Lessons in Political Stagnation

[This is the conclusion to my independent study project, “Lessons in Political Stagnation: An Investigation into USAID’s Alternative Development Programs in the Chapare of Bolivia.” Alternative Development, one of four components to the USG's anti-drug policy, is the name for projects aimed at getting coca farmers, or cocaleros, to grow other crops besides coca.]

When I wrote my proposal for this project, my title was "Alternative Approaches to Alternative Development." I started this project with this idea that the well acknowledged problems of inefficiency of the USAID's AD programs were simply a matter of different approaches and understandings of the two sides, that of USAID and the Bolivian government, and of the campesinos and their leaders, respectively.

What I found, however, was quite different. In the first place, the division between the two sides is not that simple, as I never should have so naïvely assumed. Moreover, there is clarity between all sides, including American and Bolivian governments, as well as campesino leaders, regarding what is happening with respect to the development of the Chapare region. Everyone already knows the causes of the most serious problems, namely the USG policy to not work with the local municipal governments, due to their inferred connections with MAS and Evo Morales, and thus from where solutions must come. This, however, does not mean that they are following these solutions. Instead, a web of political relations that oscillate between loyalty and subordination, indifference and vehement opposition, create tensions and reduce the productivity and efficiency of the programs to nil.

USAID's AD programs in the Chapare were created to fight against drug trafficking. According to all the statistics, and, more importantly, the people of Chapare themselves, however, the cultivation of coca in this area comes out of an economic necessity. Instead of treating the situation as an economic problem, the USAID programs continue to treat the situation primarily as a drug problem, and their reports continue to evaluate of the efficiency of its AD programs by listing the number of eradicated hectares of coca first, and only secondly, the economic benefits of the families in Chapare. (USAID Strategic Plan Draft) Of course American programs are going to have their own objectives, but if USAID wants to effectuate changes in the Chapare region and reduce the net amount of coca cultivation, it must work with the people themselves, putting the objectives of the economic necessities of these people as its first priority, with the understanding that this is the best way to achieve the American objectives, instead of insisting, in contradiction with Law 1008, upon policies of forced eradication before there are sustainable economic alternatives for the people of Chapare.

If USAID can achieve the policy mentioned in its draft Strategic Plan of working with the municipal governments and giving ownership of these projects to the people themselves, the clear consensus is their programs could achieve much with respect to development in Chapare, and consequently a net reduction in coca production. However, after twenty years of ineffective (and unsuitable) policies, we have to hope that petty and unfounded political grudges on the parts of all involved parties are not going to further impede the progress of these programs. But our hope is strained. According to Mr. Coca, a campesino leader, the situation as it stands now is overly politicized. Mr. Aguirre of USAID went farther in saying that the situation how has become a political problem, and not an economic or narcotrafficking problem.

Whatever the specific classification of the current situation, we can say that there is a political stagnation, compounded with a suffocating rhetoric. This rhetoric comes at times in the form of legitimate complaints regarding persistent aggravations, and other times this rhetoric has become nothing more than blatant falsehoods that serve only as justification for one side to build up their own arguments and disregard those of others involved.

In the middle of all this are the people of Chapare. Their quality of life remains deplorably low while many spend much to talk of a progress of development that is still far from what the people of Chapare know in their daily lives. But, until everyone realizes that this is about a people trying to lead lives more or less normal and more or less stable, and that Chapare is not their own region to experiment or effectuate their own policies or programs or movements, nothing much is going to change, and moreover, nothing much is going to be able to develop.

The Constant Tourist

[in "exile" buenos aires, while the us state department's travel warning to bolivia was in effect.]

que inútil es mi vida aquí. en serio, qué he hecho hoy de interessante, de amable, o cualquier cosa que hace algo más de hacer seguir a mi propia pequeña vida. fuimos en el barrio boliviano de buenos aires un poco lejos (más o menos 45 minutos) del centro para charlar con un hombre allí. yo estaba un poco triste que no pudimos hacer más en este barrio, u hablar con otros que vivían allí. después de salir del edificio para resubir en el bus, hemos notado que había mucha gente afuera del edificio, más que había cuando entramos, y parecía que estaban escuchándonos. me pregunto lo que ellos estaban pensando de nosotros y nuestros preguntos (suponiendo que pudieron oír la charla).

había olvidado de que íbamos ir en este barrio, y entonces, llevaba ropa no muy discreta: mi falda blanca de tenis, mi camisa con rayas azules y blancas, y mi gorro blanca, i.e. muy preppy. me sentía incómoda [vestida así] en este barrio tan lejos de lo en que estuve horas antes por la ciudad. nadie nos vino para hablarnos. nadie de nuestro grupo fue para hablarles. nos quedamos entre el pasaje entre la puerta del edificio y la puerta del bus. si, había algunas que fueron para comprar salteñas a la tienda a la otra esquina, un poco más de 30 metros, al otro lado de la calle polvada sin coches, pero no había salteñas como el hombre ya nos había dicho a esta hora de la tarde.

era la hora para mirar, la hora después de regressar del trabajo cuando todo lo que quieres hacer es no estar levantada, no estar pensando en nada, y mirar vacantly sin ver nada, ready to let thoughts and things and actions slip through you without the laborious task of processing it all, and so you let it slide right across the film of your irises and off outside your peripheral vision, forever forgotten to you, as you wanted it. quizás yo diga todo este para justifiar la falta de efuerza de la parte del todo el mundo allá en la calle, la laziness de nuestro grupo y de los de la calle de no intentar a conocerse. no sé.

my life is so useless here. seriously, what have i done today that is interesting, considerate, or anything that does something other than further my own small life. we went to the bolivian neighborhood of buenos aires a bit far from the center [of the city] (about 45 minutes) to chat with a man there. i was a bit sad we couldn't do more in this neighborhood, or talk with others who lived there. after going out of the building to get back on the bus, we noticed that there were a lot of people outside of the building, more than there were when we went in, and it looked like they were listening to us. i wonder what they were thinking of us and our questions (assuming they could hear the talk inside).

i had forgotten that we were going to this neighborhood, and as such, i wasn't wearing very discreet clothes: my tennis skirt, blue and white striped shirt, white visor, i.e. really preppy. i felt incomfortable [dressed like this] in this neighborhood so far from where we were hours earlier in the city. no one came to talk with us. no one from our group went to talk with them. we stayed on the sidewalk between the door of the buildling and the door of the bus. yes, a few girls went to buy salteñas from a store on the other corner, a little more than 30 meters away, on the other side of the dusty carless street, but, as the man had already told us, there weren't any salteñas at this time in the afternoon.

it was the hour to watch, the time of day after coming back from work when all you want to do is not be on your feet, not thinking about anything, and watch vacantly without seeing anything, ready to let the thoughts and things and actions slip through you without the laborious task of processing it all, and so you let it slide right across the film of your irises and off outside your peripheral vision, forever forgotten to you, as you wanted it. maybe i say this all to justify the lack of effort on the part of everyone there in the street, the laziness of our group and of those in the street to not try to get to know one another. i don't know.

