La Danza del Sol y La Luna

1 February

The bus from La Paz arrived early for once, 5:20 am, and now I’ve got an hour or so to kill in Cochabamba before catching the bus to Quillacollo to meet José and Helga (the dentist) at the truck to go to Aramasí. The only place open, Brazilian Coffee, potentially served breakfast and had fast WiFi, no such luck. Breakfast stuffs arrive at 7 and the WiFi is not working.
There is no cheese, either, for the ham and cheese croissant, so I got a double portion of ham. Awesome. Who needs cheese anyway, when you’ve got mustard and mayo?

Unexpectedly, on Wednesday, I rode back to Cochabamba with José because we had to pick-up the dentist chair mechanic early the next morning. I used the opportunity to get some pizza with an old friend in Cocha I hadn’t been able to catch-up with since I arrived. She told me about some friends of hers in La Paz that were doing a dance called La danza del Sol y la Luna (the sun and moon dance).

This just in: José has to stop by the Villa before going to Aramasí and he will pick me up on the way, maybe around 9. Voile, 2 hours.

I was pretty sure there is only one group of people that do that dance, and they were MY friends from Bolivia Mística, my jungle tour agency. It so happened that the dance was this weekend, she was dancing and was supposed to bring someone to help the work crew. Everything happens for a reason, right? I had never been to the dance, but had heard tons about it during my time in jungle, and I thought it would be super fun to see my old friends and surprise them at the same time. So I went.
The Sun and Moon Dance is actually a North American tradition, practiced by the tribes living in the Mesa region, which is now Arizona and New Mexico (I’m pretty sure). This dance was prohibited and persecuted for about 500 years, so that at one point there was only one guy practicing the dance and keeping the tradition alive. He taught his family and some close friends and kept it under the radar long enough that it outlived the persecution. Then there was a tribal leader (I’m ashamed not to remember which tribe) named Beautifully Painted Arrow who trained a young Bolivian medicine man, Miguel Kavlin, and initiated him into many Mesa traditions. Miguel Kavlin brought the dance to Bolivia 10 years ago.

The dance lasts 3 days, Thursday night to Sunday morning, and the dancers fast everything during the duration of the dance. Yeah, not even water. The old practitioners did it for 4 days, and young men on their vision quest fast two weeks! I thought you died after 3 days of no water. Apparently the Mesa tribes had not learned that. The founder of the Sierra Club said something like, I love youth because they do things before learning that they are impossible. For that reason, I love Bolivia. Not to say that it’s young by any means, it just hasn’t been fully trained in Western thinking. But there is a tug-of-war since Evo (President Morales just won his second election) between westernization and indigenous revitalization.
These things are all connected, I promise. The people attending this dance are people with the means and free time to be able to hear about such things and take time to do them; which means the upper class of Bolivia, mostly mestizos and criollos (people of mixed and pure European heritage; white people born in Bolivia), who are most likely Catholic. Also in attendance were numerous foreigners from all over. A guy who rode his motorcycle from Oregon, a Brazilian software designer, an Austrian (not sure what he does, but he comes from a “traditional” background, not Mesa tradition), and two German free-lance something-or-others.
It was touching that at the end of this marathon dance, many of the dancers’ families came to share in the meal and final ceremonies. And many of the foreigners spoke of how they wished their families could experience what they experienced and how they would think of their mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers and friends while they were dancing and praying and fasting.
The other family-related element to the dance was that there were three mother-daughter pairs dancing and one tri-generational family helping. In this sense, the presence of family support was very strong. And it was powerful.
The theme of what everyone said, with one exception, was this: THANKFULNESS more than anything else, for the others present and the dance, because without the others dancing and supporting the dance they couldn’t have realized the Truth that we are all part of the same life because we all have the ‘universal heart’ inside us from the ‘Great Spirit’ and the essence of that heart is Love. I feel pretty good summarizing this because I was the translator of this 3 hour meeting and had to pay very close attention to what everyone said, and then repeat it.
I haven’t even described what the dance was, have I.
Well, first of all, everyone was nude, no clothes were allowed to contaminate the sacred dance circle. No, not at all, there were special rules as to what clothes should be worn, and what shouldn’t be worn. I’m not sure what those rules were, but I think everyone had to wear some kind of long skirt, (only one guy wore a women’s skirt that he borrowed from an x-girlfriend at the last minute, he was the only pure native Bolivian from El Alto and he was awesome), like traditional vestments worn by most cultures practicing sacred rituals. It was really cold, so everyone was layered up beneath their appropriate attire. I also think that they weren’t allowed to wear any lettering at all and they were encouraged to wear baggy clothes with bright colors, but maybe those trends were just preference. And they all had whistles, not like referee whistles, they had wooden and clay whistles, some with holes to make a twittering noise. It was all very festive and celebratory, and very sacred. A good combo that I don’t see enough of. Also, they wore sunglasses so that they would not be distracted in their neediness of fasting and fatigue to look around at others. They were dancing to celebrate all life given by the Great Spirit, no distractions allowed.

