I didn't want to leave my blog up for weeks, months, years (God forbid), on some last random entry I wrote rushing out of the country...and so I've compiled some 'journal entries' I typed on my computer during the last month or so I was in Bolivia and the first days back in the states. I've modified them for Spanglish words I used and explained references I thought were confusing. I thought they were important to share cultural revelations that often only come with immersed contact in a foreign land and for personal insight as I try to figure out what it is I am prepared and qualified to do next in life =). It is long. Please feel free to comment or ask me, in person hopefully, about more stories or experiences or pictures I can share.

early OCT

I feel horrible...my head is stuffy and it makes my eyes and neck and throat burn and radiate heat. My stomach is growling a bit, but I have no appetite for the food I'm wasting in my kitchen. Yes, I am home, home in Huari for the last time with a terrible head cold, in the midst of a town tragedy (a car accident had killed 2 teachers a couple days earlier), trying to pack up my things but not really pack them up like I was moving, just pack up what is important to me and what I can leave behind or give away. I tried to go to Doña Cipriana's house and give her and her family some items (like my blender and some clothes for her girls and a re-gifted "made in china" electric fish bowl I simply couldn't find room for in my suitcase), but that turned into her inviting herself back over to my room for 2 more hours while my body got more feverish and she tried to tell me how to relieve my sickness by: 1-her taking things from my room, 2-giving me her version of a home remedy which always varied from person to person. All I want is to be left alone to deal with my things, and I quickly learned that it is simply human nature to hoard over things that are free, and I found it very difficult to gift an item here or there without them wanting me to give them everything.

My work is over here. It makes me sad walking the streets and knowing the women's faces for what they do (bread lady, coca lady, vegetable lady, cheese lady, gas lady, lady who has milk at her store, etc), and having kids yell or come running to me, "Where have you BEEEEEN?" It gives me a degree of respect and understanding for the traditional and for the culture of face on face contact and BEING there...always. And yet, the biggest success story is coming back and having my eco-club show me the trees they had planted in my 2 week absence, a project I had only talked about doing, and not actually prepared. That was pride in both me and in them. It is definitely a measure of self-accomplishment to have seen a class of kids grow and change and learn over 2 years, hopefully becoming more aware of my culture and a culture of environmental respect.

I can't breathe through my nose and my throat is dry and sore as I breath through my mouth. My eyes bulge from their sockets in heat and pain, my throat is inflamed and and I want to skip the next 4 days and be done with this place, done with the explaining of where I've been or where I'm going, done with giving things away or selling things in the city, done with packing my bags, done with crying. At this point, I want a place to be in that doesn't stress me out. I'm tired and confused, it was not supposed to end this way. So instead I try to be thankful that I will be returning to all those things I think about that seem so foreign to me now: water in the faucet and a bathroom that flushes, and a washing machine and a shower and a refrigerator to store leftovers. I've got chills and am dreading dealing with stuff from the apartment left in Oruro and moving on and moving away from this place. And yet I'm ready to leave because it is time to leave. I don't need someone telling me to pour hot lemon juice down my throat or that I'm blowing my nose too hard, or to wrap my throat in newspaper and a scarf to sleep in overnight...that will make me well by morning. What? I've got to sort papers and clothes and kitchen, but then I'll be done. I need to decide what I'm traveling with and what I treasure enough to send home in a box and hope it arrives.

I remember almost a week later, getting on a "Tres-Filas" (one of the nice 3 person across, instead of 4, lazy-boy type chair buses) on an overnight bus from Cochabamba to Santa Cruz at 9pm and feeling a relief. A huge relief. I had cut all official ties to everything and had only my backpack and timbuk2(my red messenger bag) to look after. I left my site, packed my things, said my goodbyes, sold the apartment items in Oruro, ran Christmas present errands and mailed boxes home, checked in at the pc office one last time, and was sincerely a wandering traveler in a country I felt home in. It felt great, and I slept well even on a bus.

a week or so later...

I'm on the road now, traveling but more mentally focused on returning home, trying to prepare myself for the shock. Trying to imagine myself in different situations and feeling both excited and a little nervous about different opportunities that I could get myself into, and feeling slightly nostalgic for an exciting fresh new start here in South America doing something different...following advice from people who were already home: "America is great, but not that great" I imagine farming, eating great food, getting involved in a cool internship, cooking in a nice kitchen, volunteering, speaking spanish, going back to school...

OCT 25

(thoughts as I sit in a bus terminal at midnight, getting ready to return to Bolivia from Argentina, and trying to portray images of what Argentina was for me)

I'm in one of those weird moods when I am annoyed at something that shouldn't be annoying at all. I'm annoyed at the country of Argentina. Why? Because I feel uncomfortable here, uncomfortable because here in Argentina ...mullets are in fashion, and I feel like I'm undressed in my nicest outfit that I have on this trip. It is overwhelming to people-watch people that are so different than me, making me self-conscious, half-depressed (for my lack of stylishness), curious, homesick for a place I feel more at home in, more confused, and yet happy about this world. We are all the same, being influenced by the people and culture around us with only a slightly different advertising scheme for what we should think is stylish or what we think is important in life. Emily and I in the particular pants or shoes or jacket were OBVIOUSLY American, and everyone else was OBVIOUSLY Argentinean...and how funny are we to think one thing is weird and another cool on two different continents?

It was 11:45PM at the steak restaurant and we hadn't received our meal yet, the 2 member ensemble visited different tables singing a traditional Argentinean folk song, while members of the table would join in, often taking over vocals for the ensemble. We were at peak eating hour, some people had left others were arriving. Large groups of people, or a couple out on a date, all looking their best, and I only wonder what they did to keep themselves awake this late at night as we fought back the yawns and rumbling tummy.

We went to a movie to pass the time after we dropped our bags off at the terminal at 10am and waiting for our bus to leave at 1am, so after having done enough sitting in the plaza, people-watching, and patronizing the few restaurants open on a Sunday, we went to THE MALL, and ate McDonalds and went to a movie. Crazy, but like in any movie theater that I walk in to in a foreign country...it is an escape, an escape from the paranoia that lurks around me otherwise. Paranoia that someone will rob me or make cat calls or I'll leave my bag somewhere and I'll be left without money or a phone or people will stare at me or 'fill in the blank'. Sitting down in the 'anywhere in the world' movie theater, I can escape the world and pretend for 2+ hours that I am transported to wherever the movie is taking place. I have to remind myself when the movie is over exactly where I am in the world so the westernized look doesn't throw me off and I'm not shocked when I have to flag a taxi when I walk outside and not get in my car and drive home. Stepping outside is usually a breath of fresh air, thankful I do not have to drive myself home, and thankful for a 2+ hour break from thinking too hard on the details of how to get...bus tickets or food or a roof over my head for the night.

Being here in Argentina, makes me miss Bolivia with a deep ache for its humility and naivety and its strong power and all the things it has avoided in "development" of "more developed nations". Being in direct contact with the over-priced fashion boutiques, over-sized conveniences, acre-sized shopping malls, boulevards, 2-block plazas, security guards, control, and specialty conveniences, I can say that I don't necessarily appreciate any of the extras that don't make things easier, really: like meters on the cabs, and over-priced fixed prices, and automatic doors and indoor heating or cooling. However, I do see and can appreciate: security guards, waiters with an idea of customer appreciation, toilet paper in the bathrooms-usually, cold drinks, ice, and water.

So I will be leaving this place, where all the cooks wear scrubs like doctors, and even the bus terminal has WIFI, and all the 13-yr olds and older wear mullets and converse shoes and skin-tight ankle-biter jeans. But who knows? Maybe everyone is wearing mullets and ankle-fit pants in the 'modern world', I wouldn't know. I AM surprised at how much I don't care and yet it makes such a huge impression on how I feel and how I am aware of others and myself and the extreme difficulty I have in NOT staring at the difference between me and them.

The next day I came back to Bolivia, crossing a po-dunk river crossing with absolutely no signage or help in how or where to go through migration. That's more like it. A third world country. I felt home.

NOV 5

The salar trip felt like a trip to another planet. It was hours and hours of driving to what seemed like the end of the earth every time; we kept arriving to spots that were on the horizon before, or cresting another mountain, or seeing a completely different view every hour. From red, eroded and pillared hills to rolling pastureland, sand dunes, volcanic points, mineral colored lagunas, flamingoes, alpacas and vicuñas, moon-scapes and water-scapes and desert-scapes. The largest salt flat in the world, a coral rock island, 1,000 year old cacti, fossilized lava fields, boulders resting in sand, fields of cantaloupe sized rocks, mountains with humps like camels, dust/wind tornadoes, color combinations to trick my eyes, and sunsets and sunrises that transformed the land in seconds. Not to mention an appearance of 5 altiplano superheroes on Oct. 31st, just for giggles...(check out photos).