On Not Running Into Barbed Wire While Biking

[more notes from buenos aires it looks like i wrote with the intention of sending to all of you. these do more to describe the feel of the city that week.]

it was an intense week, to say the least. over 70 people died during the week, i think the actual number was 74, none in my city, cochabamba, although we did have a lot of protests. tons of our roads were blocked off, and protestors put a ton of stuff in the street: chipped off pieces of concrete from the sidewalk, garbage bins, burning mounds of trash, etc.

we (the students in my group and i) weren’t allowed to be out much because a gringo can be a pretty vulnerable target in an anti-government rally (the current government has, to make an understatement, some pretty serious ties to the american government), so i watched a lot of tv. i had to take a lot more cabs, too, which usually took longer because we had to take so many alternate routes due to the fact so many roads were blocked off. police usually had to guard the bridges to keep them from being blocked off. around the university where i live, they strung barbwire between posts on either side of the streets, too, which was an odd sort of thing to have to look out for when i was riding my bike, but they usually propped things like palm leaves up on them so you could see them easily.

one night, i went with a friend and her host family down to walk through downtown. we wore running shoes, just to make sure we wouldn’t be held up by broken heels in the possible case we ran into some drunken (or just belligerent) mob, but there was almost no one in the streets, a really eerie feeling, given all that we knew the streets had witnessed that day. they were filled with rocks, tree branches, and trash, some which was still smoldering. windows of the prefecture in la plaza principal were broken, a rag dummy with the president’s party written in red across its chest hung from a lamp post. with the smells and the debris, it felt at times like the streets were just too tired to clean themselves up after such long, emotional days.

"Una Tensa Calma"

[goni's resignation was read today, in the evening. these are clips i took down from the television, which i was trying to watch as i packed up everything.]

one more minister resigned. “please, movemiento por la paz”

“por supuesto, estes eventos están afectando muchos extranjeros que viven o que están visitando este país sudamericano.” no me digas, mientras que estoy haciendo mis malestas. "of course, these events are affecting many of the foreigners who live or who are visiting this south american country." thanks for letting me know, as i'm packing my bags.

‘bolivia se encuentra en una tensa calma durante que espera el anuncio del presidente.’ bolivia finds itself in a tense calm while we want the announcement from the president. ("tense calm" was by far the distinctive phrase of the day.)

‘a menos 74 muertos’ 'at least 74 deaths.'

‘dignidad y soberanía’ 'dignity and sovereignty' poster behind evo, along with the wiphala (aymara nation flag), during interview with cnn e.

‘[goni va dar] una decisión patriotica por la paz.’ '[goni is going to give] a patriotic decision for peace.' jaime paz amora
'la valor de la democracía bolivia … y no creemos que the value of bolivian democracy ... and we don't believe that we will be responsible for the disorder and the confusion. we ask that this dialogue from us would transform, and that reflexion the decisions we take would contribute directly to the dialogue of the national congress.'

mineros festejando en la calle antes de que goni hable. miners celebrating in the streets before goni speaks.

Ya Basta

yo sé que hemos estudiado mucho sobre los métodos correctos para hacer una analísis cultural, cómo debemos estar objetivos y todo, pero no puedo. i’m past that point. estoy harta de hablar con mi familia sobre la política y otros ricos porque me enojan tanto. y dicen que son los campesinos que son ignorantes.

volví a mi casa para almorzar, o, a la hora para almorzar. estaban todos listos para comer, estaban poniendo la mesa. yo dije, ‘oh, no estoy comiendo hoy.’ paola se dejó. bertha parecía muy confundida. ellas parecían un poco más aliviadas cuando dije que estaba tomando jugos. no dije nada de la huelga de hambre, y no sé si querían creer que yo no sabía nada de eso, habría sido más fácil de pensar que la situación no había venido a su propia casa. durante todo el almuerzo, ellos hablaron de todo lo que se pasa ahora. las siguientes son partes de esta conversación:

‘si [los campesinos] están muriendo de hambre, porque hacen una huelga de hambre?’ (paola)
‘la defensora del pueblo era eligido como parte indipendiente, non governmental, entonces ahora, por qué está en huelga de hambre, es política esta huelga.’ (eddy)
‘si [los campesinos] no querían solucionar, qué vas hacer?’ (paola)
‘quieren que goni se vaya, pero, si él no puede solucionar, ¿quién entonces? ¡no hay nadie otra!’
‘ellos están en huelga de hambre porque saben que es un último recurso.’
‘están muriendos y no dejan la violéncia.’
‘katy, ¿quieres fruta?’ (bertha)
no, no gracias.
‘¿haces una dieta?’ (eddy)
bah, no.
‘entonces, por qué estás preocupada?’ (eddy)
‘¿por qué? por la situación.’ (all the more incredulous)

de todo de lo que hablaron, no era una discusión. no había dos lados. ellos han evitado el otro lado, él de los campesinos, durante toda la comida. yo estuve alla con ellos, evidamente no comiendo a causa de la situación, y no me preguntaron nada, sólo si hacía una dieta. sabían que no estoy de acuerdo con mucho del gobierno, que yo podía representar el otro lado de la discusión, pero no me preguntaron nada de lo que pensaba porque no les interesaba este lado. y ellos tienen sorpresa cuando los campesinos dicen que no tienen fe que el gobierno vaya escucharles. ¿qué simbólico, no?

ayer y anoche tuve convesaciones muy interesantes y muy apasionantes sobre lo que se pasa ahora con paola, rodri, y bruno. a mí, me encanta la política; es muy conmovedora. pero hoy, no pude hablar. tenía palabras gritando en mi cabeza, cada vez queriendo que ellos escucharan a los campesinos, que ellos intentaran ver porque esta gente están bloqueando, no porque a ellos les gusta la violéncia, sino porque si no bloquean, no les verían, y que gritan porque no les escuchan cuando hablan. no pude hablar porque sabía que ellos no querían escuchar. evitaban a propósito el dólor que siente esta gente, evitaban a propósito porque yo no estaba comiendo.

no había una discusión esta tarde, había muchos sordos hablandos.

i know we've studied a lot regarding the correct methods for doing a cultural analysis, how we should be objective and all, but i can't. i'm past that point. i'm fed up with talking with my host family and other rich people because they infuriate me so much. and they say it's the campesinos who are ignorant.

