienes?" He shifted uncomfortably and admitted that he hadn't seen it, let alone grabbed it, and was I sure it was there with the other stuff? At this I began to lose my patience, since being robbed once in a day is typically more than enough for most people. So I wearily traipsed back to the house with him, having to actually remind him where it was since he was STILL far too hammered to even walk straight, let alone give me much confidence that he was going to track down my stuff. Obviously, nothing had changed in the 25 minutes since I had last visited the house, so we returned to the square, me angry and dejected and him beginning to fret and feel awkward and guilty. He left me in the center with Celeste and a bunch of others while he and a friend supposedly went to double check wherever they had left our things before and the waiting bus, which kind of gave me a shred of hope for a minute, but eventually came back with the same news: no sign of my bag. At this point I was so tired and overwhelmed that everything felt a little surreal, from the people playing guitar and singing all around me to Celeste and some random kid giving me a neck and head massage to help me "chill out", to the obnoxious, evil hippie who had tried to rope me into buying some stupid feather earring he had made for me despite my already having told him I was just robbed and had no money. When I repeated this to him at the end of his little schtick, he became angry and said I didn't have to lie, at which point I actually sort of yelled at him, which isn't something I really do much in real life, despite how often I want to! But he was such a creep, I seriously could not believe his audacity and really had no qualms about asserting myself there, either.

Anyway, after an hour or so of the "tour guide" dude coming and going, fretting and fawning and not really knowing what to do, we really had to go cause the bus driver was, understandably, getting impatient, and I just wanted it all to be over with.
The final blow came when I got on the bus and asked the girl who was sitting there whether she had seen anything. I described the bag, and she calmly replied, "si, claro, esta arriba" (yes, of course, it's on top of the bus). "Estas seguro?!" I asked excitedly, (are you sure?!), and clambored up the ladder to the top of the bus, only to find a massive completely different backpack from the relatively small bag I was searching for, which turned out to belong to our fearless leader, Wasted Tour Guide Dude (WTGD). I was so unhappy it was unbelievable.

As everyone was getting back on the bus, WTGD proclaimed that he, nobly, would not be returning with us, but instead would be staying in the town with me (!) to continue the search for the missing bag. I explained that if it wasn't in all the places he looked before, and if he really had genuinely searched for it, then the bag was stolen, not misplaced, meaning that it was on its way to another town in another vehicle at that moment and there is no way we were going to find it anyway, which is true. He seemed relieved that I didn't want to stay and keep wandering around looking for it, and once we were on the bus (which was too crowded for everyone to have a seat), he promptly lay down at an incredibly awkward angle and passed out in the steps of the bus until he had to be literally slapped awake by his sister and girlfriend and dragged off the bus upon our arrival back in Sucre. So much for getting my money back. I hope to God this guy doesn't actually go through with his plans to become a tour guide for real (I learned from Celeste that his brilliant name for this future business is to be "Fucking Tours", a name from which it is apparently difficult to dissuade him from. I rest my case).

Anyway, by the time we were back in Sucre I didn't have it in me to deal with the card cancellation drama, and being as it was a Sunday night in a relatively small place I figured it probably didn't matter anyway, since there wasn't really anywhere to use them. So instead I went back to the empty house, took a long, hot shower, and fell asleep, grateful that at the very least, I still had my ipod and computer so I could listen to some soothing music until I fell asleep.