1250km of driving on dirt/gravel/large boulder/sand/borax/salt roads, 4 ipods, and many pit stops to water the few paja grass plants along the way, the 4 day trip was impressive. I now understand why most of the feature pictures of the Bolivia travel guide books or National Geographic articles are from the Salar Tour. They are out of this world, unique, and unbelievable unless you've seen it for yourself.

LA PAZ

Today we ventured to the Museum of Ethnography and Folklore and I walked around filled with an appreciative admiration of and for Bolivian people. It helped that the items were exhibited well, but with a history like that of Bolivia, it is hard not to be impressed. More than anything it boosts the pride I have in having spent 2 years living in the midst of the huge clash of tradition and modernity in an ancient part of the world where modern people are living an odd mix of practices, from weavings, dances, pottery, architecture, dress, food, land use, civil systems, etc. There were weavings from the 2nd century through present day and I knew most of their origins by recognizing the design pattern I've seen across the country as I've "been there and seen that"...plus a few explanations for the indescribable patterns that are mixed into present day touristy items. Then there was an entire room of feather-adorned dance head pieces and costume accessories. Head-dresses formed from a wooden structure shooting out rhea (similar to the ostrich), flamingo, and parrot-like bird feathers. An entire exhibit room devoted to pottery tradition, another to Carnaval masks from all over the country, and finally a modern artist tribute of a Bolivian woman sculpture artist.

I found myself throughout my 2 years saying to myself, "I just don't get it," for the seemingly insensible actions that occurred in my path. But, I "get" a lot more than I did 22 months ago and because of that I feel like little pieces of Bolivia will always be missing from my life and I will find myself saying "Me hace falta a Bolivia-" roughly translated as Bolivia is missing to me.

NOV 20

My last day I spent on a wild goose chase, picking up all those things I was saving for the end, hiking up and down cobblestone streets, buying my last supervitaminico fruit drink and 1bs. popcorn on the street. Trying to take mental images of the crowded market streets, the food, the people, the mountains. Bolivia is an amazing country with amazing people and I feel so lucky to have been able to live here. Yes, I am sad to be leaving, not knowing if or when I'll return, but it's great how the mind can prepare you for something like a plane ticket home. I'm ready because I've seen the date on the calendar and knew it was coming and yes, I am also very ready to be home.

I look forward to not having to wind through labyrinth markets huffing and puffing at 12,000ft, or decipher what people tell you as lies or truths, or be constantly paranoid about keeping my wallet and phone hidden within my clothes. I'm looking forward to blending in a bit more, to understanding how things works inherently, to a clean and comfortable bed, and fluffy towels. It's small things like fighting for a cheaper bus ticket that I will not miss, and the really big things like the slow-paced lifestyle that I will long for in the coming months. So don't find it weird if I try to greet you with a kiss on the cheek or say 'provecho' when you are eating, it will be all a part of readjustment.

So as my bags are packed with little things I just couldn't leave without, I look forward to them being a reminder of a people, a history, and a culture in the amalgam of American culture that is the result of borrowed traditions and constant change. The beautiful part about Bolivia is its consistency and thick traditions that haven't changed in hundreds of years and there is a certain pride in having ownership to a culture so firm, and even though I don't feel like I own any part of it I do feel like I know what it would feel like if I did.

NOV 28

Home for a week

What strikes me as odd? Free water at restaurants WITH ice, the existence of ice tea, reflectors and lines painted on the roads, stoplights, clean everything, huge people, toilet paper goes in the toilet not the trash can, toilet paper goes in the toilet not the trash can (I have to repeat it over and over because I still look for and reach for the trash can), hot water in the sink, water in the sink period, all the food has taste that isn't necessarily just salt, comfy beds, clean sheets, large towels, hairdryers, carpet, a closet of clothes I wore in high school, the fact that everything looks the same and yet I can pick out the few differences...like didn't that church get a fresh coat of paint?

But then there are times when I am just too overwhelmed and it becomes uncomfortable. In Whole Foods today, there were raspberries and blackberries and blueberries and strawberries, all perfect and packaged...from Argentina. Broccoli and cabbage and carrots and greens, all stacked high without blemish. Cinnamon swirl peanut butter, bread crumbs in a can, and at least 10 different 'types' of bottled water filling an entire row of the grocery store. Water, packaged and bottled and on display. I remembered a RPCV(returned peace corps volunteer...sorry for my governmental acronym jargon) saying she had cried when seeing the bottled water selection in Walmart after coming home from a much more water-stricken country in Africa. Images filled my head of people filling up less than clean buckets of dripping water at the plaza faucet or men manually drilling through rock hard soil up to 10 meters deep to hopefully reach a water aquifer (I could literally see the amount of water I had available for the day and it only filled my sink) and the Monday market in Huari where I found broccoli 3 times in 2 years and the fruit lady only had the 'leftovers' of fruit from the Sunday market in Challapata (therefore not even close to blemish-free or very varied). But did I feel cheated? No. I felt blessed and fortunate to have the water I did, the vegetables and fruit that were available, and I learned to DO without.

We live in a country of plenty, a country of abundance, and a country of innovation and convenience. It is a beautiful country but I don't believe we think twice about not picking the blemished bananas or demanding that blueberries become available year-round. How naive are we to think we can have everything? Well, its not naivety, its reality. America is a world of innovation and discovery and we've found a way to do or make just about anything happen as long as someone gets more money for it, whether it is the 'right' thing to do or not.

Ok, that's enough preaching from me. I AM enjoying the washing machine, and the most comfortable of all comfortable beds, and the amazingly warm shower I have at any moment of the day I please. My stomach is adjusting to the richness and taste of all foods. But, I still have trouble counting my change when I can't remember how much the coins are worth or deciphering the made-to-be confusing cell phone packages. Little by little I'll remember it all, and hopefully never forget those 22 months I spent in Bolivia.

Well, I`ve successfully made a full circle around Bolivia with a short hop over to Argentina. After leaving my site, I went through the heart and down to the low-lands, then back over and up to Sucre and Potosí and down to Tarija and further down to Salta, Argentina. I then made my way back into Bolivia, hanging around in wild-western Tupiza before heading out on a 4 day Salar de Uyuni Tour, which was a land cruiser adventure through moon-scapes, ruins, geysers, volcanoes, colored lagunas, and salt flats while seeing tons of vicuñas, flamingoes, and other animals native to the altiplano desert-lands between 3800-5,000 meters (our highest point on the trip). My friends Tom and Anna have some of the best pics up on their blog (to the right) and then my friend Helen put up an amazing splattering in a facebook album (http://es-la.facebook.com/album.php?aid=40394&id=592502828&ref=nf) but that could not be a public link, so you might have to wait until I spend the time to upload myself or I get home to KY...as I am trying to avoid the computer as much as possible in my last couple of weeks. After the Salar, my friend Emily and I headed out to the tallest mountain in Bolivia (Sajama) and basked in the glory of its presence while bathing in some pretty cool hot springs and buying amazing alpaca hats. We arrived in La Paz yesterday and are fitting in the last remaining shopping and museum trips. We head on bikes to Coroico on Friday and then out to Rurrenabaque to meet up with some more friends in the jungle on Saturday where we will see hundreds of jungle animals in the Amazon. I then will head back up here to the highlands and try to fit another hike in if the weather cooperates and then I`ll be home for Thanksgiving. So...that`s the plan, and as plans go in Bolivia, you can`t always rely on them, but it`s worth a try. I might get more pics up soon, but no promises. That`s all for now! Watching election coverage...it doesn`t look all that cold yet due to global warming so maybe I`ll be home in time for crisp fall weather instead of more coldness.

I voted! It feels good to be able to send in my vote...we found write-in ballots in the PC office in Sucre and filled it out and sent it in DHL with some other volunteers. The rumor is that if it arrives (which it will) before election day, then it gets counted just like a regular vote, meaning not absentee, which means "it's actually counted" which makes me feel good.

