Having segued effortlessly from jet lag to upset stomach to cold since arriving back, life has been fairly uneventful and home-based. Yesterday, however, we made a brave outing to refresh our DVD collection.
The walk to the DVD street took Susi, Mikael and me through La Paz’s most tourist area: a succession of shops selling ethno tat leading to a succession of stalls selling llama fetuses.
As we walked a normal-looking man stopped and swore at Mikael. Why he would swear at random foreigners was unexplained and why he would pick the largest man within a mile radius seemed suicidal. Anyway, Mikael and I swapped pleasantries with the man before we hit second-hand clothes street.
Hawking “pre-loved” clothes is illegal in Bolivia, so occasionally these stalls are clamped down on. The theory is tailors should be protected; people should only buy new Bolivian-made clothes, which seems rather tough on the poor. The rag trade is in bad shape since the US ended trade preferences with Bolivia, jeopardizing 25,000 jobs.
Morales chose to defend the booming coca industry (his electorate and fellow unionistas) against the (albeit bonkers) War on Drugs and so sacrifice hope of an improved relationship with the US. Even Chavez gets on better with the US than Morales now, and that’s about as bad as relationships get.
Much more legal than the shifty business of selling clothes is flogging illegal DVDs. An entire road is dedicated to knocked-off movies in shops and stalls. From the latest blockbusters to Boobs and Butts 3, it’s all here.
For £10, we bought the second and third series of Battlestar Gallactica and the second series The Sopranos. Bargain! I tried to buy the new Star Trek film but the salesman told me his wasn’t a good-quality version and advised waiting; they’re even honest(ish).
All the way from the San Francisco church to Plaza Estudiantes, the Prado was packed. Excited Bolivar football fans waved flags out of hooting cars. Under the huge, full moon, hundreds of fans accumulated at the plaza, singing and chanting.
Being outside is certainly more interesting than watching Lord of the Rings. Again.
Monday, 6 July 2009
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
In the bright mid-winter
Culturally, the Bolivian ex-pat lifestyle can be a little confused. On Saturday, we attended a Swedish mid-summer party held by Alina, a Canadian-Pole. It had been mid-summer the day before in the northern hemisphere, so we were only one day and two seasons out.
Given that winter here means dazzling blue skies, it’s not so dissimilar to summer in the UK, except it’s dark by 7pm and there are dazzling blue skies.
Anyway, feeling a little odd because of jet lag and altitude adjustment, a party where our Swedish friends said they would be dancing around an enormous penis was not to be missed.
The party was held in a garden with magnificent views of Illimani, if you stood in the right place. It was good to see Alejandro again—one of the few ice-hockey playing Mexicans in La Paz—we had been to his leaving party the night before.
And there in the pride of place was a tall, decorated cross; which would once have been a fertility-symbol phallus before Christianity ruined the fun.
After delicious Indian samosas and flavoured vodka, it was time to dance. Wearing crowns of flowers, we held hands around the “symbol”. A bottle of lemon vodka was passed around, the girl next to me turned it down pointing out she was pregnant, and the dancing began.
There was a song in Swedish about being a frog with hand-actions for ears and tails, for some reason this ended in falling over. I tripped and panicked about landing on the pregnant lady, while next to me a tall Bolivian lady was toppling too. Don’t land on me, I thought. Then, Oh no. Don’t land on her. Land on me. Land on me.
Happily, she managed to miss us both.
Given that winter here means dazzling blue skies, it’s not so dissimilar to summer in the UK, except it’s dark by 7pm and there are dazzling blue skies.
Anyway, feeling a little odd because of jet lag and altitude adjustment, a party where our Swedish friends said they would be dancing around an enormous penis was not to be missed.
The party was held in a garden with magnificent views of Illimani, if you stood in the right place. It was good to see Alejandro again—one of the few ice-hockey playing Mexicans in La Paz—we had been to his leaving party the night before.
And there in the pride of place was a tall, decorated cross; which would once have been a fertility-symbol phallus before Christianity ruined the fun.
After delicious Indian samosas and flavoured vodka, it was time to dance. Wearing crowns of flowers, we held hands around the “symbol”. A bottle of lemon vodka was passed around, the girl next to me turned it down pointing out she was pregnant, and the dancing began.
There was a song in Swedish about being a frog with hand-actions for ears and tails, for some reason this ended in falling over. I tripped and panicked about landing on the pregnant lady, while next to me a tall Bolivian lady was toppling too. Don’t land on me, I thought. Then, Oh no. Don’t land on her. Land on me. Land on me.
Happily, she managed to miss us both.