Mines of Potosi, Bolivia

History is a strange and brutal thing, as anyone who knows anything about life here on earth can attest. After reading several books related to the Spanish conquest of Latin America, I was already well aware of the fact that without the enslavement and forced labor of millions of indigenous Latin Americans from the 1400's on, the history of the world as we know it would have been completely different. This is because if it were not for the millions of tons of gold and silver, along with other metals, that were extracted by the Natives and then shipped to Europe, the entire European economy of the last 500+ years would never have been possible. In fact, if even a small percentage of the precious metals pulled from these lands had been extracted but only in the hands of local people, I dare to speculate that South America, not Europe, could easily have become the world superpower that is now Europe (and the U.S).
That said, I was also aware that the vast majority of the wealth of the Spanish empire was taken from Potosi, here in Bolivia, so there was no way I was going to not go and see this place when I had the chance. It is so crazy to think about it, how important it is, but even more, how tragic the fallout has been for the estimated eight million people who have lost their lives working in these mines.
Anyway, there are loads of tour operators in the town of Potosi, and I couldn't really tell the difference between any of them, so I just picked the one that gave me a deal with my bus ticket out. Luckily for me, the guide was really great. I have never particularly relished the idea of challenging my claustrophobia and good sense by climbing into an extremely dark, cramped, and toxic mine, but I felt like if millions of others have done it then I should at the very least understand what that experience is like. I went with a group of about 12 other people, but we were split into 2 groups when we got to the mines, after suiting up in waterproof galoshes & rain gear, along with hardhats equipped with industrial headlamps.
Only about 10 minutes after pulling away from the town, we arrived at the mouth of the mine, one of thousands riddling the mountains all around the region. Following our leader, an ex-miner himself, we trudged through muddy water into the blackness, where our headlamps illuminated what I recalled to be asbestos crystallized all over the damp walls of the cave, according to the Canadians I had had breakfast with that morning. I tried not to think about it. For awhile I put my scarf over my face to serve as a sort of filter, but you know how when you try to do something and end up doing the opposite? Well, in this case, I kept trying to breathe as slowly as possible but the suffocating atmosphere and fumes made me breathe all the more deeply, inhaling what I've read are dozens of different toxic materials far into my poor, already put-upon lungs (the exhaust fumes down here are sure to have already taken a few years off my life, not to mention the second-hand smoke).
Anyways, almost immediately after we entered, we were quickly advised to get off the main track and all flattened ourselves against the side of the cave walls as two men pushing a trolley full of broken rocks came barreling down the track. Our guide explained that although the cart alone weighs 500 kilos and the rock load 1000, these guys have the "easier" job here in the mines and therefore make less, though still considerably more than the average for Bolivia. For the record, those guys earn somewhere between 2-3000 bolivianos (about $275 US) per month for about 6 hours of work per day; compared to the average minimum wage of 550 bolivianos ($60 US), these guys have it good here. Of course, there's a massive trade off: the average life expectancy for a miner is around 45, and every year between 45 and 60 miners die in accidents- somewhere around 1 per week. The "dangerous" jobs, on the other hand, pay really well:between 5-6,000 bolivianos per month for just 2 to 3 hours per day of work. But these are the guys who are lifting 1500 kg drills and making holes in the cave walls, which will then be stuffed full of dynamite and lit by hand, in order to obtain the chunks of rock that will then be hauled out of the cave and isolated into lead, silver, tin, and zinc. We got to see all of these processes in action, including one stint where we climbed up eight consecutive ladders, all made of ancient, mud-caked wood, many with rungs broken, until we were 50 meters above where we had started, to watch the men put dynamite in the holes. Less than 5 minutes after we had made it back down, we felt the entire mountain shaking with the blasts of the dynamite they had just set off, and I couldn't help envisioning the entire roof caving in on top of us and becoming a tragic statistic in the course of a few minutes. It's not hard to see why they don't really offer "mine tours" in the U.S. Ha ha.
Anyway, we were in there for a total of around 2 1/2 hours, and during that time our guide introduced us to many of the men who worked there, as he handed out the "gifts" we had collectively purchased for them ahead of time: coca leaves, bottles of 96% pure grain alcohol (the label claims it's "comestible")and cheap soda to mix it with, work gloves (which many of the men didn't have an accepted gratefully) and unfiltered cigarettes, not just for the miners but also for The Tio ("Uncle"), or the Devil statue who is believed to be the protector of the miners. We went and visited this bizarre statue, which was still decorated from Carnival with bright paper streamers. All over and around him were strewn cigarettes, coca leaves, confetti and notes of scribbled names and words- a perfect example of how the indigenous people here have, much like the folks in Mexico and Guatemala, integrated their native spiritual beliefs in a seemingly incompatible juxtaposition with the intense Catholicism that is all-pervasive here. Shortly after our visit with the Tio, it was time to go, and I had a long chat with a man who was waiting for his ride as we were waiting for the other group to emerge. This man told me he has worked in the mines for 10 years, and that although he doesn't like it, he has 8 children and this is essentially the only work he could possibly find in this region that would allow him to support a family of that size. I had no idea what to say to him. What could I say? So I asked him about his kids, and learned that the oldest, who is 17, is preparing to go to college and that, at the very least, seemed to make his father feel like maybe his struggles were worth it. This man has literally traded in his life to improve those of his children, as I'm sure he is well aware that he will not live long having been doing this work for such a long time. It was intense. After an awkward goodbye, we were off, us French- Japanese- American- British lucky bastards, piling into the van, each of us undoubtedly feeling humbled and grateful that we would never have to live like that. But sad, too.
The thing that is weird to me is that even though the mines are now cooperatively owned by the miners themselves, there are still very few health or safety precautions in place, and it's not because they don't know the risks. They know all too well what they are doing to their bodies, what they are trading in for that money. I don't know. I hope that someday their work will be less dangerous, that they can find a way to make it a little less deadly to try to make a living. In the meantime, I will continue to try to figure out how I can possibly make this world a more just place, so perhaps in the future, being born in this part of Bolivia doesn't mean your choices are either dire poverty or an early death.

