flying in bolivia

It´s that time again...when I try my best to convey just some of the experiences and feelings that occur here in this world I live in. I´ve been here 8 months, not that I´m keeping track (but I am) and not that people ask me all the time (but they do), but if I´m 8 months in, that also means 19 more to go. Sounds like a lot huh? but it´s under 20 and that´s a step.

That 8 months, as I remember vaguely from the whirlwind of training such a long time ago, is one of those dips or humps of culture shock and adjustment cycles. Which? I can´t remember exactly, but I feel like both....at the same time. I´m further adjusted than ever to the small things and superficial movements and continually and more deeply than ever shocked at other aspects of the way things work around here. I crave these things called ¨rellenos¨, mashed potatoes filled with meat and veggies and sauce, then deep fried and topped with llajwa (jalapeño-like hot salsa) or ¨phisara¨ which is a plate of toasted and cooked quinoa served plane with a couple strips of campo cheese. (campo cheese simply refers to basically the only type of cheese available here, a white, spongy, and super salty, round brick that is made anywhere cows exist). However, we (me and other fellow PCVs) are still shocked at how difficult it is, for our U.S. of A. minds to get ¨work¨ done here. We talk through it and about it and around it but it´s so easy to get frustrated at balancing the expectations of the informal peace corps life and the formal work setting that is expected of us to participate. Usually about 50% of what we expect ever happens, and it is usually stuff like baking a birthday cake or going to find bread on the corner. This is precisely when we have to remind ourselves that we knew and still know that peace corps is not about how many workshops we give or how many projects we complete, but rather it is simply about being. Being a friend and a community member, sitting with people, talking to them, greeting every morning, afternoon and evening, playing basketball, dancing in parades, smiling, and again just being. At this point, however, it isn´t vacation time anymore. It is my home. So whether I like the kumbia music blaring on the bus... or not, whether I like eating pig fat with hairs on it in my soup of chuño (the frozen, blackened, potato squashed with feet) and corn... or not, whether I want to wear the obligatory uniform of shorts when playing basketball at night... or not, it just simply isn´t a choice. It´s just the way it is. And that makes it a little difficult for us to cope with when we don´t ¨feel like it¨ The world we used to know was a world of choices, options, opinions, and variety and it is easy to miss.

It´s true when nothing can really be kept a secret when you are THE gringa around. I recently danced/paraded a traditional dance with another volunteer in her site for a festival and heard about it for the next week in my site, an hour away. I asked one lady how she knew and her reply was, ¨The Huareños (people from Huari, my site) talk¨. Yeah, no joke, just like a small town, except I´m usually left out of the gossip. Then this weekend, there was a small party in my site, where a small parade of one troup of dancers, a band, and then ´cargados´ (best translations= carriers or cargo-bearers)...first 2 llamas (majestic and glorious in their beauty) and then about 20 cars adorned in aguayos (the colorful cloths), antique pure silver plates from colonial times, plastic flowers, and stuffed animals or dolls (I will explain this traditional when I understand it better myself). Anyways, they paraded around forever and shot off fireworks and then I participated in dancing around a bit with the zampoña band...and of course I heard about it the next day. A group of 5 older women asked me ¨what did you do last night¨ I preceded in saying I watched the parade, then went and ate dinner and went home....they scoffed and said, ¨that´s not all you did¨. I remembered, oh yes, I did stomp around the circle and and twirl and such, and they laughed and laughed with their twinkling eyes, and I ask them ¨why didn´t you dance?¨ and they shy away and say something in quechua that I don´t understand and I smile.

When I play basketball, I bring a bottle of water, or else the dry air does make me cough all night. So, another teacher´s daughter (about 4 yrs old) is fascinated with my water bottle. If Bolivians have liquids at their sporting events, it is a 2-liter bottle of juice or soda shared with one small little plastic cup, so...anyways, she asks me a million times what is in my bottle. I say, agua, repeatedly and offer her to try it between my long swigs to moisten my throat again. So this last time, she asks immediately if I brought my water and I say yes. This time, she takes long swigs with me when I offer her some. Then: she immediately asks if I eat vegetables. I laugh (inside, not at her) and reply ¨Yes, I love vegetables¨ and immediately she asks, ¨Is that why you are so big?¨. I think her mom has been trying to coax her to eat her vegetables to be big like Tiffany, so I say yes...and only after a little while I tell her the complete truth, that my mom and dad are big too and that´s why I´m big just like them. I found it adorable, I hope you do too.

