Back to School

At this point, I've traveled in 10 Spanish speaking countries and yet, have managed to squeak by with a barely rudimentary grasp of the language.  In 9th grade, we learned to say, "I like to dance", but beyond that, I don't remember anything.  I've cobbled together some essential conversation skills from the Lonely Planet phrasebook, but unless it's explicitly laid out, I'm pretty clueless.  It was time to put in the effort to form complete, grammatically-correct sentences, all on my own.

Sucre, Bolivia's judicial capital and sight of independence, has become a popular place for learning Spanish.  With a population over 200,000 people, Sucre is a "big" little city.  There are no glass office buildings, only whitewashed colonial architecture.  It's a beautiful city, home to striking churches and museums, a green central plaza, and it's a pleasant place to take classes.  My biggest criticism of the city are the tight streets. Since the preserved city-center was constructed before cars were prevalent, nearly every street is forced to accommodate an unreasonable amount of foot and automobile traffic.  The sidewalk are thin slices of concrete laid down between the street and building fronts.  Oncoming pedestrians force you into the narrow street where cars are unlikely to slow down.  I keep waiting to get clipped in the back of the head by a bus's extended side-mirror.

From Bolivia Pt II

From Bolivia Pt II

From Bolivia Pt II

I've been taking 4 hours of private lessons every day (Mon - Fri) for the past few weeks which brings feeling of a routine.  Most days I have homework, which means I am content to do absolutely nothing for a few hours of the day.  I've made friends with a few travelers who have since come and gone, as well as a few locals I met through couchsurfing.  I also managed to pick up a local girl at the bar, who spoke absolutely no English, which I considered a linguistic victory.  We hung out a few times, and she took me to the movies for my birthday, but I blew off our Saturday night plans and now she wants nothing to do with me.  I guess that's par for the course.

So I had my second consecutive birthday in South America and I'm no longer in my twenties, although people are consistently surprised by my age.  I don't know why, maybe because I still have acne.  After seeing "Alice in Wonderland" in Spanish (it felt wrong to have Johnny Depp dubbed over), I met up with my couchsurfing friends at the bar.  As closing time set in, we moved the party to an after-hours kareoke club, where I sang "La Bamba" and "Let it Be" with a Korean girl.  The memories are unique if nothing else.

From a village near Sucre:

From Bolivia Pt II

From Bolivia Pt II

Kjarkas, the MOST popular Bolivian band was in town last weekend and it was all anyone could talk about.  Tickets were only $5.  They play traditional Andean folk music.  The evening was filled with not only music, but many regional dances, complete with costumes and story lines.  What impressed me about the experience was the multi-generational appeal of the music.  Young teenagers, old grandparents, it didn't matter, everyone loved it.

From Bolivia Pt II

From Bolivia Pt II

I finally found an occasion to use the video feature on my new camera:


Before setting up camp in Sucre, I spend a few days in La Paz, a much bigger city.  I caught the "Good Friday" parade, which was a nice little dose of South American Catholic culture. 

From Bolivia Pt II

The street markets in La Paz are a big dose of color and people.

From Bolivia Pt II

Generally speaking, the indigenous people really do not like to have their picture taken.  I try really hard to be respectful of this, but the temptation to get wonderful pictures is great.  The shots I have of the markets are taken while carrying my camera at waist level, with a wide-angle lens and fast shutter speed.  I click away indescriminately and as inconspicous as possible, and then try to crop down and rotate for an acceptable photo. 

From Bolivia Pt II

The one time I brought my camera up to my eye, I thought I could possibly take a picture without offending anyone.  This is that shot:

From Bolivia Pt II

The woman in the photo immediately covered her face with hat.  I tried to tell her that I was only taking a picture of the bags, and not her - I know, I lied.  I felt really rotten about it afterwords, and even now the photo makes me cringe.  But here it is, for your viewing pleasure.

I also went to the "Coca Museum" which gives quite an interesting history of the coca leaf and paints the U.S. in quite an unfavorable light for transforming the relatively benign experience of chewing coca leaves into a physically, economically, and socially destructive drug.   In the 1500's, the Spanish were quick to brand the coca leaf as a substance of the devil, until they realized that chewing the leaves increased the productivity of the indigenous slaves by staving off hunger and sleep.  The slaves were quickly caught up in a vicious cycle of needing the leaves to fulfill their quota of work, and simultaneously indebted to the Spanish, who controlled the supply of the leaves.

Coca leaves continue to play an important role for manual laborers in Bolivia.  This is especially true for the miners living in Potosi.  For a really sobering look at mining life and really a sobering perspective on life in general -- Get out your pencils -- please please check out the documentary "The Devil's Miner".  It's about a 14 year old boy working in the mines and the culture that surrounds it.  I promise you won't be disappointed.

I've had one stressful moment since being here.  The details are not so important but the general outline of the story involves my bag getting checked on to one bus, and me (accidentally) getting on a completely different bus. Then frantically trying to chase down the right bus in a taxi, which stalled out at a tollbooth.  It's a little embarrassing because while my bag was headed for a city 12 hrs away, I was chatting up some American girls (just out of college), destroying a cork on a bottle of wine with my Leatherman tool, and feeling pretty good about myself.  Everything turned out ok, but it's not a good feeling knowing that all of your earthly possessions are showing up at a bus station without you.

From Bolivia Pt II