The Week In Review: A Challenge, por lo menos

What I've been doing for the last week:

Thursday: I was hanging out in Florianopolis with Laura and Guto, who treated me very well. We basically just went to the beach and walked around the tiny tourist town where their rented apartment is, because for most of the day it was too hot to do anything else. Oh, and I ate acai. I love acai!!!
Good: the beautiful, clean beaches with perfect, foamy water that wasn't too strong to play in. Having a few days do do basically nothing. Watching Maria Full of Grace and Life Is Beautiful, both really good and really sad but neither of them as devastating as I had expected them to be. Finding the health food store and buying bulk organic food that saved me for the next week! The granola-looking hippie lady that ran it was totally classic!
Bad: Getting bitten all night, every night by some kind of insane, tiny flying biting ants that were really excited about the fact that I was sleeping on the kitchen floor. That totally, totally sucked, actually. Mmmm, but I think that that was the only bad thing. Everything else was pretty effing great.

Friday: (3/7): Said my goodbyes and thank-yous to Laura and Guto and got on the bus to Foz do Iguacu, arriving early Saturday morning- I wrote a whole entry just about this, so see "Foz Do Iguacu" below.

Saturday: That night I got on another bus, this time headed for Asuncion, Paraguay, and after dealing with some total crap at the border where they charged me $30 for not having a visa (since when did you need a visa to go through Paraguay?! Since December, according to them), I eventually made it there around 11:30 pm. SInce I hadn't heard back from any of my couchsurfing attempts, I just walked across the street from the bus station and booked myself into the first cheap, sleazy hotel I saw. $8 US got me a tiny room and a hot shower with a shared bathroom, and I realized happily that dingy though it may be, it was the first actual bed I'd slept in since leaving Sao Paulo, so I was happy- though really, totally ready to leave Paraguay.

Sunday: I checked back out of my little room at 9:30am and put my things in the storage room at the bus terminal, after buying my ticket to Bolivia. I then spent the rest of the morning looking everywhere for an open internet cafe, since I actually had no concept of where in the city I was, where anything else was, or what I might actually do with myself for the day, since my bus wasn't due to leave until 7pm. Eventually I asked one of the guys working in a telephone call center and he told me to catch a certain bus to a certain market, and that they would probably have something there. Well, that bus never came, so eventually I just got on a different bus with the same market listed in the hand-written sign on the front, and after about 10 minutes we passed an open internet cafe on that road so I just got out there and spent a little time re-connecting with the outside world. Sometimes it is just really, really grounding to be able to sit at a computer and feel reassured that the world you know really is still there, you just aren't in it right now!
Paraguay in general was really intense, even though I was only there for one day. I couldn't understand what most people were saying to me, even though they were speaking Spanish, because they were speaking with this really slurred accent that basically leaves out distinct syllables and entire endings of most words. Even when I asked someone to repeat it but more slowly I couldn't really make it out, so that sucked. When I can't understand what someone is saying to me it makes me feel so anxious, like I'm sure they think I'm really slow or something, which in turn makes me paranoid that everyone dislikes me and/ or wants to rip me off for being an ignorant gringo that can't even speak spanish. I'm trying, I swear!!!
Another thing about Paraguay is the really obvious, crushing poverty that subsumes it. When we crossed the border from Brazil the difference was crystal clear. I know that Brazil has intense problems with homelessness and poverty too, but at least in the cities, Brazil tries to cordon those people and communities off, to hide them from frightened tourist eyes. But in Paraguay there is no such deception. There are families living in dirt lots with innumerable grubby kids running around, crying, with distended bellies and enormous, tragic eyes. There are children grasping fences and huffing from plastic bags while gesturing wildly at something invisible in front of them, and vendors hopping off and on buses, all night every night, desperately hawking biscuits and hot orange juice for the equivalent of about 10 cents, going back and forth, back and forth all night until they've earned enough to buy food for their families for the next day. For me, the middle class American, it is much easier to travel somewhere without the consequences of my own privilege staring at me, begging for change, making me uncomfortable. Maybe this is why so few tourists go to Paraguay.
That night I got on the bus for Bolivia, and as we pulled out of the station, an hour late, rain started to fall. I put in my headphones, reclined the seat of the ancient bus, and fell asleep.