i went back to my house to have lunch, or at lunchtime. they were all ready to eat, setting the table. i said, 'oh, i'm not eating today.' [people across the country were fasting for peace.] paola stopped. bertha looked very confused. they seemed a little more relieved when i said i was drinking juice. i didn't say anything about the hunger strike, and it seemed like they just wanted to believe that i didn't know about that, i.e. it would've been easier to think that than acknowledge that the situation had arrived in their own house. the following bits were parts of the conversation at lunch:

'if the campesinos are dying of hunger, why are they on hunger strike?' (paola)
'the public defender was elected as an independent party, but now, why is he on hunger strike? [the hunger strike] is political.' (eddy)
'if the campesinos don't want to find a solution, what are you going to do?' (paola)
'they want goni to go, but if he can't resolve anything, who then? there isn't anybody else!'
'they're on a hunger strike because they know it's a last resource.'
they're dying and they don't stop with the violence.'
'katy, do you want fruit?' (bertha)
no, no thank you.
are you on a diet?' (eddy)
um, no.
'so, why are you worried?' (eddy)
why?? for the situation.' (all the more incredulous)

of everything they said, it wasn't a discussion. there weren't two sides. they avoided the other side, the campesinos', during the whole meal. i was there with them, obviously not eating because of the situation, and they didn't ask me anything, only if i was on a diet. they knew that i do not agree with a lot of the government, that i could have represented the other side of the discussion, but they didn't ask me anything about what i thought because the other side did not interest them. and they are surprised when the campesinos say that they don't have faith that the government will listen to them. symbolic, no?

yesterday and last night, i had really interesting and fervent conversations regarding what's happening right now with paola, rodrigo (paola's boyfriend), and bruno (family friend). politics fascinate me; they're so poignant. but today, i couldn't speak. i had words screaming in my head, each time wanting them to listen to the campesinos, to try to see why these people are blockading, and not just saying it's because they like violence, but why, if the campesinos don't blockade, the government won't see them, and that the campesinos scream because the government doesn't listen to them when they talk. i couldn't speak because i know that my host family didn't want to listen. they purposely avoided the reason for which i wasn't eating.

there was no discussion today, there were a lot of deaf people speaking.

The Tipping Week

[looks like i wrote this one in anticipation of sending it to people, as it includes more summary and background info.]

it’s all coming together, or falling apart, depending on your point of view.

a couple weeks ago, i was on the street and i saw an older campesino trudging along the street yelling at a couple soldiers from the national guard on the other side of the street , telling them how the government was ruining the country. the soldiers just laughed at him as they ate their empanada. i remember thinking how futile his protests looked and how deaf the ears upon which those insults fell looked. but now, those protests are making a deafening noise.

it’s absolutely astounding that the vestiges of the spanish colonialism and persisting oligarchy have lasted this long. or maybe it isn’t. maybe every other american country (usa included) just eliminated completely even the possibility that its indigenous population's voice from the government (in very Machiavellian fashion nonetheless). maybe it’s only because bolivia is one of the only countries in latin america with an indigenous majority that this conflict is more pronounced or crystallized, less difficult to ignore. one of the most profound souvenirs i’ve seen thus far has been chess sets: one side is the conquistadors, the other, the incas. it’s on murals, it’s in their dress, it’s everywhere. it’s hard to explain how much this oligarchy persists and how present the history is. in my upper class family, they talk about bloqueos as annoyances, disturbances to their otherwise tranquil lives. when i asked my sister what she did during the water wars in 2000 when the protests were right outside our house. she said she just took advantage of the time off from school and tanned. they say the campesinos like violence, that they like to march and protest, and that they throw rocks because they’re badly brought up. they say if you ask them they they’re marching, they won’t give you a straight answer. ‘they don’t just wake up and decide they want to go cause violence,’ i said at lunch today. ‘yes they do!’ my host sister and her boyfriend cried in unison. it’s incredible how real the lies can become in their heads the longer they keep telling themselves that. they both go to work on other rich people’s teeth during the day when other people in their country don’t have anything to put in their mouths to eat. they go to each other’s birthday parties, talk about how much they’ve traveled, and their european/asian/anythingotherthanlatinamerican heritage.

to the poorest country in south america, and only third poorest in all of latin america after haiti and nicaragua, the idea of bolivia selling off its immense natural gas reserves seems like a stellar idea. but the problem, as was made clear during the Water Wars of 2000, was that a country opened up to free markets in the mid 80s had neither the resource nor the capital to develop its own enterprises to benefit from this opening, and thus, all was sold to foreign firms, including rights to natural resources. selling natural resources is always bad; you have to develop them, at a minimum, to get any sort of added value or development of market infrastructure.

it’s hard to really explain the legitimacy of the statement that the people won’t see a dime of this money from selling the gas. it’s not like the alaskans getting money from whatever firm drills their reserve. they at least have the power to demand that alimony. these people don’t have any type of that power, even the rich ones. we don’t trust our politicians, but at least we can rely on the system, and if nothing else, the option to take to court if we feel that the system was mean to us. here, they don’t even have a system to rely upon. everyone here pays personal guards to patrol their streets because the real police are considered absolutely useless. my abuelita told me that when one of her friends called the police to report that her house had been broken into, they told her they didn’t have enough gas in the car to come to the house. under the law 1008, the controversial anti-drug law introduced under heavy pressure by the US in 1988 (the first version appeared in english), people have been imprisoned for years before being convicted of any crime. the law actually contradicts the bolivian constitution, but of course, the officials will just tell you you’re not reading it right.

the bottom line is that there is no faith in the system, and the campesinos are fully justified in their conviction that they will see no benefit from the selling of the gas, and if anything, they’ll lose their job because a foreign company bought the contract to export the gas. during the water wars, bechtel, through two different child companies, bought the water rights to the city of cochabamba and tripled the prices so that people who were making $80 a month were being forced to pay $20 a month, up from the $6-7 they paid normally. bechtel knew people would protest the price hike. they knew this so well they had the foresight to move their headquarters from the cayman islands to amsterdam because the netherlands have a special trade agreement with bolivia that would protect any “dutch” company from legal action taken by bolivia. so why did they go ahead with raising the prices? the best we can guess is that the bolivian government had assured them that the campesinos could be kept under control, heck, that’s what they’ve been doing for the last 500 years, right? but something went wonderfully wrong. protests shut down the city of cochabamba for six days, and the officials of the company fled. they didn’t take it, and they’re not about to again. the campesinos are not letting this government sell off what they view as (and likely is) their last natural resource without promise of some benefit for them.

over fifty people have died thus far in the last three days. the vice president has officially cut his tie to the president. (he’s still retaining his office, most likely in anticipation of goni’s resignation.) the president’s economic minister resigned yesterday. two weeks ago, his approval rating was down to 8%, and that was before anybody had died. yet, david greenlee, our american ambassador here in bolivia, as well as bush, have said that they continue to support goni. it would be so easy for us to stop hurting situations like this so badly.