AND, I've posted pictures finally. Hope you can follow the link

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2254358&l=f9935&id=12923317

(This is my favorite old lady, speaking almost exclusively in quechua, that would gift me eggs and ask when the next time I was coming to visit her and motion to come with her...in which we would walk to the end of the street or the other side of the plaza but never get to anywhere in particular)

I´ve written a more lengthy update that might overlap with previous entry...so here it is:

September 11, 2008 I got the call to pack my bags and be in Cochabamba before noon the following day. I arrived to the hotel and was told I was unable to leave until further notice. September 14, 2008 we got evacuated from Bolivia on a C-130 military aircraft amidst gas shortages and continuing blockades around the country. Two and a half hours later strapped in temporary seats with ear plugs to drown out the engines, we were met by the U.S. ambassador to Peru in Lima. For the next week, 113 refugee volunteers forced down meat and rice and potatoes in a camp-like family conference center as we closed our Peace Corps service in Bolivia and made decisions to transfer to another country or go home or take the option to stay in Lima, dependent of the Peace Corps.

I decided to end my service and be "set-free" in Lima, fleeing to the beach with some fellow recent RPCV's (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers...our new acronym even though we haven't technically "returned" yet) and tried to make our situation reality: we would NOT be finishing our Peace Corps service as we had imagined, and we were now independent tourists in Peru, a little hard to believe. We've learned to deal with unexpected uncertainty over and over again during our service and always joked about being evacuated but never thought it would materialize into reality. Bolivia is an unstable country dealing with some internal issues and a government that isn't always in agreement with the U.S., causing Peace Corps to decide that security concerns might arise for us in the future. I won't comment on my personal feelings to our removal, but do feel that I had a wonderful service and felt connected to my town and knew that I couldn't leave it in the middle of the night like I had, becoming that girl that disappeared without saying goodbye. It was the biggest Bolivian exit ever and we performed well. I called my host family and the conversation confirmed my need to save my reputation and return to clear up the rumors that could and would spread.

After a nice beach vacation and a short trip through the Cordillera Blanca mountain range in Peru, I ventured back across the border and immediately felt a comfort once back in Bolivia: from the transportation, accent, billboards, phone booths, and landscape, it was all a familiar comfort.

(A picture of Huari looking back at the mountains from the edge of town at sunset)

I made it back to my home away from home, falling into a deep fever and cold as I packed my bags and slowly started confirming people's fears that it was the last time I would be back. My students ran up to me, hugging me and saying "We thought you had left for good without saying goodbye" Even though I had been away for 2 weeks at a time before, they knew this time seemed different. I told them in varying detail about my situation and told them it was the last time I would see them for awhile, holding back tears when I met with my classes. Some people couldn't possibly understand and other wished me well and hoped for better times in their country. I packed up a few more boxes and tried to give away what I could to neighbors and friends. My eco-club showed me trees they had planted in my absence and I felt proud. Two more eco-clubs in the other schools appeared to have been up and running in preparation to plant even more trees and I felt satisfied knowing my work might have lasting impact.

I tried to take mental pictures of everyone's faces. Kids told me they would never forget me and I honestly believe that, but I am scared that I would forget all the people I knew so well on a daily basis. I greeted the market ladies (Doña Lidia, and Vivianna), the bread lady (Doña Lucia), the coca lady (Doña Irene),

(this is Doña Irene, the lady who sold coca in town, a great friend and professional gossiper. i spent hours sitting here watching the traffic and people go by, chatting about them and things going on in town)

the relleno lady (we would say simply amiga to each other), the store lady (Doña Elsa), the moms, the dads, the babies, the grandparents, the dogs, and everyone along the way and thought "It's been good!", but also know that in a year I'll hesitate to remember all the names. I shared one last meal with all the teachers in the school and then I left on October 7th, this time much more ready than the last time when everything was still a big unknown. My host mom accompanied me in a taxi to the nearby town to catch a bus and insisted on paying for me, her child. We walked up to the stop and saw the bus pulling out around the corner, and started jogging after it. Me with my backpack on my back, my timbuktu hanging on the front of me, a market bag hanging in my hand and she was carrying my cardboard box wrapped in an aguayo on her back. We ran the 100 yards to the bus, hastly threw my luggage under, and once again she insisted on paying and gave me a quick hug and told me to take care of myself. I sat in my seat, tucked my bus ticket away and only then took a deep breath trying not to cry or forget all that which seemed so familiar and yet I knew would see for the last time. Instead I threw in some earphones and tried to imagine new adventures ahead of me.

Since then, I wrapped up some loose-ends in the city of Oruro, mailed boxes home and ran errands in Cochabamba before taking a night-bus to the low-land and very hot city of Santa Cruz. There I met up with some of my other group members, also saying goodbye in their sites, and we spent the next 3 nights in and around 'the prettiest place in Bolivia', a rolling luscious valley with peaches and cliff-topped mountains, waterfalls, and condor hikes near where my friend Britta spent her 2 years. After participating in a town festival with her community, we explored a canyon creek-bed and tried to find condors. We caught a night bus going to Sucre, even though none of us actually had seats and instead sprawled on the floor of the cab and on a milk crate in the back, we managed to spend 3 more nights in and around the colonial capital of Bolivia, enjoying more RPCV's company and seeing an amazing Bolivia folkloric dance performance...kinda like dinner and a movie, but it was dinner and a ballet, plus quite a bit of souvenir/artesanía shopping. Since yesterday we've been exploring another city full of history, a city that used to be the largest in the world with its mining production and will be doing a mine tour tomorrow, climbing up the "Rich Mountain" (Cerro Rico) and climbing inside its shafts. Today we plunged into a natural hot spring green laguna that Inca Huayna Capac supposedly traveled to from Cusco in order to bathe in. Our plans are to catch another bus tomorrow night to Tarija, a city on the border with Argentina. All of that to say, we are heading to Argentina in a little while and then my plan is to come back to Bolivia and get a flight home from here before Thanksgiving.

I wrote the first half of this while sitting in a brand new Cine Center (movie theater) with wireless internet and wealthy adolescents buying popcorn and going to the movies in Sucre, and the second half in a hostal in Potosí with the heater on bundled in bed, as the city is at 4060 meters above sea level. By the day after tomorrow, I might be able to find some internet to post this while in the warmer climate of Tarija, and hopefully include a series of pictures below to help tell the story. I will see many of you very soon, so until then....

(October 21st, 2008)---yup, so I´m posting this in Tarija, with slightly better internet than Potosi. We did an intense mine-tour yesterday, and are feeling the effects of crawling through tight spaces at over 4060 meters (cuz we were driven to the middle of the mountain), in a dusty setting trying to breath through our masks and crawl around. Wow. I feel so much sadness and history in that city, a huge divide of the ghosts of colonial wealth and the continued labor in conditions not fit to work in that continue today. Yet silver is still being mined daily and people are desperate-proud enough to continue to mine the ¨mountain that eats men¨ as it is sometimes referred...mainly referring to its past and not its present, but the average age of a miner today is 45 due to health issues with 49 accidental deaths out of 15,000 workers occuring last year. whew, i will post pictures about all of this very soon.

I have been struggling to post anything up here, simply because I still feel like my life and anything I could possibly post is still a big unknown. It has now been a little over a month since we were informed that our life as we knew it would abruptly and prematurely end. From the military escort in a C-130 to Peru, to a summer-camp setting with 113 other volunteers making life-changing decisions, to a decompressing beach vacation, the long trek back to my site, facing my host family/co-workers/eco-club/students/friends and telling them I would not be returning, dealing with all my possessions, sending/distributing/gifting those items, meeting up with friends, and now traveling. I feel like my fellow Peace Corps friends have been able to put it into words more eloquently than me, so please check out their links and pictures as you will find me in them =). The big picture is I decided to stick around for awhile, coming back to Bolivia and closing up things in my site, and am/will be traveling until Thanksgiving-ish. SO, I'll post a couple of pictures and hopefully be able to convey what I've been up to.

Being back in Bolivia is like returning home for christmas during college...everything feels so familiar and yet you don't quite belong anymore. I can't quite fathom the fact that I'm done here and yet can't quite fathom going back to the U.S.A. and all of it imperfections and therefore am stuck in the in between, feeling akwardly present and completely incapable of making personal decisions as always. But that is how I am. I will try to make some of those decisions soon enough, and until then I will soak up all I can of this country and all of its imperfections and decide what I wish to carry away in my heart or in my suitcase.

What remains of B-44, our training group, attempting to make a non-sad face.

Me sporting my new beach-ware...I had packed my bag as if I were going back to Huari or being sent home on a plane to fall KY, NOT left free to roam S.America from Lima, Peru.

