The mountains are simply majestic here. Coming from the Altiplano (and the city of El Alto) you look down from the Ceja (the eyebrow) and plunge down into the singular river valley where millions of people inhabit parcels of land on the hillside and the road winds down down down to the Zona Sur where apparently it is American-city-esque. I haven`t been there yet thought. I can`t imagine not wanted the view from above. The dirt-colored homes of La Paz rise up to the abrupt edge of the pampa where snow fields gradually reach upward toward the rapidly ascending jagged snow peaks whose tops are often cloud-covered.
I avoided the political gathering yesterday in Plaza Murillo where President Evo Morales formally accepted the new approval of a new constitution from the Constitutional Assembly. But this does not mean, in any way, that things are calming down or being completed here. There are claims of illegality, autonomy, referendums to be written and voted on, articles up for vote, etc. A news article I read said that it is doubtful to be completed by next September. I`ve put up some more links on the right for your political reading pleasure. The little action I did come across however was typical to me but still held an energy that is escalating. Groups of indigenous people with their prideful outfits of ponchos and aguayos and chulus and multi-colored square flags, playing zampoña wind instruments parading in their comparsas through the streets in celebration. And the distant sounds of live concerts and fireworks in the plaza as the evening progressed. But as we volunteers follow our regulations with Peace Corps and continue working in our villages amidst the political excitement, I wonder if in the future I will get to say I lived through a piece of history in Bolivia. I think so.
Well...that is all for the current moment, however I have various excerpts of a theme I`ve been experiencing. ¨The Peace of Wild Things¨ Yeah, I know I`m copying from a Wendell Berry poem that I love, but it has been the theme of the past couple of months as I experience the stillness, the silence, the tranquility of the campo. Yet in all its wildness, it seems to hold an energy of wonder, an energy of beauty. Peace in its purest form, the peace of wild things. So if you have a minute to read...here they are:
OCTOBER: The rainy season feels like it has arrived. It rained a couple of times about a month ago but then as everyone who rushed to plant their crop fields (chajra in quechua) waited in worry of their drying seeds, others laboriously hauled buckets from the plaza wells or directed the limited irrigation ditch water to their parcels. My host mom planted at my house one weekend I was gone in November and I took on the task of rationing the bucket or two of water I got from the faucet in my house every day to the seeds and poor wilting clavel plants. We then would haul 25 liter jugs from the plaza at night, until recently when sometimes even the plaza well runs dry. Here in the dry country the seeds are planted in the dug-out rows, the dips of the garden, not the hills, in order to drink up all the water that is possible.
DECEMBER: But it is raining occasionally enough now...enough so that the fury of lightening will catch you off-guard. Lightening is a dangerous thing in the Altiplano for herders who are sometimes the tallest thing around, and I`ve heard deaths are common when the herders are frantically trying to gather their herds back to safety. But when it rains I get excited about the game of capturing rain water into buckets as it pours out of the gutters, and the calm sound of water on my tin roof and the safety of my room when lightening strikes all around me.
For about a week I traced a certain star in the night sky. It is a furiously twinkling star that is so prominent in the sky, I at first doubted its validity. I had to anchor its juxtaposition to buildings as I stood on the balcony outside my room and stared stared stared anticipating a sudden movement to prove its existence as a plane or UFO or something. But instead I would only note its inconsistent pattern of blue, red, and white flashes that twinkled away at my wonderment. I have seen it move across the sky, along with the other stars, throughout the weeks as the night sky changes with the season. I pointed out ´my star´ to fellow volunteers the other night as we were bbq-ing at a bonfire, and they were equally amazed. Maybe its the North Star, but I`m in the southern hemisphere, so is that possible?...I don`t know.
One afternoon I noted large cumulus clouds peaking their heads out from behind the mountains like the tips of Icebergs. Cumulus clouds should not come from the horizon, but in fact they ARE rising from below; a below that is hidden from my perspective. The below of the Cochabamba Valley más allá de las montañas (ok, so more over there past the mountains). Another reminder I live at the top of the world.
I had another college friend who happened to be in the country visit me recently and we explored my little part of the world...biking unsuccessfully to the lake and venturing to a community fiesta. In this community, the party had already passed on, but we walked around town anyways. Walking down the side streets, new green sprouts fought for life among the pink rocks in the dusty road where we laughed at a plastic baby arm tossed aside with a hairy llama hoof. At the corner, cactus globebushes stood guard on top of an uneven adobe wall and wooden crosses adorn outside walls, equally standing guard I assumed as they were pierced with nails to the mud dust wall.
At the edge of town, we stare across the vast plain watching a storm form and remembering weather terms we learned in class...like the leading squall at the lead of a storm front. The distance is covered in a smoky mist and the sun is completely blocked behind the clouds but ready to make its appearance at the opening at the horizon. We hurry back to the plaza where we climb the bell tower to get a better view of the coming sunset. We ducked and scrambled up the adobe steps of the church bell tower pitch black until emerging at the top, trying to avoid the full coat of pigeon guano covered every single surface. The sun shortly after descended from its hidden perch behind the clouds and we watch as it transforms and spotlights the plain with its purples, blues, oranges, and pinks. I feel the chilled wind rush throught the bell tower where we stand trying not to look down at the straight drop to the church courtyard. The jagged cliffs, peaks, and subsequent valleys of the mountain range fold in behind the town and we listen to the donkeys, cows, sheep, and llamas coming home, moaning and groaning as the darkness drenches them now.
Did I mention nature is beautiful in all its peaceful forms. That is all for now.
Hope you enjoyed, see you all in Kentucky.
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