When Did You Get a Day Off of School Because of Protests?

we got snow days. the kids here get bloqueo days. jj and maya, three-year olds [of our program's academic directors, ismael and heidi, respectively], were talking today during class about how they couldn’t go to preschool because of the bloqueos. jj then gave a very graphic description of how he was going to kill the soldiers with fire, waving his arms around and making a big whooshing noise with each passing swoop. maya’s eyes would light up as she too raised her arms saying ‘bang!’ with all of us who were watching laughing, albeit a bit tentatively. heidi, then interjected to tell them how we want dialogue first. ‘¿qué es el diálogo?’ asked maya, as if it were a new toy she hadn’t heard about. i don’t remember exactly what toys i played with when i was three besides play-doh and finger painting, but i know dialogue wasn’t one of them for many years to come.

La Semana Negra Commences

wow. during class this morning, we heard shot-like sounds, but there are usually some things that go off during protests, which i was sure there would be given all that happened in el alto yesterday (26 people, 25 civilians and one military, were all killed during protest). at 11:30, we decided to take a five minute break before finishing at 12, but we were all called back in a minute later because the protests were serious and they were using gas on some of the protesters [in the main plaza, a couple blocks from school]. they told us all to go home in taxis and to call the office once we got home so they could be sure we were safe.

so rachel and i left school to go get a taxi to go home. calama [the street our school was on] was all closed off to cars. the garbage dump on the corner was on its side in the middle of the street and someone had set fire to random trash lying next to it. we walked a couple blocks south to where the cars were, got in the first taxi we could and set off for home. traffic was pretty much stop and go. at one point, we were stopped in this one street and when we got to the intersection, we found burning cardboard boxes in the middle that had to be cleared for cars to get through. we finally got out of the center of the city and over to the university district which was completely calm, much different than what they had told us (that it was one of the zones seeing the most protests). but we got home sin problema.

apart from lunch, i haven’t done much but watch the news. there is a lot of unrest in el alto, la paz, and here in cochabamba. it was crazy, when we were leaving class, they told us to go around la plaza principal if that was normally the route we took, then on tv, they showed the crowds there throwing rocks at the windows of the prefecture, a woman running across the plaza with a baby in her arms accompanied by a soldier, all right in our plaza. when i was watching with paola, she was telling me about how during la guerra de agua [the water wars in 2000], the bloqueos went right past the house on belzu. trying to imagine what it was like to have all that action literally right outside your front door, i asked her, ‘what did you guys do??’ ‘oh,’ she said, ‘nothing really, it wasn’t violent, just people marching. i just tanned the whole time.’ i wanted to slap her, but i feigned a smile and laughed. later too, as we’re watching people north of mercado 25 de mayo (on the corner where all the cambistas are) throw rocks at the police about 100 yards away, she goes, ‘see, the police aren’t being aggressive towards the protesters, the protesters are the ones throwing the rocks and being violent. the police, they’re defending themselves.’ she also called the people throwing rocks in the plaza maleantes. while we’re watching footage of protest in la paz, she remarked she didn’t know why they just didn’t throw a little bomb in the middle of all of them to break up the protest. it’s crazy how much their focus is the problem of ending the bloqueo or the protest, and not the problem of why there is all this unrest in the first place.

campesino leaders are calling for goni to renounce the presidency, but goni’s saying he won’t. he tried to say today that they’d postpone the signing of any contracts regarding the rights of the gas until december, and i don’t know, but this can’t be the first time they’ve said something like this before, i.e. postponed something and then never found a solution at the later date. there’s a lot of dialogue about goni being a dictator and the fragility of the democracy right now. goni said there’s no way to replace a democracy with a civil dictatorship, as if he somehow represents the former and not the latter. there’s a lot of movement, too, to get the church involved to try and mediate some sort of dialogue.

vice president mesa announced this morning that he’s broken from the government because he can’t support an administration which continues in this manner. he emphasized many times that he wants to have a dialogue with the national community. what a breath of fresh air amidst all the tear gas of this unrest.

last night, the newsman ended the nightly news by saying, ‘good night and i hope we have better news to give you tomorrow.’ today, the newsman in la paz gave the general call to everyone in conflict zones to respect the red cross and ambulances. crazy stuff. news i’ve certainly never heard in my life. the most advisory any news has been that i’ve seen was about weather warnings, snow storms or tornadoes, but certainly never the red cross or bad news in general (sept 11th being the likely exception). channel 7, the ones my parents watch, is out. and for now, so am i.

Siendo la Gringa

[part of a response to readings for field studies on cultural integration]

A menudo, quisiera que no sea estadounidense, es decir, representativa del país con tan influencía aquí en Bolivia. No creo que yo vaya a poder lograr un nivel de integración muy profundo aquí en Bolivia, y ese me duele mucho, pero, creo que es la verdad. Mi papá aquí me ha puesto el nombre ‘la gringita’ con mucho cariñoso, por su puesto, pero todavía, es un recuerdo cada día de como el me ve, en primer lugar, siempre conectada a mi nacionalidad ... Veo mi cultura en las tiendas, en la televisión, en la ropa. Mi pelo y mis ojos son bien diferentes que la mayoría de las bolivianas, pero ademas, son cosas que reconocen y que representan mucho, entonces, no tengo diferencias neutrales.

Often, I wish I weren't American, or, representative of a country with so much influence here in Bolivia. I don't think I'll be able to have a very deep level of integration here in Bolivia, and this hurts a lot, but I think it's the truth. My host dad has given me the nickname, "la gringita," with much affection, of course, but all the same, it is a daily reminder of how he sees me, primarily as always connected to my nationality. I see my culture in the stores, on the television, in the clothes. My skin and my eyes are definitely different than the majority of Bolivians, but moreover, are things that represent a lot, i.e. I don't have neutral differences.

[2006. i love being american; i would never change my nationality. what is often frustrating and disheartening while abroad is that, with so many people, that fact of my nationality imposes a whole slew of stereotypes that take a lot of work to counter, let alone undo. a lot of what this entry in 2003 was coming out of was how much of an adjustment for me from my experience in france, where integration was, more or less, possible. in bolivia, as i was beginning to learn then, full integration is just not possible, mainly because my and other gringoes' physical appearance immediately affects bolivians' reception of us. no matter how good my spanish is, no matter how much time i've spent here, i am seen and treated first and foremost as a gringa. in short, integration is possible, but as a gringo/a, only to a degree.]