Being silly on a moto-taxi ride out to some mud-baths near the beach at a few degrees south of the ecuator

Chilling on the shores of a glacier-fed laguna at 3800meters under the shade of some really cool quewiña trees

Peace Corps Bolivia has been evacuated out of the country of Bolivia for continuing political unrest in the country and potential danger to its volunteers. You can imagine the mountain of paperwork and medical hoops we have to jump through to either close our service or move on to another peace corps post. We are finding it difficult to write up reports of projects unfinished, where to find something in our room to be sent home to us, or defining the next place we want to end up in, whether that be an early home return or new country. I assumed that anyone interested enough could search google for news information, but I've put a list of things I just found myself, fairly quickly...but more news stories are easy to find.

http://edition.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/americas/09/16/bolivia.peace.corps/index.html#cnnSTCText

http://edition.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/americas/09/17/bolivia.agreement/

http://edition.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/americas/09/15/bolivia.unrest/index.html

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/26740622/

http://www.boston.com/news/world/latinamerica/articles/2008/09/17/bolivian_governor_arrested_peace_corps_volunteers_evacuated/

I'll write when I can give a true update of what my plans are.

So I pretty much love the altiplano and this is why, because when we get out there I say to myself, is this real?

We survived the "elections" here in PC Bolivia and things are relatively back to normal. The week after I got back home, I planned a birthday party for myself by attempting to bake some 'american' goodies and have people over for coffee. I was sung happy birthday and got my face smashed into the cake, but my only picture of the evening is this one,

with mistura (paper confetti) all over my head. I don't think I've ever explained mistura, but it is a strong tradition for anyone who is being celebrated: whether that be a birthday, or Mother's Day, or Teacher's Day, or First Communion or everyone for carnaval. At least it is easier to get rid of than glitter, but you can still find it in your room a month later.

After the party, I left for vacation trying to celebrate my 24th milestone of a year, all of which (minus a 2 week trip home) I spent in this country. Just another year, but I wanted to spend it matching up what I love about this country with something I like to do for me. So, I went hiking, or if you are cool, then you say trekking. Trekking sounds cooler I suppose. I met up with two other volunteers that were on their way out of the country and we scrambled up some gear to embark on the El Choro pre-incan trail that leads out of La Paz down into the humid cloud-forested Yungas valleys into a small town called Coroico.

We summitted the highest point on the trail (16,100ft) within an hour and spent 85% of the rest of the trail descending to below 6,500ft. Uphill can be challenging, but downhill is very hard on your body. By the second night our bodies were one huge cramp and despite the dampness amongst the mist without a tent, I slept great. The world-famous "World's Most Dangerous Road" takes the same plunge from La Paz to Coroico basically just a valley over from the trail, but as I found out on the way home in a small trufi from Coroico back to La Paz, the NEW 2-lane paved road is complete and that other one (in internet pictures) is basically only for bikes now.

The second to last picture is a typical shot of what the trail looked like: a wide paved ´road´ sloping downhill, occasionaly it was stepped, and in other parts narrow and muddy. The rocks were nice and slippery in the mist too, so it was a game of slip and slide mainly adding extra gripping strain on the muscles. This last picture is the morning of the 3rd day, with 2 hours left to reach the end of the trail. We stayed in Coroico and hobbled around trying not to look sore, but that was hard considering the town is up and down. The highlight was the slate-lined hot tub that we soaked in under the stars...so if you come visit it could be on the itinerary. Ok, well that's a quick update for now...it may be the last of the pictures for awhile because my camera battery has died...maybe it got to wet on the trip or maybe it was just time...it has served me well for the past 5 years.

So I've added a couple of new blogs and added pictures to some older ones, so don't miss them. I'm at fast wireless internet! Who knew this existed in Bolivia? Well it exists in a few far between places, but twice a year to surf like a wild child is pretty good enough for me.

Two images that ARE Bolivia to me, I could probably pick 100 pictures that are Bolivia to me, but I wanted to share and they didn't fit in my blog entry writing..so they get their own entry. First is Chuño, that frozen-dried-stomped on by feet potato. This is after some stomping and in the process of drying while freezing over night for a week or so...in my patio. I helped hand-peel the rest of the skins off, it was like peeling dried fall leaves from a pile of rocks (or so I imagined in my head).

These are a herd of llamas which we thought were so incredibly curious of us that they were coming to visit us, that is until we started listening to our friend Anna yelling "They are being herded this way!" A small inside joke for us.

These are the loyal 4 girls that came the third week of English class, I had more like 15, sometimes 20 the first 2 weeks, but it was much more enjoyable playing BINGO and memory with these 4 girls.

I took both the 8th grade classes out to prune some apple trees with some visitors from the Prefectura (the government entity in charge of the department of Oruro). It was a battle to take this picture, but I have very few work pictures with my students, so I really wanted it.

I had some friends visit recently and we decided to take a hike back into the Azanaque mountain range that rises from the altiplano in my backyard. After packing up our daypacks, we contracted a taxi to take us around the bend to a nearby community where we set off into the valley of one of the main arteries that drains spring water from deep in the hills. I had heard rumors of some Incan ruins at the very peak of the mountain in the distance and we were intrigued. As in all situations in Bolivia, it is best to ask multiple opinions as to how to arrive to a certain point. So, we started with the taxi driver and his response was simply: "straight up the mountain". Second, I challenged my Quechua skills asking some older women in the plaza in this nearby town...using the vocabulary that I knew to barely say "In where is the Inca-town? I am going" and not knowing how to say "How do I get there?". She luckily understood a bit of what I say, and nodded in approval, waving her hands up the valley and rambled off things I couldn't understand. When she stared back at me, I shrugged my shoulders and said "I don't understand, I speak little Quechua". We finally got some concrete answers from some spanish speaking males (older males almost always have more education and therefore are more likely to speak spanish). Although hesitant at first, telling us it was really far away and jokingly how we should ask Evo (the president of Bolivia) to take us in his helicopter, they were extremely accurate in providing almost exact arrival time and assured us we could be back by 7PM.

And so off we went, greeting herders and their donkeys, llamas, sheep, and cows along the way confirming their curious stares with explanations of where we were going and trying to get more detailed directions...never more than a hand gesture up the mountain or blank stares from women who probably didn't understand my spanish. And so it was, after an hour and a half along the road that ran alongside the stream and very well maintained dwellings and natural "cellars" (rock walls constructed around the bottom of boulders in the shade and were indeed very chilly storing alfa and other crops), we took a sharp turn and started the journey up the half-frozen stream-valley, having a base of over 13,000ft according to our GPS. There were thick sheets of ice, smooth, cloudy, and strong, clinging to the slope formed from spring water secretly spilling out of the earth at random points along the way, The golden ambers of the paja grass, the dark red lichen, and dark burnt colored earth mounds accented our slow steps with a blend of color. We left the calm breeze and enormous boulders behind, greeting instead colder gusts and less vegetation. We saw 1 tree in the valley, a scraggly branch sticking out 90º from a rock face, reaching toward the sky with less than 10 twigs holding on to life.

Keeping my eyes down, focusing on one step at a time and trying to keep my heart from beating too fast, I would glance up at the looming peak and spot "rock-karens" (rock piles used traditionally to mark common and/or religious paths) along the ridge-lines. I encouraged my body to keep moving. I crossed llama tracks following contour based routes, similar to deer tracks through the woods, but not other signs of human or animal life. That is until we reached the very top. Our sandwiches and mandarine oranges gave us the burst of energy to clammer over the last rock faces, our bodies fighting the headache from lack of oxygen, now at over 15,500 ft. And here it was. Barely visible from afar, but very real up close. IncaLlajta. Town of the Incas. Terraces, rock walls, corral-like circular shelters, grinding stones, and even shards of pottery scattered everywhere. And a view from a piece of the Andes looking over the vast plain stretching out to the almost dry and blindingly salty Lago Poopó. Feeling exhausted and satisfied, I settled for my final summit of 15,700ft, while a couple others claimed they must have reached 16,000ft venturing along the ridge line a bit further. For as we thought we were reaching the peak, the mountain almost always keeps going along to yet another peak that may or may not be the real top. I'm not sure why the Incas liked climbing to the highest peaks to settle, but the silence and serenity and peace I felt could have played a role. What did they grind all the way up here? What were these small circular corrals for? Did they actually live up here, or was it just a fort? We left not really knowing and not really needing to know the answers, after all we were visiting a sacred place, and knew we had to head back down the mountain.