My favorite part of the weekend was Saturday night. I was asked to keep vigil over the fire with Pablo till 3 am. The fire, I was taught, represents something like the soul of the universe, and it must be kept going at all times, and kept pure, burning only Eucalyptus wood and incense, no trash, paper, nothing else. The fire was outside the dance, but used to cleanse everything entering the dance with incense, and put in incense buckets to swing around the dance once in a while, also for cleansing. When you are put in stressful situations like not eating or drinking for three days while dancing constantly, it’s not just the good stuff that comes out of you. Lots of suppressed anger and bitterness, shame, insecurity, doubts, and all the other demons that try to snuff out love in our hearts show their ugly faces. The incense is what washes away all the gross crap that the dancers are shedding while they push through the three days. Otherwise that gross crap will just get everyone dirty. So the fire is the burning soul of cleansing and must be kept constantly. If you’ve ever seen Hal’s Moving Castle, a little known Disney movie in Japanamation, I recommend you do. Califer, played by Billy Crystal, is a little fire with a real attitude and superiority complex that turns out to be justified in his self-importance. You should watch the movie. This fire reminded me of Califer is all.
Anyway, staying up late, processing all the weird stuff I’d see that day, chewing coca with Pablo and talking about the important stuff in life was made all the better because there was a full moon over mount Ilimani looking through the clouds while a low fog and silence isolated us from the rest of the world. It really was magical. And the perfect conditions to have an exciting heart to heart with a fascinating new friend.
It's raining now and I'm in Casablanca, which is closed, but the side door is open and a co-worker is practicing the piano. And the internet is up! I must stink, because a fly will not leave my face alone. Moving on. . .
There're some photos to give you some idea of the place, but none were allowed to be taken of the dance, and actually, I forgot my camera and these are from two years ago. But it's an idea.
Whew. I think José will be by soon and I better get going. Back to Aramasí. ¡Kosapacha!

Off to Aramasí, for GOOD

25 January

This morning was the planning meeting for February in Aramasí, and I got to present my project plan (tentative, but a start). The administration is ready to have me out in Aramasí, doing what I've come to do. So any plan I proposed would have been fine with them, as long as I'm under José's supervision. José is the agronomist and irrigation tecnition who will be my advisor/tutor/boss. I've been out twice now with the intention of staying, but both times I was sent home because José was not around. He just had a son and his wife has been a little frail. Understandable.

In 5 minutes I've gotta get to work here at Casablanca, which is pretty packed for a Monday.

But tomorrow morning I'm taking a few trufis (trufi stands for Transporte RUta FIjada) to Quillacollo, about 12 km. outside of Cochabamba where I'll meet José and drive 2 hours on mountain dirt roads to Aramasí. My schedule, I learned this morning is Monday morning through Friday afternoon, so I'll still be in Cochabamba every weekend, if I want to come back.

Well, that was 5 minutes. To the right is Casablanca's owner and a friend playing chess. Chess happens a lot here.