Monday: The first thing that happened Monday was leaving Paraguay. Sometime around midnight, we pulled onto a long dirt road, made muddy by the rain, and stepped out into the humid night air to be allowed to leave Paraguay. We walked down a path and up to a rough wooden shack in the middle of a vast pasture, and waited in a line while chickens and dogs ran to and fro in the front yard. When it was finally my turn, the man behind the wooden table took my passport without a word, gave me a cursory glance, stamped the exit page and handed it back without ceremony. Eventually we got back on the bus and kept going.
Some hours later, we hit a similarly muddy and similarly remote area, wherein a small cluster of buildings signalled that we were now at the Bolivian immigration office. Again I stood in line, only this time there were money changers and a "cafe" on either side of me. This time, though, the men behind the desk were not silent. When it was my turn, they flipped through my passport, looking, vainly for- what? Once, twice, then, "no hay visa?". My heart sank. Fuck! I had even asked people if I needed a visa and everyone told me no! I said, "no, no necesito un visa, verdad?". The men rolled their eyes and exchanged irritated glances before telling me, "si, necesitas una visa o no puedes entrar. Es cien dolares." Ummm... excuse me?! One hundred dollars?! What did they think, that I'm completely stupid? Besides, I actually didn't HAVE a hundred dollars with me. What do they think, I just carry around that kind of money like an idiot rich tourist? I was mad. But then they pointed to the sign on the wall, and there, to my even greater annoyance and disbelief, was the proof: All U.S. Citizens have to pay $100 US to enter Bolivia, along with a whole other list of needed documents, including a credit card, yellow fever vaccination card (luckily I had done that before Brazil), ticket in and out, and some other stuff too. I was sooo annoyed! Not only was it 3am and I was totally out of it, but I didn't actually have the money they wanted and they were threatening that they weren't going to let me in at all. Then when they asked me why I even wanted to come to Bolivia and I told them I was here to volunteer on an animal sanctuary, they tried to give me even more crap saying that well, then, I was lying by saying I only needed a tourist visa since really I was trying to work here, which of course is completely ridiculous. Great. Eventually the bus driver stepped in and spoke with the guys, who were very blatantly enjoying my misery, and agreed to front me the cash until we got to Santa Cruz, using my passport and all my documents as collatoral, just to make sure. 16 hours later we were there, and he got his money and I got my passport, and I was all too happy to get off of that bus.
Once I arrived I called Carla, my couchsurfing host, and she eventually came to get me and rescue me from the attentions of every single "hippie /traveller/ freak/ weirdo" in the station. There aren't many people in South America who look "different", so anyone who does is kind of automatically part of this secret club, and sometimes I welcome the immediate solidarity. But other times it just stresses me out to have to talk to people, to explain where I'm from, and what I'm doing here, and talk about my tattoo and where I want to go next and what I'm doing for money etc etc. Especially having just disembarked from a 23-hour-long bus trip from hell.

Tuesday: I woke up in the office of Carla's house, and learned that Carla has gone out to run various errands, but would be back soon. So I put on some clothes & arranged my stuff as neatly as possible, and went downstairs to eat the rest of the bread and olive oil I had brought as some sort of breakfast. Sure enough, shortly thereafter Carla reappeared and said I could go into town with her and her friend if I wanted, so I jumped in the car and away we went. Carla had a bunch of other errands to run, so she suggested slew of parks and museums I could go check out and dropped me at the vegetarian restaurant , which was only a few blocks away from the central plaza in town. I ate a decent, though not terribly exciting, lunch of salad, soup, & some kind of rice thing with tvp, and then headed for the square. But I was still feeling really tired and low-energy, despite having gotten nearly 12 hours of sleep and having slept the majority of my time on the bus the day before. So I just sat on a bench next to a shoe shine man for a long while, watching the people around me, taking in the plaza (24th de Septiembre) and all it's attendant activity.
Eventually I decided to check my email, so I killed almost two hours doing that, and then I went for a walk to see some parks, and came across a japanese market that had really cheap tofu and miso and soy meat, so I bought a few things there too and continued on my way. I stopped in at a bakery and inquired about whether they had any sweets that were without dairy or eggs, and the woman motioned to a pile of adorable little donuts with white coconut icing. After verifying that they really were totally vegan, I bought two and went happily on my way, feeling like maybe things were okay after all. By then it was time to meet Carla, but when I called her she was busy so we agreed to meet two hours later in front of the cathedral. I killed a few more hours searching in vain for the art museum and drinking a frozen iced tea (delicious) in a cute cafe next to the cathedral, and went out to wait but she never showed. By now I was getting a little anxious and irritated cause I had a headache, so I called her and realized that we had misunderstood each other because she was at home helping her mom and wouldn't be able to come and get me anymore. So I asked her to email me directions by bus and once again embarked on an internet odyssey, this time feeling pretty out of it and over Santa Cruz in general... If you got an email from me that day, I apologize! I have never been good at hiding my feelings!
Anyway, eventually I got a cab home and it all worked out in the end. I took an ibuprofen and went to bed, and once again slept for a very long time.