Welcome to the Jungle

Fuimos en la celva hoy día. Antes de venir aquí, pensaba que no me quisiera la humedad, como he vivido toda mi vida donde no hay mucho humedad, y a veces, nada de humedad. Pero, lo que encontré aquí es que la humedad es una cosa bonita por que me hace d e j a a a a r. Cuando no puedo mover mucho, tengo nada otra opción de mirar y escuchar todo que está arriba, abajo, y alrededor de mí. We went to the jungle today. Before coming here, I thought that I wouldn't like the humidity, as I'd lived my whole life where there wasn't much humidity, and at times, none. But, what I found here is that the humidity is a lovely thing because it makes me s l o w d o o o o w n. When I can't move much, I have no choice but to look and listen to everything that is above, below, and around me.
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La celva era todo lo que he nunca vivido o visto en mi vida. Era lo que había leído en mis libros cuando era niña y hoy, este lugar es donde fui. Hoy, las mariposas que admiraba por la pagina estuvieron aquí justo en frente de mí. Vimos a las palmeras las segundas más grande de todo el mundo, después de Madacasgar. Nadamos en un rio donde piranitas modieron unos de nosotros (pero no muy grave). The jungle was everything that I had never before experienced or seen in my life. It was what I had read about in books when I was little and today, it's where I went. Today, the butterflies I admired on the page were right in front of me. We saw the second biggest palms in the world, after Madagascar's. We swam in a river where little pirahnas bit a few of us (but not very seriously). I saw trees that looked like brooms, with tens of little spiky branches for feet and no trunk, like the whole thing was on stilts. We saw a four-inch-long beetle, and two-inch-long baby birds. I waded through a green velvet sea today, walked on carpets of dried leaves, and inhaled air until I was full.
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I saw thatched roof huts, for the first time in my life, that weren’t tourist attractions. It was amazing, farms with a-frame thatched roofs, cows with horns like cornucopias grazing in fields dotted with palm trees, but not the tall skinny kind, but the big fan-like ones, i.e. leaves at least five meters long, or tall as the tree itself. not your so-cal palm trees that so kindly lift up their skirts for development to sprawl underneath them, but the big fat men palm trees that sit out on their porch and watch it all go by.
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last night, we went out to another river to go swimming. on the bus on the way out there, i had a lovely ride with jonathan, who saw a sloth at the beginning. i subsequently spent the rest of the ride trying to no avail to see one. we got there at the beginning of the evening to a wide river bed with jungle-lined banks. the water was low, so our river was wide and flat. it was also probably the most beach-like river i’ve ever been to. the water was as warm as a pool and about 95% of the bottom was sand, not rock. the river was never much more than a foot deep so we spent a lot of time crawling around in the water, mud slinging (literally :) and making fun of each other’s butts which kept popping up as we slithered through the water. we stayed until the sun set when we sadly put back on our clothes and trudged back to the bus. rachel and i picked up rocks, in some sort of childlike nostalgic practice. the best part is i actually brought them back to cochabamba. they’re sitting on my desk right now. i’ll probably haul them back to idaho where they’ll sit in one of my boxes until i a) get my own house or b) decide i have better ways to commemorate my excursion in the jungle than rocks. we’ll see.

"No hay una fábrica de te."

[part of a practice journal entry for field studies after a visit to the town of Tarata, a small town above Cochabamba with a lot of history unique to the town. they split us up into pairs and assigned each pair a particular place to find and visit in the town.]

Después del viaje en bus a Tarata, bajamos del bus y nos encontramos en un pueblo tan lindo y tranquilo. Creo que había solo dos coches, taxis, en todo el pueblo. El viento hacía más ruido que la gente que vivía ahí. Me sentí muy gringa con mis pantalones rojos y mi gorro azul, pero no tenía otra ropa más apropriada y me he acostumbrado a este papel de gringa. (voy a tener ojos azules no importa cuanto sol tomo).

Nos partimos todos a buscar nuestros lugares para aprender sobre un parte de la cultura ahí. DeWolf y yo fuimos para buscar la fábrica de té. Preguntamos a mucha gente, y entendimos cosas diferentes casi cada vez. Había aún un chiquito que nos dijo que no había una fábrica de té. Preguntamos a las ovejas. Caminamos a menos una hora hasta que la encontráramos. Al fin, no pudimos visitarla y terminanos jugando al fútbol con unos niños y otros estudiantes de nuestro grupo.

After the bus ride to Tarata, we got off the bus and found ourselves in a town so pretty and tranquil. I think there were only two cars, taxis, in the whole town. The wind made more noise than the people who lived there. I felt very gringa with my red pants and blue hat, but I didn't have other more appropriate clothes I've become accustomed to this role. (I'm going to have blue eyes no matter how much I tan.)

We took off to find our places to learn about a part of the culture there. DeWolf and I went to find the tea factory. We asked a lot of people and got different responses almost every time. There even was one boy who told us there was no tea factory. We asked the sheep. We walked about an hour until we found it. In the end, we couldn't visit it and we ended up playing soccer with some kids and other students from our group.

La Historia de Mi Abuelita Boliviana

la historia de Bertha, mi abuelita boliviana
[one field studies assignment was to interview an older member of our host family to get a picture of a bolivian life. the picture above is ca. 1940, with illimani in the background. my questions and comments are in italics.]

[after showing me family pictures] ahora, ¿qué más?

todo que tenemos saber es una historia de la vida boliviana
de pueblo? sabes que mis papas, mis abuelos maternos y paternos eran de tarata, tarateños. mis papas se casasron en el año 1915, entonces, yo nací en el año 1917, me criado todo primaria en tarata, y segudaria hecha aquí en colegio santa ana de monjas, despues me conocío a los 15 años mi marido, a los 15 años de los 15 años, se declaró la guerra, tuvo que ir a la guerra él, ha estado dos años en la guerra y ha vuelto y volvió a buscarme, mis padres no querian saber nada de el, no era profesional, no era rico, no tenia nada, entonces no querian yo que me casara con el, pero parece que fue un capricho o amor que sería. me casé. hemos vivido 62 años de matrimonio, 62 años con él. hemos vivido muy bien. era hombre muy ... afectuoso, considerado, ha trabajado para nosotros a morir. el trabajaba 12 horas a veces hemos estado en las minas de amarayo en potosí.