We clumsily bumbled back down the mountain, racing the setting sun, running, sliding down the ice patches on our bums, and trusting our tired knees wouldn't give up on us. We reached the road for our final trek back to the town, arriving there exactly when our 'guide' said we would, an hour after sunset and only 20 minutes past dark. We called the taxi to come get us from Huari and ate the most delicious Bolivian soup and meatball with rice dinner at a local pensión. I think that hike reminded me of Bolivia's beauty and endurance and secrets. My work is simple yet extremely difficult at times. I looked at my calendar recently, and felt a sense of urgency to the end of my service here. Will I feel exhausted and satisfied at the end of this journey? I hope so, but I am also aware that I am simply visiting a sacred place and I will leave with a lot of unanswered questions. It is my goal to feel my sore muscles, the reminders of such a journey, and be able to see the beauty in what I experienced, and be grateful for those small successes whenever they may arise.

Today it sprinkled for about 5 seconds; the first rain drops I've seen in months. Last night the sky was spotted with clouds I noticed changing colors in the sunset, instead of the vast empty sky that provides such clear night skies. This morning, the sun didn't wake me up rising over the mountain and instead hid behind the cloud blanket. The 5 seconds of water droplets at 4:30pm is probably all that will come of the fierce wind that blows dust and debris through the streets, but it is a sign of change, and sometimes I live for change. Living alone is perhaps the most sane way to live, knowing how to be the best companion of yourself is easy, but when there is never anyone else there it becomes...here's the big word: lonely. That aloneness is usually easy to overcome by going for a walk and feeling the extreme vastness of the world around you, seeing the kids running after each other, and hearing in the distance a band practicing for an upcoming march. But, its those days when I don't feel like leaving that refuge of my room and sit surrounded by only myself I can either love it or it can drive me crazy. And so as Edward Abbey says, the second best thing to being alone is society, society of friendships. Having and sharing that time with another human being that gets it. I live in a town of 2-3,000 people, but it is hard to imagine that they truly get me. I'm called "profe!" (short for profesora/teacher) and yet do not feel like I real teacher. It is quite amazing what a change of scenery can do for me. The "spareness and simplicity" of life forms here may seem redundant but still provides me with wonder. This quote I felt appropriate enough to include: "The wind will not stop. Gusts of sand swirl before me, stinging my face. But there is still too much to see and marvel at, the world very much alive in the bright light and wind, exultant with the fever of spring, the delight of morning. Strolling on, it seems to me that the strangeness and wonder of existence are emphasized here, in the desert, by the comparative sparsity of the flora and fauna: life not crowded upon life as in other places but scattered abroad in spareness and simplicity, with a generous gift of space for each herb and bush and tree, each stem of grass, so that the living organism stands out bold and brave and vivid against the lifeless sand and barren rock. The extreme clarity of the desert light is equaled by the extreme individuation of desert life forms. Love flowers best in openness and freedom." Edward Abbey "A Desert Solitaire"

I wrote the above last week sometime, and now I have traveled across distances and ecosystems, having that change of scenery blow my mind into a state of pensive confusion. I sit now in tropical breezes, humidity being absorbed into parched skin (I feel like my body is breathing on its own through my skin). Yesterday, we drove down down down through the jungly mountains and here on the other side of the country I see glimpses of what is Bolivia to me, but its a different kind of Bolivia that sometimes blows my mind. It is this change that keeps me going. We are here to attend meetings and such waiting out the upcoming independence day and a type of presidential-electoral vote that I couldn't begin to explain. But I'll try to update on outcomes to come. Love to you all.

I am always shocked when a person tells me..."well I read it in your blog". I'm like, what?, you know about my blog and you've READ it. Crazy. Although it freaks me out a bit, wondering what people must think of my wanderings, it also encourages me a bit to realize my efforts are not in vain...after all, one of the goals of Peace Corps is to share this experience with others, so I can feel accomplished for at least this one thing.

It's 'winter vacation' now, extended a week early and now a week late (for a total of 4 weeks) for the cold. So that's that. I've been teaching english again, testing my switching back and forth translating and teaching skills between inglés/español again for kids that stick around during vacation. The brain does funny tricks when every other word or sentence is in a different language, and it's quite exhausting. It is also difficult to teach a large range of ages and abilities, from little ones who can barely write to a couple who have had 2 or more years of english in school, but still can´t say ¨name¨ correctly, saying it nahmay. I get frustrated, questioning my teaching skills and my patience. I start to wonder about children across the world, and would like to know how Bolivians (and Bolivian children) have become such imperfect perfectionists. Their notebook page will be colored and spaced and stickered and outlined to perfection, yet half the words of the actual notes were incorrectly copied from the board. But they LOVE bingo, and it is satisfying when one of my seven year olds can correctly repeat how old he is in english, smiling his half rotten tooth and half toothless smile, spelling his new english name correctly on the quiz I gave them.

It´s one of the hardest seasons to be in Bolivia, when it is sometimes unbearably cold and dry and dusty here and knowing that friends and family back home are grilling out, swimming in creeks and lakes, savoring newly picked blackberries, digging into the summer harvests, and simple things like t-shirts and sandals. I try to bring back that image of green that seems surreal in my pictures, but instead savor the color of orange and purple in the sunset and neon aguayos against the bleaker brown backdrop.

It has also been a hard time for the volunteers in the altiplano region, as many have chosen or been asked to leave Peace Corps Bolivia for reasons sometimes beyond our control. At the end of July, 7 of my closest volunteer friends will be out of the country and I´m feeling a little bit left behind. But, that being said, never have my chapters of Peace Corps life ever been the same. Things change and people move on, and this will just begin a new phase that will have a different rhythm to it. It´s a weird feeling to have...saying goodbye to a close friend, and then left with their possessions, feeling a weird selfish gain from the new ‘items’ that replace the person that was once there. The ¨goodbye experience¨ has made me realize once again this Peace Corps experience is so individual and personal, and yet knowing that I have to continue to rely on the support of other volunteers that remain, because otherwise it would be impossible to continue the cultural struggles that sometimes make us go crazy.

(Here's me at Aymara New Year in the morning hanging out around the traditional dancing with the HUGE indigenous flag and the moon in the background) What else? I´ve been able to roam around a bit, and ventured up to the Tiwanaku-Tihuanaco (both spellings are accepted) ruins for the solstice celebrations on June 21-22nd, also known as Aymara New Year as the Aymara calendar begins anew on this date. It was a cold wait for the sun to rise (and consequently the president to arrive in his helicopter) with the other thousands of people milling about the ruins. The energy and history involved was truly special, although the complete meaning for me lost to the ropes prohibiting us from getting too close to the actual ceremony and the fact that the ´puerta del sol´ has been moved and you don´t actually watch the suns rays coming through it, but rather up over the mountain...I don´t know, I´m not discrediting it, but felt like things had changed quite a bit. Not to mention people carrying coffee (nescafe coated in sugar) around in plastic jugs selling a small cup for 1.50Bs.

I saw up close my first Chullpares, or ancient Inca burial houses this past weekend visiting a fellow volunteer´s site. You can see these Chullpares all the time from the road or from afar, but are usually on the very top of a mountain or rushing by on a bus-trip or in a musuem re-created. There are debates on how old they actually are and why they were constructed the way they were...but they are essentially adobe huts with small triangular doors always facing the east that at one point (before being robbed and looted) contain mummified and wrapped up human skeletons resting in the fetal position. The ones we visited did in fact still have some human bones scattered about, because of the local belief that it will bring your household bad luck if you loot the grave, but were very eroded and falling down...but I did feel a special energy in knowing the history. Kind of like seeing that well-worked arrowhead sticking out of the soil and wondering how many thousands of years ago an ancient human walking the same ground beneath your feet.

This is me and Anna (a PC friend), Tania (a Bolivian friend), Me, and Franz (an Austrian friend).

Anyways. I received my July 2008 issue of National Geographic yesterday and it has an assumingly amazing article on Bolivia in it. Haven´t had a chance to read it yet, but the pictures tell me enough to say its a fairly good summary of what I see in the big picture here. Bolivia is an amazing country, surreal in its landscapes and people, with a lot to teach me still. I´m not done here yet. Hope everyone´s July 4th celebrations reminded you of the great blessings the U.S. offers and how much we can learn from other countries as well.