Wednesday: Today Carla was really excited to actually take me out and show me around, cause she didn't have a million things she had to do. So we went and bought my ticket for Sucre, and asked around at various travel agencies for quotes on a ticket for her to go to Germany later this summer, since she's been offered a job as an au pair. Another element to the inequity of the world economy is the fact that folks here in South America, despite earning far less than those of us in North America, have to pay far more in real dollars to travel. For example, the absolute lowest price she has found on a round-trip ticket to Germany is somewhere around $1800 US. Now I know that it is a long way to go from here to there, but I can pretty much guarantee that if the ticket was round-trip ORIGINATING in Germany, it would be less. Less people here can afford to fly, so there is less service, and therefore less competition, and therefore- everything is actually MORE expensive than for those of us who already have the money to spend! The irony is astounding, and the cyclical nature of this system is disheartening, to say the least.
Anyway, we also went and hung out for a bit with Carla's friend Fatima who make us a lovely lunch, including a special batch of veggies without eggs just for me, and then the three of us took a long walk to the muddy, overflowing river nearby. After this Carla and I said goodbye to Fatima and went to the biggest open market in town, where Carla's mom works selling the sportswear that is made in the workshop attached to their house. We hung out there, wandering in and out of stalls, and Carla bought some clothes while I settled for a chocle (an ear of traditional corn, very different from the corn we have at home) and some papas fritas. Eventually we helped her mom carry stuff back to the car and close up the stall, and headed home. Later that night we went back out with some of Carla's girlfriends and sang along loudly to the guy with the guitar doing a pretty good job of covering just about every "alternative" hit from the nineties, the pinnacle of which was "Creep" by Radiohead, which he even played a second time for us. Much, much later, we found our way into a cab and eventually arrived in her neighborhood, by which time both of us had fallen asleep. I woke up easily but getting Carla awake again was a whole other challenge, but eventually I was able to jostle her into consciousness enough to prop her up while we picked our way back to her house through the muddy, rutted dirt roads.

Thursday: After going to bed sometime around 5:30, I was awakened by Rosio, the girl who does the cooking and cleaning at Carla's house, asking me if I'd seen Carla's cell phone. Unfortunately, I didn't have it, and apparently neither did she, which is a shame. I eventually crawled out of bed and managed to shower and get packed, since I had a 4 o'clock flight to Sucre. I know, I know- I really, really didn't want to fly anymore, but after so many days on the bus and with the roads being mostly impassable due to either flooding or blockades by striking workers, I really couldn't say no when I realized that a plane ticket was $50 and would save me 16- 24 hours of bus time. I promise, I will do something valuable to make up for the size of my environmental footprint this year- really!
Anyway, I got another cab to the airport and had a complete painless trip here to Sucre, where I arrived at 4:30 in the afternoon. I headed into town and realized that my Couchsurfing contact hadn't gotten my emails yet, so I waited a while, went and ate at the vegetarian restaurant (the best meal I've had in weeks- tofu asada with veggies and rice in some kind of traditional sauce), and eventually met up with the other girl I'd been planning to hang out with (also from CS), who conveniently enough, turns out to sort of be dating the guy that I was supposed to stay with! So she walked me to the house and we all ate some cabbage and potatoes and they went out while I, once again, went to bed. Hmmm, I'm detecting a theme here.

Today- Friday: Woke up late, feeling on the verge of getting sick, and am still a bit low energy wise, though my mood is 100% better than it was a few days ago. I guess this is what happens when I don't have access to a kitchen to cook for myself- I become totally malnourished. I haven't even been able to find beans here that don't already have meat in them, so I've been surviving on bread and oil and white rice and fried things for about a week now, along with some fruit here and there, and I am totally feeling it. Thank god now I have a kitchen though! I made a really exciting salad with mint-tahini dressing for lunch, and am going to eat some form of protein for dinner tonight, no matter what!!! I had a really nice time snooping around the main market this morning- I just really love the way markets are in Latin America. There are just so many colors and smells and sights and sounds and the vegetables are all so beautiful, and there are huge sacks of different grains and seeds and pastas, and it is cheaper than the grocery store, especially if you're good at bargaining (which I am not, but who cares. I'd rather pay a little more to buy from an indigenous farmer than buy some mass-produced agri-food from the local subdivision of Wal-Mart). So that was fun. Now I'm going to go try to find a new set of headphones, since the ones I have now only work in one ear and the sound in that ear is pretty crap.