Friday, 19 June 2009
The 10 things we missed about Bolivia
It’s still inexcusably self-indulgent, and I won’t do it again.
The cloudless deep blue skies
The dazzling star-filled night sky
The amazing fruit (and I didn’t think I liked fruit)
Everything being remarkably cheap
Dogs decked out in anoraks, cardies and hoodies
Sonia—our maid
Illimani—our neighborhood 15,000 feet mountain
The view from the lip of El Alto into the La Paz bowl
Indigenous people in their gear
Susi and friends (not that most of them are Bolivian)
Susi's most missed:
Illi Mani—our cats
Illimani—the wopping mountain
The city’s lights at night
Having lots of money
Having a maid
Cholitas
Being taller than everyone else
Lake Titicaca or The Lake as it is known
Speaking Spanish
Having a fuck-off big flat
The cloudless deep blue skies
The dazzling star-filled night sky
The amazing fruit (and I didn’t think I liked fruit)
Everything being remarkably cheap
Dogs decked out in anoraks, cardies and hoodies
Sonia—our maid
Illimani—our neighborhood 15,000 feet mountain
The view from the lip of El Alto into the La Paz bowl
Indigenous people in their gear
Susi and friends (not that most of them are Bolivian)
Susi's most missed:
Illi Mani—our cats
Illimani—the wopping mountain
The city’s lights at night
Having lots of money
Having a maid
Cholitas
Being taller than everyone else
Lake Titicaca or The Lake as it is known
Speaking Spanish
Having a fuck-off big flat
Sunday, 10 May 2009
The 10 things I miss most about England.
This is inexcusably self-indulgent, I know.
1 Pubs (especially having an alfresco wee under the stars on Chorleywood Common during the walk home from The Black Horse).
2 Friends and family.
3 Multiculturalism, especially the glorious and varied food.
4 The river (I know there’s more than one but I mean The River).
5 Parks.
6 Listening to Radio 4 in bed.
7 Girls going to the corner shop in their jimjams.
8 Laws.
9 The sea.
10 Very, very long Sunday lunches.
One more: being somewhere simultaneously utterly modern and ancient.
Here are Susi’s (no mention of girls in their jimjams).
1 Mum and dad.
2 The green countryside.
3 Radio 4.
4 BBC TV.
5 Walking up Shotover Hill.
6 Sandwiches.
7 Not having to disinfect fruit and vegetables.
8 Being able to drink tap water.
9 The Guardian
10 Nice buses. (That’s what she said, honest.)
1 Pubs (especially having an alfresco wee under the stars on Chorleywood Common during the walk home from The Black Horse).
2 Friends and family.
3 Multiculturalism, especially the glorious and varied food.
4 The river (I know there’s more than one but I mean The River).
5 Parks.
6 Listening to Radio 4 in bed.
7 Girls going to the corner shop in their jimjams.
8 Laws.
9 The sea.
10 Very, very long Sunday lunches.
One more: being somewhere simultaneously utterly modern and ancient.
Here are Susi’s (no mention of girls in their jimjams).
1 Mum and dad.
2 The green countryside.
3 Radio 4.
4 BBC TV.
5 Walking up Shotover Hill.
6 Sandwiches.
7 Not having to disinfect fruit and vegetables.
8 Being able to drink tap water.
9 The Guardian
10 Nice buses. (That’s what she said, honest.)
Saturday, 9 May 2009
Lakeside llama and blessed cars
The next morning we took another boat trip, this time to a small island, Isla Pariti. Home to donkeys, birds and few people; plonked in the deep blue lake and in view of the Andes, it seemed idyllic. In reality, the lack of shops, drinking water and electricity would get trying pretty fast.
Our departure from Puerto Pérez was held up by a passing rally. The Gumball 3000 has nothing to worry about: pouting blokes in Daihtsu Charades with stickers on strained along, with their bored girlfriends in the passenger seat.
Once the rally passed, it was an interesting drive. Sunday must be a popular day for blessing cars at the Copacabana. It’s a strange business: shamans and Catholic priests perform a ceremony to ensure the safety of vehicles. The cars are lightly doused with alcohol and decorated before being sent on their way.
It was an interesting drive past the former home of Victor Hugo Cardenas. The Aymara politician had been Vice President (1993-97) and was now a critic of the government. This is a dangerous position to take in the Altiplano—last month, while he was away, his neighbours broke in, beat up his wife and children, and took over his house. It’s still covered in graffiti and the family has moved.
Having randomly picked one of Huatajata seemingly identical lake-side restaurants, we bumped into a mate. She’d had an interesting morning having been chased by a frying-pan wielding mother defending her children from my friend’s morally corrupting influence.