¿su esposo trabajaba en las minas?
no dentro las minas, en contabilidad, en la oficina trabajaba. 12 horas le pegaba. entonces mandamos ya a nuestros hijos al colegio la salle aquí en cochabamba, todos han estudiado en la salle. nosotros nos hemos sacrifidado a lo maximo para tenerlos bien porque al colegio iban bien uniformados tenian que ir de terno azul, camisa blanca, elegantes, a la misa. y asi, claro, en el pueblo se llevaron una vida regalada también. en el pueblo, todo había, en mi casa al menos, teniamos grandes propiedades, colonos, en eso tiempos pongueaje no sé si sabes que es un pongo (no) es el que sirve. hemos tenido muchas comodidades, hemos vivido lo mejor en buenas épocas. ahora ya no. ni en sueños. la vida de pueblo es sacrificada para los que no tienen. porque los que tienen en la cosecha se llama a la gente que no tienen entonces van a trabajar se les paga en productos se les pagaba, ahora no es. se les pagaba si era cosecha de maíz, en maíz. si era de papa, en papa. si era de otra cosa, en ese producto. asi la gente tenia para comer. la gente mas pobre no se morian de hambre que ahora, todos se han dado al pillerio de necesidad. asi era la vida en tarata que nos hemos vido muy bien, era gente acomoda la mayoria. ademas, mi abuelo es descendiente de nobles. el papa de él llegó de españa con misiones que cumplir no les dieron grandes terrenos. entonces mi abuelo llegó con una hermana y otro pardo de figueroa la mama de mi abuelo llegó con un hermano. eran dos hermanas con un hermano. entonces se casó una de las hermanas de pardo de figueroa con mi bisabuelo y la otra hermana se casó con otro. y de ahí la familia iriarté es numerosa, numerosa. y nos reunimos, cada año, el dia de una fiesta del compadres, se llama, el jueves de compadres. 300 personas, 500 personas de la familia nos reunimos. hay un local grande en tarata y veas la galeria de notables. está la foto de mi abuelo está. es interessante la historia de tarata.

¿que recuerda de la guerra de chaco?
de la guerra de chaco mi esposo ha estado. ha estado en la guerra de chaco ha sido un fracaso porque nuestros militares no han respondido a sus obligaciónes. han sacrificado a la gente. mi esposo, por ejemplo, al ir de aquí se había volcado el camión y los dejaron una noche a la intemperie en el campo. esa noche yo no sé como ha sobrevivido porque hay toda clase de animales y bichos también. al día siguiente recien lo han recogido en camion que se volcó le había aplastado esta parte. asi lo han metido a la guerra. ha estado en un fortín de nuevo ha aprendido a caminar. ha servido en oficina ya, dos anos ha estado en la guerra. en la guerra han sufrido mucho. mucho han sufrido porque no teniamos quienes dirijan bien la guerra. han mandado a un americano no sé quien era, un general kumt. el dirigía, pero, con todo ha sido no mas un fracaso, hemos perdido terrenos muy grandes y ricos en la guerra de chaco. la gente ha sufrido mucho. ha muerto mucha gente de hambre, de sed. imaginate no sé si me entenderás, no tenian una gota de agua para beber y es desierto con el calor que hace y la arena dice que hastas los tobillos cuando una pisaba se entraba a la arena caliente. tomaban dice que encontraban baro en algun charquito ponian su panuelo y chupaban. no tenian que comer, dice que comian hacian coser sus zapatos y comian eso. han sufrido mucho. y todavia hemos perdido una terreno tan grande. ah, la guerra de chaco ha sido terrible, terrible. despues, volvió los dos años, nos casamos, casi otra vez lo llevan, casi. menos mal que no lo llevaron a la paz casi un ano tambien ya deguardia de la presidencia. y cuando firmaron la paz, tenia mi hijo mayor, pepe. estaba de ocho meses cuando firmaron la paz. era un alegria y un satisfaccion que hayan firmado la paz que no vuelva a ir a la guerra. contaba cada cosa, los militares estaban fareando, mientras los soldados estaban peleando, sin direccion. muy mal, muy mal.

¿las mineras, el MNR, diciembre 1943?
ahhh, el MNR. ¿sabes que ha hecho? el MNR ha entrado a todos los que teniamos propiedades XX ha dado a los campesinos. y esos campesinos han trabajado mientras vivien los padres, muertos los padres a que han dado para los hijos pero los hijos XX hecho XX asi que nadie trabaja. antes, había. por orden por MNR. ha muerto mucha gente de necesidad de rabia de pena, des . ha vendido el ferrocarril, ha vendido todas las empresas extranjeras en y el pueblo muere de hambre y de necesidad. ese es el MNR.

¿y ahora?
ahora, estamos de mal en peor. y todo por el MNR qui no quiere XX. porque goni es el mas rico de todo bolivia porque todas las minas de bolivia ha comprado en XX barratos todos. es dueño, todo. porque se agara de la presidencia para que nadie se quitte sus cosas, sus minas, sus bienes, multimilionario es, y mata a la gente de hambre. eddie es movimientista, no te va contar nada, yo te he contado todo lo que yo sé, lo que hemos sufrido. cuando lo movimiento XX, no había un pan para comprar, no había ilo, no había jabon, no había harina, ni arroz, ni azúcar, todo nos daban racionado. Segun las familias, nos daban racionados.

¿cuantos años de ese?
cinco años hemos suportado eso. no había carne. el campesinos se levantaXXX vaya comer su plata. no hay, no te voy a vender. asi era campesinos de malo, se levantó porque el MNR les XX . hemos sufrido mucho los primeros cinco años. la gente a muerto de necessidad, ha perdido todas sus cosas, los campesinos entraban XX de todo la ropa XX sean vestidos, han cometido tada abusa y el gobierno ha dicho nada. ha tormentado. (pausa) ¿después?

ahora, ¿la revolución de 52?
la revolución de 52. un XX entre de presidente no nos dejaba respirar. había XX. a las diez nadie embaba XX presidente. circulaban todos las mobilidades como drogas para que nadie vea que la gente camine, prohibe que la gente camine. a cualquier, era un matrimonio o un festejo, los llevaban al estadio y los enteraban toda la noche. asi era, XX. hemos sufrido también mucho pero menos mal después los sacaron. XX que entre a provechar de robar, nada más.

¿y qué cambió después de la revolución?
cambió cuando XX dos cambios bastante porque era él muy popular, muy, muy amante al campesinos, al pobre, todos. XX pero después lo mataron también.

¿y cómo se llama otra vez?
el general barrientos, era presidente. lo mataron XX desaparido XXX.

¿por qué?
con él, XX otra cosas. XX tarateño era y era mi pariente. XXXXXXXXX

¿banzer?
ah, banzer nos ha hecho bien, tenía muy buenas intenciónes, pero la familia de banzer XX . les ponía con toda confianza y aunque entrada y robada, y XX quedar malo, entrada y robada y de así XX todo su familia lo ha hecho quedar mal a banzer. el solo hubiese hecho el uno que sabia muchas cosas. especialmente la familia de su mujer. a toda la familia de su mujer ha puesto y todo el mundo se ha provechado y . . . lo ha hecho quedar mal. el unico que queda mal ahorita es él. y no saben que han robado XX familias. era XX, pero la familia lo XX.