If you're still reading this- thanks for caring, though maybe you have too much time on your hands! If not, don't worry- I understand. I'm writing this blog as much to not forget my experiences as to keep everyone up-to-date, since my memory is so very regrettably bad. As always, I hope you are all doing great and that this finds you healthy and happy! Big hugs, Me.

Paraguay

Holy Shit, Paraguay. I'm on the bus and I've been here all of five minutes and already it's so intense- totally different than Brazil- at least the Brazil that the gringos are allowed to see. This place, the poverty is fully in your face. We just pulled into the bus terminal right across the border and next door is an empty lot with at least a dozen or so families living in various refrigerator-box type dwellings, with millions of filthy little kids running around with huge stomachs and even huger eyes. To top it off, there, perching on the fence that is the border of this lot, is a boy who can't be more than 10, screaming and gesturing wildly at someone visible only to him with one hand, as he clutches and huffs from a plastic bag with his other. His eyes are crazy, rolling back in his head and just looking at him makes me want to cry. Why is the world like this? How can this be real?

Foz Do Iguacu, Brazil: A Review

Foz do Iguacu is a magical place of beautiful waterfalls on the 3-way border between Brazil, Paraguay and Argentina. According to everyone I met here in Brazil and abroad who has been this way, it is a sight not to be missed. So I figured that since it was on my way from Brazil to Bolivia anyway (since I'm going through Assuncion, Paraguay) I had better stop and check it out. I left Florianopolis at 2:35 yesterday afternoon, on a fairly comfortable, if crowded, bus. I spent the next 19 hours alternatively trying to converse in Portinol with my neighbor, listening to my iPod, watching Mission: Impossible (terrible), and, eventually, sleeping fitfully in a vicodin haze, waking every time we stopped (which was often) and when I was extremely cold due to the crazy refrigerator-like air conditioning these buses invariably use. But finally, at 8:25 this morning, we arrived. I was really confused at first because I looked at my little alarm clock thing and it said we were two hours later than I thought we were supposed to be, but the women in the next seat over assured me that no, I hadn't slept through the Foz and wound up in Paraguay (as I feared), we were just late. This was actually a bit of a relief for me, because I had been worried that 5 hours of sleep wouldn't be enough, but by the time we rolled in I had gotten close to 7, which is a much more healthy and reasonable amount to get, I think. So even though I was groggy, I figured with a little bit of caffeine I'd be all set to hike lots of beautiful jungle trails and spend a nice day totally by myself in nature, for a change.
So I checked my luggage at the bus station after confirming that there are, in fact, evening buses I could take to Paraguay tonight, and got myself on the bus to the falls.
I guess I knew I was in trouble when I first saw the theme park- like entrance to the Falls. I scanned the various price lists, noting the tiered system: Brasilieros pay one price, citizens of neighboring countries another, and the rest of us a third, and highest price to get in. This is fair enough, I suppose, since really I don't think Brasilieros should have to pay at all, since it is after all a National Park, in Brazil. Nonetheless, even the cheaper rate of R$13 for them was pretty steep, I though, and the R$ 20.50 I had to pay was really over the top. But I had come all this way and I wasn't going to turn back now on account of being a total cheapskate. No, I told myself: even if it sucks, the only way I won't regret it is if I go in and see for myself. After all, I had come all this way.
So I paid the money, and was even cheerful about it, since I was sure that it would be worth it once I was in the jungle, hiking around and looking at all the waterfalls. I was hoping it would be like one of the amazing national parks I visited earlier this year in Australia- the one I'm thinking of was particularly gorgeous, with fast-flowing streams and natural pools that, if you dared, you could get into and out of again before being sucked down one of the many rapids. Monica, Jak and I spent hours in that jungle, climbing and swinging in trees, exploring all the different paths shooting off from the main one, wading in the calmer waters and climbing the bridges over the fiercer ones. I was hoping for something like this.
My second warning sign was when I discovered that you can't actually just "go for a hike" to the falls- you have to get on a bus (the cost of which makes up R$ 5.50 of your entrance fee) and be driven there. Still, though, looking at the map and seeing 2 other trails in addition to the main one to the waterfalls, I had hope. I went with everyones else to see the falls first. They let us off the bus and we scrambled out, and I quickly made my way onto the wide, very well-maintained concrete path, which was also equipped with handrails, making it great for folks with mobility issues, but bad for someone who really wants to get a good workout (which I really, really did). The first thing I saw was a cute, raccoon-like creature snuffling around in the brush before he or she noticed that I was trying to take a picture and started ambling away. I thought that was pretty neat, but as I continued down the path I soon realized that these little guys were EVERYWHERE, and many were not nearly as shy as that first one. So of course, being me, I had my camera out and was desperately snapping away for like 20 minutes as I inched my way down the path, trying to get some good shots. It was sort of ridiculous. Anyway, eventually I left the poor creatures alone and continued along, and soon came to the first part of the falls, which were, in fact, really beautiful. There were rapids, and huge cliffs, and even numerous parts where you could see rainbows. Out came the camera again, and after another hour or so of relentless photographing, I was ready to really hit the other trails and do some hiking.
The problem was, when I got off the bus at the first of the other 2 trailheads and started walking, I was promptly stopped by an employee of the "safari tour" company and informed that I wasn't allowed to go on the trail unless it was as part of the paid safari, which was NOT included in the entry fee. I was just like, "are you kidding me? This is a National Park! Why is a private company allowed to monopolize an entire huge section of what is supposed to be a public place?" He seemed vaguely sympathetic, but was firm, adding that it could be "dangerous" if I went in alone, so finally I gave up and ended up just walking for about an hour in the broiling sun along the side of the paved tar road until I got to the next bus stop. The other trail was the same deal, so by that point I was hungry, dejected and ready to go.
So I guess in the end, I'm glad I went because I know that if I didn't I would feel like I had missed something incredible. But really, if I had to do it all over again (knowing what I know now), I would probably skip it. I know it sounds bratty, but as much as I love nature I've seen a lot of places that are equally as beautiful but without the overwhelmingly capitalist slant that was the entire experience. Everything from the food to entry to the postcards was way expensive, and for that I expected more in terms of actual interactive things to do. Instead it's just another place that, sadly, has managed to turn experiencing nature into just another spectator event.

