La Paz & Rural Homestay

Last night we returned from a nine-day excursion to La Paz and the Lake Titicaca region. We spent our first day exploring the ancient Aymaran ruins of Tiwanaku, 17km from the lake. This was the most ancient civilization in Bolivia, preexisting even the Incas. The site was not in pristine condition, but we definitely got a feel for the size of the Aymaran empire and their methods of worship. Archeologists have found that the enormous stone slabs at the site came from Peru, on the opposite side of the massive Lake Titicaca. Apparently they transported the stone blocks in boats made purely of reeds, paddled them across the lake, and then dug canals to float them over to Tiwanaku. A ridiculously cheesy movie we watched called it the “Stonehenge of South America”.

We spent the next three days in La Paz at 13,000 feet. It was great to be in a bigger city with more character and things to do. The city is packed into a valley beneath the rugged peak of Illimani, and thus appears incredibly dense from above. The steep cobblestone streets are similar to those in San Fransicsco, but much harder to climb given the altitude. One day we visited El Alto, an 80% Aymaran city that overlooks La Paz. It was founded in 1985 by immigrants from the nearby rural highlands (el altiplano) and now almost equals La Paz in size. I found it very interesting that La Paz’s poorest residents live in the highest parts, whereas the wealthiest neighborhoods are located deep into the valley in the ‘zona sur’. We all took advantage of the international cuisine available in the city, including Thai and Middle Eastern food. I maintained a strictly vegetarian diet while I had the chance because I’m getting so tired of all the meat-heavy Bolivian dishes. Another highlight was the witch’s market located near our hotel. Indigenous women sell bizarre potions and ingredients for traditional Bolivian medicine, including dried toucan beaks llama fetuses? The market also included a plethora of shops and stands selling knit hats, bags, gloves, sweaters, blankets and everything else you could want made from incredibly soft alpaca wool and in super vibrant colors. Though I spent all the money I had, that night we found dinner for 3.50 Bolivianos, the equivalent of 50 cents! Soup, bread, chicken, rice, potatoes, and hot tea! I’m constantly amazed by how cheap everything is here by U.S. standards. It will definitely be a tough transition back to the dollar.

Early Thursday morning we left for Toqoli, a small rural Aymara village on the shore of Lake Titicaca where we would spend the next five days. As our bus turned onto the road leading to their community, a group of about twenty men and women were waiting there to greet us. Several men played drums and pan flutes, while the women tied bundles of flowers onto our backs with the bright pink blankets that indigenous women use to carry everything from babies to sacks of potatoes. We all danced together in traditional Bolivian fashion, all holding hands and gracefully running in whichever direction the leader chooses, changing direction and shouting “hayaya!” at will. At this point we were at around 14,000 feet and any sort of physical exertion was exhausting.

For lunch we all shared “apthapi”, the Aymara word for a community picnic. The women untied bundles of corn, fava beans, tomatoes, onions, tons of potatoes, and chuño. The latter is freeze-dried potato, an ancient method of the highland populations to store potatoes through periods of bad weather. Next we were split up into our host families. As we were the first “gringos” to visit the community, apparently many families were afraid we would be dissatisfied with their simple homes, food, and way of life, and consequently backed out of hosting a student. Sarah and I were paired with Roberto Castillo and began to hike with him up the mountain with our bags and huge sacks of rice, sugar, oil, and vegetables to give to the family. Forty minutes later we had reached our house at the top of the mountain, the farthest from the community center down by the lake. The view of Lake Titicaca was gorgeous, and on clear days we could see Peru on the other side.

At first, the family was very quiet and hardly seemed interested in getting to know us. We met the eighty-five year old father, the mother who only speaks Aymara, and four of their nine their children: Roberto (24), Jolia (16), Santiago (15), and Waldo (11). Roberto and Jolia both have young and absolutely adorable children of their own. Over the next few days, they all opened up to us and turned out to be extremely generous people. We gradually got a sense of the family’s structure. Not until the third day did we meet Roberto’s wife, Virginia, and their two-week old baby. Several siblings had moved to La Paz and Sao Paolo, Brazil to find work. The oldest brother lived in a house down the hill with his own family. We learned all of this in the teeny kitchen, the family’s main gathering place. The mother seemed to constantly be sitting beside the stove, stocking it with eucalyptus leaves and peeling potatoes. We would cram in there every morning and night, with other family members, chickens, kittens and guinea pigs packed into every corner. Each morning we had hot tea with ground barley, which form a sort of oatmeal when mixed. For lunch and dinner we always had some variety of potato soup.