¿y ahora de goni?
a de goni estamos de mal en peor. de mal en peor estamos. él promete una cosa y nunca la cumple. ahora los campesinos están tan XX ahora misma a la paz, hacía . . . a copacabana todo está bloqueado, a este lado también. y que bloquieron no más destrozan los caminos. de los XXX con lo que cae destrozan. pero, como los campesinos son ignorantes, creen que hace daño al presidente, pero no está el presidente al pueblo.

¿y qué piensa de evo morales?
evo morales es otro tipo con viniciero (?). y pues, es cocalero él, quiere, no quiere que la coca desaparezca. dice que hacen XX de coca y están plantado dos hectares en el otro lado. y eso sabe el gobierno.

¿y, como es como hombre?
yo no llevo nada a evo que sea hombre de corazón, porque a los cocaleros sabes que les hace, les dice, ‘si no van a este bloqueo, quita sus tierras. o multa de cien dólares, o cinquenta dólares van a pagar por no ir. conXX toda la gente va, no va por su gusto, no va porque quieren ir? no, obligados. XX . que tiene grandes tierras ahí en el chapare, tiene, es milionario, es milionario entonces quiere pues siempre ser presidente también, el evo. tendrá buenas intenciónes pero del dicho al hecho, no habe poder a hacer, como la gente ayer que se revuelta.

ahora el XX es un campesino ignorante que quiere imponer lo que él quiere, insulta a quien quiere, dice lo que quiere, nadie le dice nada (eso no va ayudar a mucho) ¡que barbaridad! ahora XX es lo mas preparados profesionales, pero también tira su lado tampoco para XX. todos son XX. no sé que pasará todavía con mi pobre bolivia.

¿si podría vivir en una época otra vez de su vida, cuál y por qué?
ah, si podría vivir otra vez, había reformas, o varias idéas, y ya hablaría porque antes la mujer no tiene ni voz ni voto. ya sería diferente, claro. ahora la mujer puede opinar, puede hablar, y en ese época, no.

¿y cuándo eso cambió?
eso ha cambiado poco a poco, muy poco a poco, muy lentamente (es un cambio grande) si, muy lentamente ha cambiado XX la mujer opina, da sus idéas, y XX. ahora XX la mujer estudia. en esa época de mi abuela, por ejemplo, las mujeres nacian para casarse y cuidar la familia y el marido, nada más. no les dejaban estudiar a las mujeres. ahora hacemos todos los XX hasta los campesinos y no quieren que hablXX su idioma, si no castellano. hay alguna vez, yo pregunta algo y me responden mal y los escogido. “ay, yo no hablo quechua,” me contestan, y son pues del campo. ¿cómo no les dan a enseñar su idioma? la gente se ha refinado mucho. antes, la XX lugares que decian como los XX. habian un lugar que se llamaba . . . no recuerdo XXX que vestian diez polleras y era cinco. eso para ir al pueblo, en el pueblo XX. el marido cargabo es como un, XX en su espalda y se vestian. y usaban XX se llamaba cuando una cosa XX era una, de la americana ingles XX era como un tejído, y esos tejídos XX el arededor dolgados. sobre esos XX y la camisa no usaban sacos y no camisas bien bordadas todo lo de adelante los mangas bordadas de todo color y el revolso. un panuelo de color en el cuelo. así se vestían esas mujeres. y aquí de cochabamba, la moda era sombreros blancos así grandes. entraban claro eso no se usaba XX con la gente que hay. esos eran los cochambinos. y los de pueblo, por ejemplo, los de arani (?), usaban más cortos, y habían XX que arreglaban a sus sombreros XX.XX

¿cuándo, en qué, qué piensa usted que hizo cambiar su vida lo más?
ah, la vida ha cambiado con los costumbres de, que venían de afuera. entonces, las criticas y todo, eso que es incomoda sombrero, que la pollera tiene que ser más angosta, que la hijas tienen virguenza de las mujeres de las madres con pollera. esas coasa han cambiado. y ya a sus hijas estudien quieren que su madre ya XX elegante. por eso han cambiado.

¿y en su vida, había una cosa que la cambió?
la muerte de mi abuelo, nada más. la muerte de mi abuelo, no sé . . . a los ocho años mi segundo mi . de los cuatro vivimos, eramos tres, seis. tres han muerto, y tres vivimos. yo soy la unica mujer la mayor de todos. y mis dos hermanos están en argentina, bien jubiliados, aha tienen sus casas, sus bienes, hace como XX

¿por qué argentina?
están XX en la plata. mi hermano que me seguía ha ido estudiar ingeneria en argentina y se quedó. mi otro hermano se fue también y trabajaba en la fábrica de automobiles de XX de mechanico XX le gustaba eso. se han jubiliados y han quedado ahi, tienen sus familias ahi. mi hermano que me sigue tiene un hijo, inginiero naval, un solo hijo tiene. XX mi otro heramno tiene tres hijos, un hombre y dos mujeres el hombre . . .

¿cuál diferente ve entre la gente de su niñez y de hoy? ¿cómo son diferentes los adultos, los jovenes, los indígenos?
ah! la juventud ha cambiado tanto. antes, los hijos eran respectuosos, hasta mis hijos. todavía mis nietos, los mayores han sido muy respectuosos, educados, obeientos. pero ahora, la juventud ha cambiado tanto que hace lo que quiere, dice, ‘es mi vida, no te metas’ y XX que ha cambiado mucho es la rebel de la juventud y maleada. maleada está la juventud. hay mucho juventud drogada, adicta, hay mucha juventud que acostumbra la XX. está muy maleada la niñez y la juventud.

¿y los campesinos?
ah los campesinos, ya no trabajan la tierra. han ido a todos lados. han ido a la argentina, XX eeuu, en el campo no hay nadie que trabajan. mujeres han quedado con sus hijos menores, nada más. no hay XX y trabajo en el campo. todos los campesinos se han ido de sus casas y buscan de trabajo, de vida. porque aqui, XX han vendido las empresas, todas las empresas, de esas empresas toda esa gente que trabajaba, ha quedado sin trabajo, familias que no tienen XX. entonces, por eso, han, van a buscar su vida donde sea. es esa la vida que está XX. la juventud está muy maleada. hay lugares XX tomando, drogando, como el padre ayer en la misa ha dicho que cuando estaba llendo, ha visto dos desnuedos alli en la calle. y seguro que estaban drogados, no han debido sanos. (esperamos que no). no, sanos no, o tienen que estar locos.