Curitiba, Brasil

Wow, I´ve been in Brazil a long time now I think! Has it really been a month? I can´t believe it, but I think it actually has. Time flies when you´re having fun, and, despite a few snags along the way, I really am loving it here. Like loving it to the point where I´m planning out how to learn Portuguese, get a motorcycle and live in this beautiful old neighborhood in Rio called Santa Tereza.
Anyway, after I left Sao Paolo I headed back to Rio, where I spent 10 days partying like I haven´t in a long time, care of my fabulous tour guide Juliana, who I met at Carnaval Reveluçao. Never mind the fact that I am consistently the way oldest person I find myself hanging out with here in Brazil (when the kids learn my age, their eyes get big and they look at me harder, like they are suddenly going to see the wrinkles materialize or something. It´s funny. Kind of.)- I still know how to have a good time! Already in Brazil my internal clock is set to go to bed around 6am, and as it turns out, everyone in Rio´s is too, so it actually worked out perfectly.
The only major downer was, of course, Jay and I´s failed attempt at meeting up to travel together again as friends. Without going into too much detail, I will just say that it is really apparent that we are so incredibly different now that there is not even a foreseeable way for us to be friends anymore, which really makes me sad since he has been my most reliable support for the past 3+ years. But old patterns die hard, and unfortunately our worst ones had already surfaced by his second day in Rio so we went our separate ways and now our plans are to travel separately. I think it is definitely for the best, but to be sure I would have liked it if we could still have been friends and gone through some of South America together. In the cities it can be really fun to be on your own, cause you meet tons of people that way, but my city time is about to be over as I prepare to head into Bolivia and Peru for the next few months, and I would really love it if I had someone to share the experience with. Anyone really sick of working?! Come on down and hang out with me!!!
Yeah, soooo...
Right now I am in the city of Curitiba, which is about 6 1/2 hours by bus southwest of Sao Paolo. Compared to SP, this is a small city, but still, it has 2 million people and it´s own little rad queer scene, so it´s kind of a nice change of pace. Okay, wait though, I´m totally getting everything out of order here though, so I will put things in a line first (I´m tired so I apologize for my whacked-out writing style right now)... Okay, so after Carnaval Revoluçao I hung out another week or so in Sao Paolo. Then I went to Rio for about 10 days, which felt more like a month, and did just about everything a local would do and basically nothing a tourist would do (well, okay, I did finally go to the beach on my last two days there). We wanted to go see the Jesus but it cost like 36 reals (something like $24 or so?) just to get the train up there, which you have to take, so I figured I could see him well enough from where I was and we skipped it. After much fun and fabulous street food in Rio, I got back on the bus and spent another 4 days or so in Sao Paolo, doing nothing much other than eating vegan ice cream. On my last day there I went walking all around the bougie part of town looking at galleries and fancy cool-people expensive toy stores and stuff with my adorable friend Andrei, who is the boyfriend of Juliana, my fabulous tour guide in Rio. Then there was a dub night happening at Espaço Impropio, where I was staying, so we all stayed up for that since Gui was working the bar. We were all surprised when the main crowd that showed up for the event was a bunch of Brazilian oi kids, which are kind of like skinheads only less racist and militant, but still into the fashion and quite nationalistic. This obviously made the folks who live at Impropio very wary and suspicious, since the neo-Nazi/ fascist/ skinhead movement is really big here in Brazil (who would´ve thought? Not me!) and skinheads regularly target anarchists, queers, punks and other "weirdos" to beat up at random. But nobody acted up and eventually we went and danced around a bit when we ascertained that these were probably just misguided youth and not actually friends of neo-nazis. My real mission that evening had been to locate and play pool in one of the mythical "lesbian snooker halls" that, according to my friend Helena in Rio, abound on the Rua Augusta, which is the main street leading to where I was staying. From what Helena had