Spun Out

11 Jan.

Well, I feel like things had got out of control. Sorry for the awkwward rawness of my last blogs. They were originally journal entries, but became blog entries because I felt that I needed to get honest. It was partly because of my vow on my first entry and partly because I had just got lost and confused and needed some grounding.
I've been very busy, though, lately. This is actually an edited email to my mom. But it's straightforward, no worries.

I took the house, Semilla de Amor, out to ice cream yesterday. Claudia joined us and helped reserve a table big enough for us all for when we were arriving. It was a big ordeal, getting the house cleaned after lunch, getting everyone ready and 'presentable' to go into town, walking down to the micro, crossing the streets, it was a lot of fun. Actually, the ice cream part was the most boring, the trip down and the walk around town afterward were the real hi-lights. There was an artesan fair in the plaza Colón, right by the ice cream place, so we walked through and the kids had a great time seeing all the colorful and diverse handmade goods and plants. Viviana bought some flowers with the kid's help. Then we walked through the main plaza and over to catch the bus back up to the villa. But it was a whole day trip packed into 4 short hours. Mario is getting SOOOOO big. He feels twice the weight he was a month ago. I had to carry him for the last stretch from the plaza to the bus. We also watered all the plants around the house while the girls were getting ready, I held Mario and Mario held the hose.
On Thursday I went up to the Villa in the morning and stayed until 5pm, then I had to go to work at Casablanca till 2 am! I played so hard! I met the new volunteers, had lunch at the guy's house in the villa, played cards and hacky-sack with the guys and Chris and the volunteers. Then I went to Semilla de Amor and helped clean-up before we went to the salón and played pelota quemada, which is their version of dodge ball. Holy moly, we had an epic game. The ball was pretty big, a extra large sized red rubber kick-ball like we have in the states. I was soooo tired on friday, my whole body hurt.
I paid for my ID card on friday, I had to go in twice to fill out tons of paperwork and then pay 345 bs. but it was already too late to take my picture by the time I finished, so I go in right now to get my picture taken and then on Thursday I'll have my official Bolivian Foreign Missionary ID card!
I met a couple ladies last night in La Morada who are here visiting from Virginia. One has been highly involved in founding the scholarship fund for the the girl college students, they were interesting to talk to. Big ole' Southern large-and-in-charge political fund-raising ladies.

I finally got to play cacho last night with some new Bolivian friends, they are in the military and offered to take me shooting. Woohoo. We had a good time, I lost, but I was super happy to score some true-blue Bolivian cacho companions.

I have been able to give away a whole bunch of nice European girl's clothes to the girls house. It was fun to waltz up to them with my big laundry bag full of foreign treasures and watch them all take stuff out and try it on and ask each other if they could pull it off and suggest things to one another. I think they will end up sharing all of it anyway, except Cintia got a pair of shoes that I doubt she's taken off yet.

They're digging huge holes in the Villa where my old garden used to be, I guess for the new septic tank. The boys are craving manly companionship. I can't go into the villa without being forced to throw guys around, help dig up heavy rocks, climb around on trees and buildings, wrestle, all kinds of manhood tests for the boys to try out.

So much so much so much. But I've gotta get my picture taken.

New Year's

1 January

Wow, so much to write. My last entry was a month ago. And I haven’t even posted it yet. On the same despairing day I wrote my last entry, I was invited on a trip to the Salar de Uyuni. At the time it seemed impossible, with work at Casablanca, visa stuff still pending, and absolutely no budget for it. But the timing was just right. I asked Consuelo, my visa advocate, and she said that I should go now, before I turn my papers in to migration, plus it would take 5 more days to get my last signed criminal record from the Colonel in charge of Bolivian Interpol. At work, Elio asked ME if I was available the next week and I took the opportunity to say that I was not available. Lastly, I called José, the agronomist in Aramasí and he said to go for it. So I went for it, much to the surprise of my friend, Claudia who thought I would bale out. The next morning, tuesday the 7th, I was at the bus terminal with my pack at 7:30 am.
Before I continue, I think I’ll use my free time to read some scripture. Psalm 42 and John 12. Good stuff. The resurrection of Lazarus was a pretty big deal in Jesus’ final days.
So I posted a personal journal entry with some details about life here to close the gap between my last on purpose entry and this one. I now know why I was scared to dedicate this blog to telling the truth about what happens here. By now, some people could get into some trouble with information I disclose.