I added 6 random new pictures to flickr...so check them out.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/16952202@N06/?saved=1

Well after 4 internet places, and 4 days of trying...I´ve posted some pictures. Mostly of the May 3rd harvest festival in my site and then of my eco-fair I hosted for international day of the environment. enjoy! its just a continuation of my other flickr fotos and not organized by event or anything...

if you can´t directly click on the link below, copy and paste it into a different browser, and then come back and read my new entry below =)

http://www.flickr.com/photos/16952202@N06/

"¿Dónde te has perdida?" or Where have you lost yourself?, a phrase used too often here to mean "where have you been? why haven't I seen you recently? where did you go?" and I respond yes, I have lost myself, or tell them where exactly I lost myself, because in all actuality I knew where I was the whole time. The question used to annoy me, but like all idioms and slang I have learned it is easier to use what people will understand. So, I have lost myself for a bit, not been into the city much and not updated my blog. I have been at home, preparing and then successfully hosting an environmental fair in my town. It turned out great and the students did a wonderful job presenting various themes that I helped them prepare, and I'll try to post pictures of their expositions. Some peace corps friends helped me out on the day of the fair with all the small details (like camera work) and I might get a video out soon that showcases the day.

So that is work. The schools are getting ready for winter break and I've heard a rumor that vacation will be moved up because of the cold, it apparently is colder than normal. And yes, I am cold. My hands and toes are numbly cold and I wear a ridiculous amount of layers because I never seem to be too warm (except when i deliberately place myself in the blinding sun), so in spite of all that I wrote a list of why I love winter in the altiplano:

i can layer up my newest favorites from kantuta (used U.S. clothing market)

at sun down, i suit up in leg-warmers for the evening

i don't need a refrigerator to keep my food cold

i choose to be hot (sun) or cold (shade)

it is mandarine orange season again

the sun sets at 6pm and i don't need an excuse to hole-up in my sleeping bag

everyday is a cloudless, sunny day

the work day starts later because it is "too cold"

I get to break up the ice in my sink and hear its delicate crash when I throw it on the ground (small pleasure I get in the morning...weird I know, but you are not allowed to make fun of me).

The environmental movement seems to be trendy these days, as far as my small amount of exposure to trends can tell, and yet all the hype of "how to reduce your carbon footprint" is seemingly irrelevant for my work when I live in a culture that already does many of these things out of necessity. I have a little boy that knocks on my door to sell me fresh cow's milk, and insists he pour out the 2 liters into a container that I provide so he can reuse the bottle he brought it in. The little material I have for environmental education, I have to filter in order to not insult them with stupid comments like "make sure to turn the water faucet off when brushing teeth" (relevant only when there is running water in your faucet). I still get excited to read my newsweek articles on self-sufficient communities, and new mini-hydrogen cars, but give a huge sigh and know the world is so much bigger and diverse and there is so much wisdom in simple living rather than the highest technological contraption. However, I also find myself sticking up for technological and industry advances simply because I see the results and they are good. Sometimes my students will blurt out "get rid of all the factories and cars" as a solution to whatever problem I ask them, or even more common and simple "don't throw trash on the ground", and I pause and feel my vocabulary jam up inside my brain, not having the words to get into a deeper conversation and deeply wanting them to go further than those answers but unable to guide them there. Even so, not throwing trash on the ground is a good start.

I have felt an overwhelming sense of belonging here recently...whether its my comfort level or those of the people, I feel more welcome and more home. I walk the streets and am greeted cheerfully by name and usually a jolting surprising hug from young children "tEfany" they yell, or from older women its usually "señorita!". I think over time people have finally figured out who this weird person is and hopefully I've done something to gain respect. However at the same time, I often feel lost within myself, watching the full moon rise over the mountain full and big illuminating the earth, tracking scorpio and the upside down big dipper and the southern cross change in the night sky, still not knowing exactly what it is I'm doing here. I do know almost exactly when the sun rises and sets everyday, being in tune and having reference and reason to make it important to me (I should be home before the temperature falls too quickly and not get out of bed until I won't freeze), and I know I have to buy vegetables on monday or else I'll eat egg sandwiches all week, and I know that being there counts no matter what the occasion...and other random things of course.

But I do know I've enjoyed being 'home' meaning in my town of Huari more, and take that as a good sign. That being said, I'm gearing up for a trip to the city (Oruro, but possibly all the way to Cochabamba for the grocery store wants-peanut butter, pancake syrup-and the peace corps office-vitamins) where I can check email, post this blog, eat better food, and just have a different change of pace. I still walk places when I'm there: to the market, the bank, the post office, the phone place, restaurants, etc., and there are still frustrations with 3rd world country norms (like slow internet, and bad print quality, and unhelpful personnel), but it is a step up for being available in general. I indulge in a hot shower, sinks, refrigerators, and tv, and usually have an equally strong desire to return here (the campo..my site, my home) after a day or two where the silence can be deafening, my music and books allow me to escape into yet another world, and I try to imagine thinking about coming home home to the states and I can't seem to picture anything worth planning for. But don't worry, I'll be ready to come back, only it's not time quite yet.

Last weekend my host family helped host a community party celebrating the harvest and giving thanks for all the bounty of the year...it is a celebration deep rooted in indigenous traditions with Catholic influence around every corner. It is also a small representation of the famous Tinku festivals where traditional rival communities fight to the death. That does not occur in Huari, there is a fine if violence occurs, but one famous community in Northern Potosi apparently still practices this rivalry and unfortunately has attracted many tourists. Anyways, the activities consist of each of the 6 communities that consist of my small town dancing in the streets in what they call groups of comparsas. These comparsas visit various homes in the community where we were served plates of food, drink, and finished with a blessing of the household. At the end of the day, all 6 comparsas make a show trying to out-play their zampoña instruments, or out-dance the other groups, while people avoid any real confrontation...here in Huari, it is all fun. And then you get up the next day and do it all again. Almost all parties are 2 complete days. I`ve attached a link with pictures...and sorry, the video wouldn`t load, so you`ll have to imagine the music and dancing. Happy Mother`s Day to all mothers!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/16952202@N06/?saved=1

It's the International Year of the Potato, and where-else to celebrate than in Bolivia!  There was a small fair in the plaza this afternoon and luckily some campesinos let me take a picture of their beautiful proud-selves.  

I just got back from a favorite spot in Oruro, "Mercado Campesino Kantuta" or loving called simply Kantuta.  It is a favorite spot, because well, it is essentially the biggest garage sale in the world.  You can find just about anything there, all imported (or smuggled) from the U.S.A.  From deviled-egg plates, L.L. Bean fleeces, pleather plants, softball gloves, your Mom's 1987 christmas sweater, the coffee mug from your college, etc.  And not only that, but ladies and their skirts wrapped around frying pans of grease-smuggled rellenos, chicharron de llama, pique, patas, and then the mountains of fruit in season or the steadily rising-in-price bulk goods of noodles, rice, and flour.  It is arguably the hottest place in Oruro, a concrete open lot of babies toys and shoes too-big for Orureños.  It is simply reliable.  I know where to get my favorite quinoa-llama-potato dish, or the pile most likely to have a patagonia fleece, but then there are always surprises just like at any garage sale...like when I found my carhart pants.  I browse the dusty rows, shielding my eyes from the sun, and think how far these items have traveled and how they arrived at such happy hands in the middle of the Altiplano, Bolivia. One man's trash is another man's treasure.  