I went on a short hike the other day...just to the base of the mountain to sit and read. It was silent, as usual, but the birds flying over-head made a piercing sound, like they were breaking the sound-barrier with every flap. I watched a family plowing their fields below. The mom dropping seeds from her aguayo drapped like a satchel over her head, the dad fighting with the 2 bulls who where dragging the plow behind them, and the kids being kids on the side...playing and laughing and crying. On my way back home, a women watching her cows greeted me and I could tell wanted to chat. She knew who I was, and I think even has a student in my class, but curious all the same. She asked me about my family and what they did and why I came and what I did...normal questions. But, I liked her response: ¨We just fight with the land here, nothing else¨ I smile and think how peaceful that sounds, but wonder why she chose the verb fight.

¨Wonder, must be encouraged, supported, and legitimized by a caring and knowledgeable adult, once crushed, it rarely blossoms again.¨ (David Orr) I try to remember this when teaching, but it´s one of the most challenging jobs. When I try to get my students to do something other than copy word for word what I write or say, or ask questions, or simple listen to me and my patience goes out the window I forget some of the basics of why I want to work with kids....to ignite the ¨wonder¨ of caring for the environment, but at this point it seems really far-fetched. I´m not a very good teacher.

We gave a fairly successful GPS taller today at the university. Successful, meaning there were probably 50 people there, but frustrating because they wanted practice-practical experience. But how are we suppose to do that with 1 GPS machine. It´s not possible. So instead we talked about how cool the technology is and what cool things you can do with it, but then left them empty handed with a few demonstrations outside with our one machine...all functions writen in english terms. The same for all GIS software, all in english, not to mention the prices or availability, or lack of digital data. And to make it a Bolivian experience...the power cord of the projecter didn´t reach the wall plug and never does, but the janitors don´t have extension cords, and never do although they know the problem fully well. Long-story short, we start over an hour late, not just because of that but just waiting, waiting for people, for markers, just to be ready.

So in the midst of this week, I feel like I have an abundance of responsibility, and at the same time feel like I can back out of that responsibility as a boliviana...because it´s just hard to do things without resources or transportation or communication at times. Skip basketball tournament finals, go get my vaccines in Cochabamba, workshops to give and prepare and cancel, teach or cancel class, cancel my appointments to set up english classes, half-help with a huge tree-planting idea thought of just this week for Monday, cancel another meeting, my host dad needs me to pick up and/or send something for him in the city, my host mom wants me to buy plants for her in Cochabamba, my good friend Carla wants me to come to a baptism for a new god-son of hers...4.5 hours from the city, 2 from my site, and more...but I´ll spare them now.

I hope some of you have humored me by reading all of this and in fact are sitting comfortably and not stressed by time or responsibility or obligations. I am still trying to train my USA mind that it doesn´t matter, people will understand if you are traveling and can´t make it to such and such thing, but I struggle with my own guilt. Guilt of not being there, guilt of not completing that which I said I would do, guilt for not liking something, guilt for not trying harder, and guilt for enjoying it so much.

I will miss feeling the wind on my face as I wash dishes or clothes, go to the bathroom or just my kitchen...especially since it´s been a refreshing damp smell of rain recently, and although the wind brings its coating of dust, the view of the mountains is worth it. Sanitizing my water by sitting it in UV rays for a couple of days, getting fresh bread, vegetables, and home-made soups at any point a couple blocks walk from my home, the amazing sunsets every night, the silence and tranquility. Some things that have revolutionized my life recently are a hot shower...in my house (luxury), a new guitar, some used cotton american sheets (instead of scratchy ones), a cutting board, and a wooden spoon. Revolutionary creature comforts =) Some other home comforts of mine recently are reading magazines that remind me of home and watching continuous DVD´s of Grey´s Anatomy. It´s an amazing show, well, at least when watching USA television in Bolivia. I´m so totally hooked and only in the middle of season 2...there´s so much I don´t know yet! As a heads up, I am still planning on coming home during Christmas, although the flights and prices are over-my head in terms of figuring them and the dates out. So, I want to visit with you if you want to visit with me. Until then, or sooner than then.