Last night was New Year’s eve, and I celebrated it in Sucre with Claudia. The most notable event of the evening was at midnight (or near midnight, we didn’t have a countdown or a reliable clock) when we were in the Plaza Principal 25 de Mayo with everyone and their cousins. There were ladies selling bottles of cheap sparkling wine, grapes and fireworks in mass quantities along all the hedges in the plaza, and everyone was buying from them. I’m not sure about which fireworks did what, but there were long sticks that worked like Roman candles, shorter sticks that shot out colorful balls of fire way into the air and apparently sticks that shot off explosive “boomers” that made deep thundering noises. Around midnight, everyone started shooting off fireworks in the crowded plaza and it was really fun for a bit, until a “boomer” mysteriously exploded in our faces. We think it hit Claudia’s head because she was bleeding from the side of her scalp and couldn’t feel that side of her face and some of her her was burnt and pulled out. I felt the shrapnel from the thing in my face at the same time my hearing went out except for a high pitched squealing. The others disappeared to somewhere. There were spilled drinks and empty space all around me immediately and I was disoriented and alone. I saw Claudia crouched behind some grape vendors and went to see how she was.

We are eating dinner at a touristy café with overpriced shabby food. But at least there’s some wireless. We’re going to see Avatar tonight, which I’m excited about. That’s it for now. I’ll fill in the gaps later.

Developments and Confessions

15 Dec.

I’m at Brazilian Coffee trying to get on the internet to read some scripture before going to Immigration with all my paperwork.

Yesterday morning I got back from a 6 day trip to Salar de Uyuni (the salt flats) and Tupisa (waaaaay south in Bolivia where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid were killed) and Potosí, the 19th century silver mining boom-town; the highest altitude city in the world. I was invited by a German girl named Claudia and some of her traveling friends. Something happened with me and Claudia.
I’ve completely lost track of my spending. Chris has my little book with my expenses because I left it at Casa Esperanza and haven’t got to see him yet. He seems to do a lot of work, I think he likes to work, I hope to settle in and work on something as whole-heartedly. Maybe I’ll go to Aramsí this afternoon. If I can make it back for work on Wed. night.

Claudia cooked a Tai chicken dish, then we stayed up smoking and drinking white wine with Delphine, her house-mate. Delphine is a pretty French girl who is too nice for her own good. She has been in the 3rd floor apartment alone with her leg in a cast for the last week and was craving familiar company. Delphine broke her leg jumping off the roof of a building next to a Chicharía (a place where you drink Chicha, the traditional indigenous home-made social liquor) after the police raided the party with tear gas and night-sticks. The party was raided because it was during the dry law (no drinking alcohol) on the weekend before elections. The party was held in adherence to the tradition of K'oa, an offering of incense to the Pachamama and a small party to celebrate the abundance provided the previous month and a motion of faith that the blessing will carry on to the next month. So at La Tinkuna, a remote Chicharía along the road to Quillacollo, Cochabamba’s closest neighbor, they took the risk to celebrate the K'oa despite the dry law and got busted. The attendees were half foreign volunteers and half Bolivians. Apparently the police broke in with gas and sticks and everyone scattered like cockroaches, as my friend Eden so eloquently commented. Truckloads of foreigners were brought to Interpol to be examined, lectured, threatened, kept up all night and released the next morning. Many escaped via rooftops, some hid successfully until the bust was over. Delphine jumped off a roof and broke her leg and got arrested by Interpol. Eden got away and said it was a great time.