Well folks, I figured I'd write...it's a little weird writing to an abstract page of words about only me, but I assume it's a summary of what I'm doing at least for me to look back upon when I forget what life was like down here. Because life is different down here but I would argue it is very small when you see more than one side of it. I'll start with the weather as always. I'm experiencing what I first knew when I arrived in the altiplano...the fall or better known as a rather abrupt flip into cold, dry, brown, and windy existence. My layers continually increase, I watch the sun return to its spot that I first knew rising above the mountains, and today I saw the first ice in my sink form overnight (the water felt freezing the past couple of weeks, but evidence was needed). Sitting in my room, my fingers and toes chill, and riding my bike in the sun my back and forehead under the brim of my hat sweat, hot cold, sun shade, outdoor indoor. Extremes. That's the nick-name of this place. About a house and a half away, a new cell phone tower antennae went up...in about a four days. It's huge, maybe 60 meters or so. I've watched the men from my patio working, scaling up the metal (without being harnessed in) and TYING a part of a pulley system to the built structure as it went toward the sky, all while yelling to each other in a jibberish sound to my ears of which I've been told it's Guaraní, the language of the indigenous people from the Chaco region of Bolivia and further into Paraguay. More evidence we live in a small world. Most people here speak 2 languages naturally, sometimes 3, and even have visiting construction workers speaking a 4th in our midst...naturally. I write this on a Wednesday night before the 'big political event'. Apparently, there is something going on in Santa Cruz that would at worst, split Bolivia in two, and at best, past without me even knowing it occurred. I can almost guarantee the second option seeing as Saturday is another town festival where I am expected to dance and help my host mom serve food and meet more of my 9 host siblings that will be arriving for the first time and will have no access, need, or desire to search out a TV, radio, or gossip line about the situation. The day will pass, and Sunday I will wake up and go to my local gossip/news lady and ask what she's heard, that is if Peace Corps doesn't call first to evacuate us...but that is unlikely, although possible. Didn't I mention extreme as the name of this game? Today I went to do a trash taller (workshop...although I don't think the english word quite defines what a taller is supposed to be like) at a campo (again 'out-in-the-country' just doesn't make as much sense as campo) school and everything went normally...meaning nothing as planned but expected as such...and left reflecting on my involvement in this school with a good odd feeling. I left feeling like I was a 'true' Peace Corps volunteer. I know that sounds weird, since I know I am, but sometimes it is all too familiar to me, or abnormal, or simply incomprehensible to me. I rode away from the small town imagining pictures of Peace Corps volunteers in brochures and websites and trying to believe that the normality of what I do everyday is the absurdity of what I signed up to do. It is the constant feeling of being the novelty in a situation. The stares, and shyness. The broken "hello", "how are you?" or simply "gringa" spoken from a retreating face in the window and laughter that follows. Being the minority and struggling to break those lines everyday. Sometimes it isn't hard, when small children unabashedly run and hug me yelling my name and telling me not to leave. As I walked away from the school, a small crowd lingered at my heels until I reached the road and hopped on my bike, hesitantly I waited to see if they wanted to say something, but no they were just absorbing. So I pedal off, passing women swinging their skirts, aguayos loaded, spinning wool or knitting in their hands, herding sheep or simply walking to town, and the occasional face that knew me well and smiled, nodded, and glowed with recognition of this akward creature riding past in carharts and a timbuktu bag swung weirdly over her shoulder with sunglasses and a felt hat on wishing she had worn another layer to combat the cold wind coming around the mountain. So is my life. A life lived mainly to make a lasting good impression if nothing else.

Hello folks.  I wanted to share a funny frase we sometimes use down here when our days seem to hold encounters with something totally and completely weird to our minds before we decided to step away from that life of ours back in the U.S.  We remind ourselves jokingly "It's just another day in the Corps", and brush it off taking its worth and moving on.  Like walking around my town at the "International Fair" and finding a monkey that signs his autograph for you, dressed up in the Bolivian Tinku outfit.  Just another day in the Corps.  Or finding out that we can't go anywhere, because people are blockading the roads.  Just another day in the Corps.

I'm officially one year into my service, and our group met the past week in Cochabamba for medical check-ups and meetings.  We got our teeth cleaned and tests run on everything...and I proudly say that I have/had giardia as it showed up in my poop samples.  But, it was a kind that doesn't make me sick, because I feel great and have had little to no symptoms for 8 months (I knew I got it 8 months ago but it went away).  But our doctor smiled and said, "well let's get rid of it".  So, I took 2 pills and hopefully I kicked those bichos (bugs) out of my stomach.  It's pretty crazy to hear the wide range of sicknesses we've all accumulated over the past 15 months, even only after training our group was infected with everything from shingles to typhoid and a broken arm.  Weird, I know.  But that's why we have free, unlimited medical care and we take advantage of things from sunscreen to vitamins, so I'm well taken care of.   

It's been fun to see everyone and see how we've changed as a group and reminisce on those that have left our side.  We debriefed and shed a few tears and encouraged each other to continue our journeys.  We shared pictures and music and frustrations and success stories.  I look at people's lives from the other side of the country and I see reflections of lives I admired before entering the Peace Corps.  I see their huts, and dirt floors, and little kids running around, and working in the fields, but this time I intimately know these volunteers and understand their lives and know what hard work it is to accomplish even the little things.

When I'm "in-site" it's often hard to remember that people that live 20 bus-hours away from me are experiencing similar things, and I'm not alone.  And I know that, but it's amazing what distance you feel when you go back home to site and are once again just living the simple things out.  I site here now with wireless internet and my mind is racing with so many options of things to see and read and do and learn and download with access to my personal archive that is so completely out of reach most of the rest of my life, and I realize once again the incredible crevasse of difference that infiltrates developed and underdeveloped countries.  Although, it's hard to see that difference when being in Cochabamba when wealth seems to abound in comparison and wireless IS available although we are the only ones using it in the movie theater complex that provides it.

It's been difficult to think of things to write as my small anecdotal stories are few as they have slowly meshed their way into regular life for me.  It feels good to be comfortable in this life here, and I'm happy living just another day in the Corps.  I won't deny the frustrations, and lack thereof of many true success stories when it comes to work.  But then again I primarily work in education and education is hard to measure in tangible means so I hope that I'm making a difference that I won't ever be able to see personally.   

I'll be going back to site shortly and hopefully with renewed motivation and encouragement and waiting out the political situation that will be hitting the country come May, although we've been assured no true upheaval will occur.  There are still talks of autonomy for certain departments and demonstrations are supposedly taking place in early May, but I personally think nothing drastic will take place, although we've been briefed to be alert and of course stay safe.  So, for me it's interesting to be apart of a country that is still trying to define itself and its economy and working out the conflicts that exist between its people in a major form, and I wonder why we as Americans don't do more of this open discussion and public disagreement when we don't agree with policies.  

I imagine spring is coming in full bloom now back home, and I sometimes dream about sitting on a humid outdoor porch listening to the crickets and imagining the first lightening bugs infiltrate the creek beds.  ENJOY it and tell me about it often.  Love from Bolivia.    

Well...I think I would love my life if I were a meteorologist, maybe. I love my life now, but I am also obsessed with weather and it seems to be the main thing I talk about, with Bolivians because its a simple conversation filler and I´m really good at that spanish vocabulary so it makes me feel good and with you all back home because I always want to make it clear how different everything is and can´t seem to get it into words. So to answer your questions Jess, its 12,000ft. And that about sums it up, being at altitude changes normal perceptions. It is a dry, cold desert climate to an extent. I have lots of bloody burgers and dry mouth in the mornings because its so dry. The dryness causes the heat difference between shade and sun to reach 20-30. and it´s an intense heat in the sun and chilly cold in the shade. And that being said, if its cloudy at all the only heat (sun) is blocked and its once again cold...whereas in humid climates the water in the air might hold heat that is radiated from the earth, etc. But its also easy to be warm when bundled up, so I wear layers but its not really always that cold...people say in humid climates its colder and I agree. I only sleep with 2 blankets because my house is adobe and stays very warm because it catches the morning sun and traps this heat all day. But there aren´t really 4 seasons...just the rainy one and the dry one, but we still get very little rain. As for the quinoa, its resistent and native and doesn´t need a ton of water to grow, and everything else gets irrigation from the spring that comes out of the mountain or a dug well.

Shweh! That being said, I just came all the way down the mountain (down to almost sea level) and on our overnight bus we woke up and could feel the humidity in the air and a millions bugs outside rush over every sense of our bodies. My hands felt like they were breathing and we were on an oxygen high. I ran and didn´t feel my chest burn and sat in the shade and didn´t get cold and sat in the sun and didn´t get burnt immediately. So huge change, but I still love where I live. It´s silent and still and a the sky is huge and the grass stretches out to the horizon and mountains loom above me and I can hear the history in the wind.

I´ve got some pictures to share! They show some typical (atypical) adventures that just happen to end up as part of my daily life. So in random order I describe them: I finally made it to the shores of the lake that I see everyday as part of Dia del Mar (a holiday bolivians celebrate hoping to one day recover their coast-line that they lost to Chile), and it felt great to be on a boat even if I could see the bottom (only a couple feet down) the entire time. The adobe building is also a typical oven that is seen all across the altiplano.

The campesino hat decorated with yarn that I´ve never seen before, and have no clue where he came from or what the hat means.

A fellow volunteer below made a guest-appearance in my environment class...so this is a typical classroom and one of my 7th grade classes.

Evo in my site receiving the traditional adornations like flowers and other green plants and his own string of apples, a product people want my site to be know for. Plus the bolivian flag in the middle (on the left) with a sheet that is a continuous indigenous flag representation (to the right).

To the left is an Uru hut...a people that lived before the Incas or Aymaras and lived on the shores of the lake, and still exist in small numbers today. And finally the famous quinoa plant that brings deep dark and bright golden colors to our altiplano plains. It´s cultivating season now, and I hope to help out one day if people will let me. Last year they would always just respond with no, it´s way too hard work you wouldn´t want to help, and I respond with well I´m saying I do, please let me go and at least take pictures =). We´ll see. So that´s it for now...this is here in the ending days of spring...if you can classify seasons in such a way here =) love from me.