¿qué piensa de los dictadores?
bueno, los llaman dictadores, han llamado pues a Banzer y muchas también. pero en realidad, que vas hacer tú si a tu casa vienen, y te invaden, te provoquan. tienes que ser XX. les XX. porque ya abusaron mucho los campesinos, mataron XX, y por eso, les llaman dictadores. el goni no hace eso por temor eso, por eso les dejar abusar tanto al evo. goni XX matan soldatos, matan militares y nadie dice nada, pero matar a un cocalero, ooh, se llevantan. no, eso no me gusta, no es correcto. tendía que haber justícia para todos. ahora no hay justícia tampoco, XX ultimamente, hace XX lo llevan y después ha dido XX los suelto. a los ladrones, igual. no hay pruebas y los suelto, y ellos van otra vez a robar, a matar, ahora a los taxis no tienen ninguna garantía, los matan, se llevan en el auto y los dejan muertos. y no hay justícia. no se sabe quien es. la policía nunca discubre. la mayor parte de la policía también está comprometido con los ladrones, con los assassines, todo eso. en XX un XX está tres ahora. han cometido tantas barbaridades y siguen cometir.

¿hacen estas cosas siempre o . . . ?
no, antes cuando había trabajo, la gente trabajaba y vivía con su trabajo. ahora que no hay trabajo se dan a robar. XX la casa de mi nieta, la que tiene la fabrica, a las once y media de la mañana, le embasiadoXX, no había podido XX porque llama XX el taxi, en taxi dice que han robado cuatro personas. han visto los vecinos y no han podido ser nada. se llama a la policía y la policía dice, ‘no tenemos gasolina, no hay quien vaya’ no queden nada. es grave la situación en que estamos viviendo. vivimos en constante intranquilidad, en constante nerviosismo. eso es la vida que estamos llegando ahora. nadie tiene tranquilidad.

¿y laXX de ladrones, más o menos?
pero los ladrones dicen que la mayoria son peruanos. pero también hay los de aquí. están en combinación con los peruanos. a mi, por ejemplo, hoy día me han llamado tres veces. la primera vez, me ha dicho, ‘estoy llamando de rio de janeiro. quiero hablar con lydia.’ lo he dicho, ‘no hay ninguna lydia aquí.’ . . . . ahi la gente esté demaleada. da miedo y de alguna parte aqui a la la juventud les drogan sin que de sen cuenta. no hay que tomar nada, paola ya tiene experiencia, ya sabe paola que a quidarse.

¿otra vez sobre los dictadores, que sabían ustedes de la fuerza que usaba o no usaba el gobierno?
ah bueno, ultimamente en los mismos militares y los mismos de la policia querian matar al presidente. pero el presidente XX hecho XX eso de miedo a que otra vez se llevantan, a quedaban nada. no sé si sabes quien es unos cuantos han incarcelado, XX han apresado, no tienen pruebas exactas, están bien en la televisión quien es son como XX sabes. han asalto y robado todo de las oficinas, de los bancos, todo. que mayor pruebla? de una universidad el catedratico les han mandado a los alumnos a que XX el palacio de gobierno. se XX como uniformado están a peleando porque no incarcelan a persona. hay cosas que XX todo. me a di que se nada.

A Colorless Stream of Consciousness

[for one our a assignments in our field studies class, we had to give a running commentary of what we observed. for this, i didn't look at the computer as i typed, but just out the window at everything we were passing on our way to potosí.]

son las once y media y estamos en un bus viendo a potosí. muchas montañas, muchos cacti, muy secado. it's 11:30 am and we are on the bus going to potosí. a lot of mountains, cacti, very dry. clothes lying out on a fence of bushes. cows grazing by the road in a fenceless lawn. green hanging trees, rock face, trash and random fire pits sites, an apparent trail, a cloudless sky, a small (vegetable?) field, greenness, a bright looking gazebo-like thing, tijuana in canyonlands, a dirt soccer field, a ‘strip mall’, we gave one of the little boys one of our snack bags from the airplane and he looked like he had a new puppy and ran over to show his mom, we bought about five bottles of water through the window of the bus, two guys sitting on the guard rail in mid 90s (puffy, stripes down the sides) adidas jackets, mnr-mbl goni graffiti a ways off, a thatched roof house, farm-style with hacienda-ish gate, more land and light green bush, some dark green trees in the river bed, rocks on top of a tin roof. rows of green, ucs graffiti, another thatched roof long house on stilts, centro de capacitacion totacoa, more fields, all about five by six meter patches, a dry river bed, paceña, dirt pathways up to houses, telephone lines, salveitti (chicharonneria), more ucs, little cat-house-like tombstones in the hillsides with crosses in them (two next to each other, more earlier), jesus thorn bush, ‘telefono 1km’ sign, dried up cactus, cows grazing on dirt hillside, a few trees, a few cacti more hills, no people here, honk as we pass a yellow truck on the windy mountain road, shifting gears, big tall (100-150 feet) trees with blurbs of green branches look like doodles from notebooks, we pass another bus just like ours, lots of cacti and what looks like sagebrush, a brown cow grazing at the bottom of a tree at a perfect 45˚ angle, a little town with bulldozers in the back, ‘rhododendron trees’, ucs, sheep, walls of bricks (to sell?), a few more tall trees in a dry river bed, lambs, billy goats too?, passing a dump/mack truck with people sitting in the top/bed, more latin american sagebrush and cacti and hills, lone stone building on a hill, moss or dry grass (i can’t tell), an indigenous woman hitchhiking, eucalyptus trees?, old man sitting on the side of the road in a purple seater and red baseball hat and blue pants, km 27, chalk in the mountain side?, more dry mountains, gates, pig pen and no house (at least on this side of the road), we’re going down the mountain i just realized, another building with three white stars painted near the top on a grey background, more rhododendron trees, by the way, this is a very paved highway with a rain drain on the side (and painted lines!), km 31, two people up on the hill about 30 yards from a 3 by 2 meter brick structure, km 32, shale, 3 by 6 meter house with clothes line out, two indigenous people walking on the side, a tire fell off the top of the bus so we go in reverse about 100-150 yards, park the bus, get out for a bit while the driver runs up the road to get the tire that had rolled down the side of the hill a bit, and now we’re back on the road again, cemetery down below (coffins about 1 foot above ground, all with headstones with crosses), ¡two magnificent bright green and yellow birds chasing each other!, bushes with yellow (think skinny scotch broom trees), the flora is greener, we must be getting lower, hillsides that look like small deciduous forrests without any grass, just dirt, cross by the side of the road, more dryness, one bright green tree in the middle of other dry ones, cairn on the side of the hill, skeleton trees (we’re getting out of winter here), zona geologica, small stick table, thing, very low river, very cool bridge with fortress-like supports on either end, bigger valley now, small town