After compulsory—and delicious trout—we went next door to the museum of the Altiplano, where I held a baby llama and a vicuna nibbled my trouser area.
Our departure from Puerto Pérez was held up by a passing rally. The Gumball 3000 has nothing to worry about: pouting blokes in Daihtsu Charades with stickers on strained along, with their bored girlfriends in the passenger seat.
Once the rally passed, it was an interesting drive. Sunday must be a popular day for blessing cars at the Copacabana. It’s a strange business: shamans and Catholic priests perform a ceremony to ensure the safety of vehicles. The cars are lightly doused with alcohol and decorated before being sent on their way.
It was an interesting drive past the former home of Victor Hugo Cardenas. The Aymara politician had been Vice President (1993-97) and was now a critic of the government. This is a dangerous position to take in the Altiplano—last month, while he was away, his neighbours broke in, beat up his wife and children, and took over his house. It’s still covered in graffiti and the family has moved.
Having randomly picked one of Huatajata seemingly identical lake-side restaurants, we bumped into a mate. She’d had an interesting morning having been chased by a frying-pan wielding mother defending her children from my friend’s morally corrupting influence.
After compulsory—and delicious trout—we went next door to the museum of the Altiplano, where I held a baby llama and a vicuna nibbled my trouser area.
Saturday, 2 May 2009
We were sailing, they were sinking
We made a trip to Puerto Perez to stay in the Swiss-chalet style there and spend some time on Lake Titicaca. In the first afternoon, a little wooden sailing boat took the seven of us on an outing. It was beautiful, and really relaxing despite being a little squashed.
As we returned to land, an endless stream of dressed-up Bolivians piled into a sister boat. I asked our captain what was the maximum possible aboard. 15, he said. When I pointed out there seemed to be more than that, he said there are 25, I think.
They set off, the boat perilously low in the water, happily singing along to an on-board guitarist, somewhere lost in the crowd. It was fortunate it did not sink because few Bolivians can swim and the water is unforgivingly cold.
Bruce and I watched the sunset from the end of the pier. As the cold wind blew over the lake, the snow-capped mountains turned a delicious shade of coconut-ice pink. At every side, the view was wonderful.
As we returned to land, an endless stream of dressed-up Bolivians piled into a sister boat. I asked our captain what was the maximum possible aboard. 15, he said. When I pointed out there seemed to be more than that, he said there are 25, I think.
They set off, the boat perilously low in the water, happily singing along to an on-board guitarist, somewhere lost in the crowd. It was fortunate it did not sink because few Bolivians can swim and the water is unforgivingly cold.
Bruce and I watched the sunset from the end of the pier. As the cold wind blew over the lake, the snow-capped mountains turned a delicious shade of coconut-ice pink. At every side, the view was wonderful.
Tuesday, 14 April 2009
Back on the saltenas
President Evo Morales has just announced he is ending his hunger strike. After five days of ploughing through the coca leaves to suppress his appetite, he must be delighted to be eating again. A compromise was reached with Congress and the election reform has passed.
I wonder whether the same compromise would have been found without the strike. It sets a dangerous precedent: from now on will the president always refuse to eat unless he immediately gets his way? Perhaps in future for quicker results, he could try holding his breath and stamping his feet or putting a gun to his head threatening to pull the trigger.
Except that hunger strikes are not treated with the same seriousness here as in the UK. No one expected the president to actually starve to death, and the move was treated with derision by many Bolivians.
For the most powerful man in the country to use such a desperate measure signals a failure of his democratic leadership, it shows a complete lack of belief in parliamentary process. Ironically, it was used to pass worthwhile reform of the same institution he was arm twisting.
Alternatively, perhaps the president just knew this common fallback tactic would be highly popular with his core support and that the opposition were only playing silly buggers. He certainly had the good sense to avoid a simultaneous dirty protest of the presidential palace.
I wonder whether the same compromise would have been found without the strike. It sets a dangerous precedent: from now on will the president always refuse to eat unless he immediately gets his way? Perhaps in future for quicker results, he could try holding his breath and stamping his feet or putting a gun to his head threatening to pull the trigger.
Except that hunger strikes are not treated with the same seriousness here as in the UK. No one expected the president to actually starve to death, and the move was treated with derision by many Bolivians.
For the most powerful man in the country to use such a desperate measure signals a failure of his democratic leadership, it shows a complete lack of belief in parliamentary process. Ironically, it was used to pass worthwhile reform of the same institution he was arm twisting.
Alternatively, perhaps the president just knew this common fallback tactic would be highly popular with his core support and that the opposition were only playing silly buggers. He certainly had the good sense to avoid a simultaneous dirty protest of the presidential palace.
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