Volunteers would agree that it seems as if there is never a continuous month of normal life without some kind of interruption, which makes planning (and sticking to that plan) even that much harder. Most of the time it is a holiday, anniversary, or other Bolivian festival that interrupts usual plans, but on top of that there are Peace Corps required events, or training sessions, or people coming to my site, etc. To this end I am becoming much more Bolivian in that I say that I will show up to something (and really think I will) but then am unable to communicate that I can’t actually come. Or, I’ll be late because someone invited me to eat at the last minute and you can’t say no to that, or I know that it’s not a big deal to cancel things because it happens all the time. But así es.

My municipality had its anniversary on March 16th and guess who decided to show up? None other than Mr. President Evo Morales himself. Some other volunteers were around because I had invited them to enjoy the party and hinted that we might get a special visit, and we did! It was pretty neat. I think it’s the first President I’ve ever seen in person, and like any other sighting, it was a lot more exciting before than after, kind of just a reminder that he is a real person and that’s about it. He flew into town on his helicopter, arrived with his entourage through the flower-decorated arches, and was welcomed by the National Band who had also arrived that morning. We had project inaugurations, speeches, parading, and then he even played soccer in the afternoon (although I admit we didn’t know about it and missed out). All in all, it was a fun day and we got some good pictures to prove it. (OK, well I did not take this picture, but my friend DID...its a good one)

The new trainees came through my site for a day and a half. Another volunteer and I prepared a GPS scavenger hunt that ended with them hiking up my mountain a bit to see the view, and then in the afternoon we took a look at apple trees and talked about agroforestry and organic pesticides and stuff. I think it went well, but I’m also looking forward to getting back on track with my own work and trying to move forward on the initial stages (still) of new projects I’d like to be successful this year...keeping me focused and persistant...to a certain extent at least.

It is sometimes difficult to teach about environmental themes being me, considering my heart is rooted in the ideas of sustainability and re-use, etc, but then my culture and country has one of the biggest environmental footprints in the world. Who am I to teach about environmental respect when people have successfully lived within and among this land self-sustainably for 1000s of years? Who am I to tell them how to take care of an environment I am a visitor to? Yesterday I was looking at some resources on a CD, but they were suggestions meant for a ‘developed’ country, on how to reduce water flow in faucets and showers, which become irrelevant when running water is a scarce notion.

I went to a teachers meeting in the campo, where they were expecting my arrival and so were attentive and interested. I presented myself, didn’t stumble over my spanish and felt fairly good about my fluency in what I was saying. They took a look at some books I brought and started asking good questions. Up until this point, I’ve only worked with 8th grade and under, however, I was also talking to high school teachers at this meeting. High school? Oh gosh, I thought, this a whole new can of worms, and I was stuck pulling things out of the top of my head to not implement the Bolivian faux pau of never saying no or I can’t do that. So, I might have my work cut out for me trying to implement environmental themes transversally (as their new education reform calls for) into more advanced classrooms. The teachers were motivated at least it seemed and I’m excited about working with them more this year.

In the meeting, a teacher complimented the ‘environmentally conscience culture’ that exists in the U.S. and how it is necessary to cultivate such a culture here, even if it is a long process that takes time. And then immediately another teacher commented on how much the U.S. is a culprit of global contamination. How can I argue to that? I can’t, when I think about the abundance of water used washing cars, and watering lawns, or flushing toilets for that matter, not to mention the natural resources used and contamination caused by the millions of cars, industries, and production/consumption cycle occurring 24-7-365, but I responded cooly that the point is we all, no matter what race we are or where we live, have to take care of our environment. And then I think of the ease that all those little things make of life in the states. ‘The more developed method of doing life.’ But then again, there is something to say for the tranquility of where I live here. Where I can spend an entire week and never enter a moving vehicle, or never sit on the internet using electricity to check email, or for that matter take one shower a week. And all of this only because I choose to, and where I choose to live these things are not available in quantity. And yet a lot of people in the world want to live in the U.S. for its prosperity and apparent ‘happiness’ that it brings. Happiness? Hum, that’s a difficult one. Yes, sometimes my happiness is a consequence of meeting my basic needs, and meeting those needs in a specific fashion is a product of what my culture says is good and better and right. And so therefore I crave those specific ways in which to meet my basic needs: specific foods, a washing machine, a shower, a refrigerator, potable tap water. But, I guess learning to fulfill these needs in a different way, I am finding it almost simpler, even if not necessarily easier. My ease of life just comes in a different form: being able to go to bed early and not have to rush off to work in the morning on a busy highway. But anyways, these are my random thoughts for this week...or two since I last wrote.

Send me things! Let me know how life is back in the states...and happy Easter. Love Tiffany

this a little note. i´ve posted 3 different entries below, so don´t miss out. one on february, then a random general thing, and finally colonial bolivia. the internet was sorta willing to help me load fotos...but I got tired of waiting, so I only loaded a few (12 to be exact). Here is the link (i think and hope) and carnaval pictures will have to come at a later date:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/16952202@N06/

I took a small trip last week to a new part of the country I haven’t seen yet with a work-related justification. I went to visit a friend and do a technical work exchange. We actually got lots of work done, I got motivated and equipped with new resources, and I benefited from a new perspective into Bolivian life. It wasn’t actually that far away, just straight east first into and then down the mountains, and topography changes everything, from food to vegetation to dress. I could feel the air gain humidity as I gazed upon the eroding, bleeding red hills and crossed bridges where the mud-filled rivers rushed by the road. My friend’s site is right outside of Sucre, the historical capital of Bolivia, and on the way to Sucre, I had to pass through Potosí, which at one point was the largest, richest city in the world; during the colonial era, it provided over half of the world’s silver and the mountain (that is still mined today) is famous as the ‘mountain that eats men’ as it literally consumed over 8 million native indigenous and african slaves in its heyday. I watched a documentary on Bolivian children miners in Potosí before I left for the Peace Corps, and seeing this stripped mountain towering over the ruins of wealth in a city still struggling to hold on to life itself made a lot of Bolivia’s past become real to me.

Sucre, is still a lot less commercialized than either Cochabamba or Santa Cruz, with its buildings small and old, yet lively. Tourists come because the guide-books call it the prettiest city in the country, the ‘white city’ for its Spanish-Colonial architecture. Everything was still adobe constructed, yet it was plastered and painted white with a red-tile roof to match. It made me think how incredibly vast the Spanish empire was and how very few Spaniards it took to conquer millions of indigenous peoples across Latin America. There was an excellent mask museum in Sucre with historic dance masks depicting everything from jungle animals to the devil and his angels and the African slaves who were fed to the ‘mountain that eats men’ to mine silver, all dances I still see regularly celebrating any special occasion. Potosí is a city of sadness to me when all I can see is the slavery and the continuing struggle of miners that put their lives in danger to exploit a mountain of metals. The workers contract lung-related illnesses, the women and kids sit in the dry, dusty, unsheltered cold, and yet they all have the best seat in the house looking down upon a city of historical wealth. The winding cobblestone streets wind past iron cast balconies where storefronts sell items ‘made in china’ next to the towering churches. I stop at the corner kiosk to buy a pounded and deep fried hamburger meat sandwich stuffed with french fries, carrots, hot salsa and mayonnaise, and return to the hostal where I am mesmerized by pictures in coffee table books that tell the miners’ story...motivating me to write this as I sit on my hostal bed and listen to the chatter of travelers outside in the lobby.

I am daily confronted by things that are thrown in my face that I have to reanalyze and handle differently or reconsider and toss it around in my head to determine its worth. I am still learning about this country and I like it, although I won’t deny its challenge. Somedays I wonder if I’m doing anything worthwhile and other days it doesn’t seem to matter, and others when I see myself in 20 years thinking there was nothing better I could’ve done with my life than live here, but the daily struggles confuse me. I am accustomed to searching for the ladies that sell nescafe and hard bread under blue tarps at the bus terminals and considering a rattling small taxi a luxury for transportation, but still get edgy when I’m always the new kid on the block getting asked the same personal questions, stared at, and considered a tourist with lots of money. I still find a night in the campo (wherever I may be, home or in another volunteer’s site) like a giddy camping trip. I get to brush my teeth under a different perspective of the night sky and see how long I can go without showering or changing clothes, pee in a different form of latrine or bucket-flush toilet and I always wake up the next day happy to be in the fresh tranquility. And of course appreciate so much more those hot showers, clean clothes, and food when I get that equally as giddy modern-esque experience in the city.