Saturday morning we hiked downhill with Roberto to gather flowers for Sunday’s festival of crosses. I was amazed by the assortment of plants at such a high altitude. We picked dahlias and ‘cantutas’, which looked very similar to honeysuckle. On our way back to the house we ate fava beans fresh from the garden and then built a cross from the picked flowers. On Sunday, somewhere around seventy communities in the area traveled to the town of Ancoraimes, circled the plaza with their crosses, sang their village’s song, and entered the church for mass. This was followed by a massive apthapi in the plaza, this time complete with bread, bananas and tuna, the fruit from the prickly-pear cactus. After returning to Toqoli, we swam in the freezing but refreshing lake, played soccer and Frisbee with some of the local kids, and held a goodbye ceremony by a bonfire. We hiked back to the house as the full moon rose over the mountain, one of the most peaceful moments I’ve had in a while. Monday we left early to soak in some nearby hot springs. On our ride back to the La Paz airport we heard that the bridge was broken and took a detour that led us to a fairly substantial river. As this was our only other option, the driver went for it and suddenly we were stuck and slightly tipping over in the middle of the rushing water. Some students helped search for a tractor while others joined in pushing the other trucks caught in the river. Within an hour, we had successfully pushed three trucks out of the river and found a bulldozer to tow our bus out! Now I am back in Cochabamba for two weeks with my host family, taking classes, and enjoying the comfort of warm showers.

Carnaval

First off, I apologize for the lack of updates. I’ve been sick on and off for the past few weeks and the task of writing a blog post seemed quite daunting at the time. Now, I am mostly recovered and there is so much to tell!
Now I must describe Bolivia’s most prominent annual celebration, Carnaval. Prior to arriving in Bolivia, I thought Carnaval was just a daylong holiday. Little did I know that Carnaval lasts a total of three months. Generally speaking, I’ve gathered that it draws from both Christian and indigenous myths and fables. Oruro, a mining town about three hours from Cochabamba, is known for hosting Bolivia’s most renowned Carnaval celebration, apparently rivaling the festivities in Rio de Janeiro. The city’s population is said to double or triple in size during Carnaval season.

Though Carnaval celebrations, parades, and parties occur throughout the months of January and February, each city usually has one main day of festivities. In Oruro, this took place on the Saturday before Ash Wednesday, and luckily we had the opportunity to go. The bus ride was gorgeous: completely barren mountains, canyons, and valleys. We got in late Friday night, and the town was thoroughly geared up for the following day’s festivities. Wooden bleachers lined both sides of the main drag, streamers of every color flapped in the wind overhead, and thousands of people roamed the streets in merriment.

Most amazing was the energy of the Bolivians. Friday night’s music, dancing, and drinking lasted until 5am Saturday morning. Only three hours later, Saturday’s parade had begun. All in all, the succession of groups depicts the triumph of good over evil. Men, women, children, traditional bands and ornamented cars all proceeded down the main streets of Oruro for eight miles towards the church as an offering to the Virgin of Socavón, the city’s patron. Each group comes from a different location in Bolivia and offers a unique type of dance, dress, or music. Many dances tell stories of Bolivia’s history, such as the Morenadas, which represent the black slaves who worked in the mines. Some of these depictions appeared unethical from a “politically correct” point of view, since for the most part, minority Bolivian groups did not participate in the Carnaval festivities. Rather, upper class Bolivians were dressed as indigenous peoples and slaves. I was told that dancers pay upwards of $300 USD for their elaborate costumes, accompanying bands, and traveling expenses. Even purchasing a seat to watch the processions is fairly expensive. Thus, it seems somewhat like a holiday solely for the rich. Overall, however, it was an incredible insight to the traditions and folklore of Bolivian culture.

A final aspect of Carnaval that can’t be left out is the ongoing water war, which has become a massive part of the Carnaval tradition. Teenagers walk through the streets armed with ‘globos’ (water balloons) to throw at innocent pedestrians. While I had been hit and drenched several times during my first few weeks here, the water fights in Oruro were something else. Each time there was a gap in the parade, the spectators would engage in battle against the unfortunate souls across the street. Since soaking someone is clearly not enough, spray cans of foam are added to the mix. At times, this warfare was even more entertaining than the dancing, at least until I became the target. Getting a ‘globo’ to the face and foamed in the mouth and ears is no fun when you have no mechanism of defense. I am glad to say that now the mayhem has more or less subsided, and I no longer walk the streets in fear.