told me, it is kind of like this total phenomenon where a bunch of dykes kind of monopolize these pool halls, and often will break up into teams consisting of "butch", "femme", and "other"... (I forget exactly what the "other" is...) I just HAD to see it for myself, it sounded like such a bizarre and yet beautiful thing. So I cajoled Helena´s best friend Marina, who was in town visiting her parents, into taking me on a little tour of these mythical places, but when we finally hit the streets around midnight, it turned out that the main one she knew of was inexplicably closed (the night in Sao Paolo is just getting started around midnight), and the other two, smaller pool halls (called "sinuka" here, which is actually what we call "snooker") were already packed full of random, seemingly heterosexual young people smoking way too many cigarettes, so we turned back in confusion and just a little disappointment, though not after I did at least witness several lesbian couples using one table at the last place we checked. Hmph.
Anyway, as with my last night in Rio, I figured that rather than try to get a couple hours´sleep and then get up totally early to catch a 7am bus it was easier just to ride it out and sleep en route. So even though I was fading by 5:00am, I stuck it out and soon enough it was time to collect all my things and say goodbye, just as Impropio was finally closing and my friends were trying to convince me to come out with them to the bar. Everyone was so lovely, and I had so many nice goodbyes that by the time I was finally on my way to the subway I had to really hustle to make it in time, but make it I did, and at 7:10am I got on the bus, took a vicodin, and passed out for the 6 1/2 hour journey to Curitiba.
And now, here I am
After a bit of a drama where I thought I was going to have to stay in this insanely expensive hostel becuase the friend I came to visit lives in a weird boarding house and can´t have guests, I managed, through the magic of the international radical queer network, to find some really cool queer folks who, on 20 minutes notice, hooked me up with a place to stay AND even came and got me at the hostel. Then Tiago, the boy whose house I am at right this second, took me to go eat these insane vegan hot dogs with like 8 different toppings on them and it was sooo awesome. The guy who served us these hot dogs was none other than Ma-ma, an enormous, sort of Henry Rollins-looking character with massive tattoos covering his legs that say QUEER PUNK; he is something of a legend here in Curitiba, as he has fronted a number of well-respected hardcore bands, the most famous of which was Gay-O-Hazard, which never actually put out a record but did put out some amazing t-shirts (several of my friends in S.P. had them and they rule). Anyway, today a bunch of us hung out in front of the Oscar Niemeyer Museum, which is shaped like a giant eye, and watched as literally dozens and dozens of rich people with various purebred dogs congregated to let the "dogs" play with one another. It was sooo weird- there was not a single mixed-breed dog there that I could tell and everyone was dressed to the nines, like they are all Paris Hilton or something. Brazil is kind of like that in some ways. I have to say I have noticed more fancy-schmancy designer dogs here than anywhere else I´ve ever been, noting, of course, that I haven´t ever spent much time in L.A. But still- come on.
Anyway, then we all went to eat Açai, which is The Best Thing Ever, though far more expensive and harder to find here in Curitiba than it was in Rio. It´s like this frozen berry from the Amazon that supposedly has all these amazing health properties (though I suspect that the freezing process probably eliminates most of those) and they blend it up with Guaraná, another fabulous product from the Amazon, to make a bright purple sorbet with this really weird, delicious flavor. I like mine with ammendoim (peanuts) and bananas on top. It rules.
Other than that, Curitiba is waaaay mellow (read: kind of boring) so even though I really love the kids I´m hanging out with, come Tuesday morning I think I´ll shove off to go see my friend Laura (who I met in Spanish school in Guatemala) in Florianopolis, which is another 4 1/2 hours or so south of here and is said to be gorgeous. Apparently it´s an island with 26 different beaches around its perimeter. Sounds good to me.
Yeah, so that´s the plan for now. I´ll be en route to Bolivia and Esperanza de Libertad by next week if all goes according to plan, so wish me luck! Huge hugs and all that stuff! xoxo Pike
Anyway. S