I have to go to Consuelo’s office to get my pictures with red background and pay Consuelo for her help.
I just saw Fansisca, one of Amistad’s most veteran Mamá’s. She is waiting for Cintia to show-up for an important exam next door. Cintia had moved in with her as she was trying to do the paperwork for adoption. But Cintia has had to move back into the girl’s youth house until the adoption is finalized. Cintia is a special one, she has always been a princess, actress, drama queen. I went to her first play when I was here in 2003. She is grown up beyond her age and knows how to carry herself, talk and behave with calculated, but genuine, friendliness.
I need to get online today. But if I go to Aramasí, it would be better.

Off to Migraciones.

Last Day of Visa Stress

6 Dec.

Today is election day. No vehicles allowed on the streets. No businesses allowed to open. Consumption of alcohol strictly prohibited.
My 30 days are up tomorrow. I had 30 days to use my “special purpose missionary visa” to submit all my documents for an actual missionary visa. Everything has been in order for a week, but there is a particular Colonel in charge of criminal records that will not sign for me to stay.
I am fasting today for my time in Bolivia. I am in Bolivia because God called me here by putting in my heart a passion for Bolivia and nowhere else. I will definitely cry if I have to leave. But also, I have to understand that whatever happens, it is because that’s what God wants, which is the best. Maybe I’m needed somewhere else and was just given a wonderful visit to a place and people that I love.
The longer it takes to get accepted for the one measly year I am trying to be here, the more unwelcome I feel and the more distant from my purpose in coming. I still cannot picture myself doing anything in Aramasí, I have no technical skills, I can’t speak Quechua, I was sent by an organization without any consultation of the people in the actual community.
I took my first Quechua class yesterday morning. It was very exciting. It’s such an old language, and so different from any Romance or Anglo-Germanic languages. They have a completely unique way of expressing and relating and understanding themselves in relation to others and the world the exist in. I have not even scraped the surface, but isolation is a nonsensical idea in Quechua, interrelatedness is implied and essential in the meaning of the words and grammatical construction. For instance, the first question asked after the initial Walejllachu? (All is well, friend, no?) means “what ayllu is yours and how are things among you?” Ayllu means family and community and mutual support system.

La Vida Cochala

So I'm still in Cochabamba, waiting for my visa to come through and SIT registration. But I've got plenty going on here to keep me occupied.

Cochala/o is the word meaning of/from Cochabamba. It can be an adjective or a noun if reffering to a person. It describes a way of life, attitude, aesthetic preference and local pride of Cochabamba. One thing for sure they do here is celebrate. Anything, nothing, Saints, people, milestones, historical dates and figures...they just like to throw parties. Maybe I'll try to tackle the rest of that definition some other day. This is a political parade that passed while I was typing this. The presidential candidate is wearing light blue mostly hidden by the pink tuft on the hat of the last green dressed lady.
I have found some temp work at a couple cafés at night, there have been some birthday and going away and graduation parties to attend. I go the the Villa three or four times a week to play around, tell jokes, attend meetings, loose at Foosball...
My god-daughter's graduation was exciting. I got to walk her down the isle when they called her name. Roxana told me that I was not allowed to wear a button-down shirt, that, actually, I HAD to wear a black t-shirt. Her silly graduate cap was falling off the back of her head most of the time, I tried to fix it a few times, but we ended up talking and laughing the whole way down to the podium and risers. We had a pretty good time.
There were a bunch of old Amistad folks that showed up for the ceremony. A couple girls that had fallen off the map were there, some old workers, inlcuding Paul Newpower, who has been at Amistad since the beginning and in Bolivia for even longer. Afterward, we all went to lunch and had a feast of Pique Macho, Which is an awesome Cochabamban dish with wedge fries under meat, sausage, blood sausage, veggies, hard boiled egg, spicy peppers, and onions in a delicious mystery sauce.
This is Roxana, the graduate and her proud god-father.


I found a place to climb and made some new climber friends. Climbers are most always good folks. Learned the details of our friend's death, the guy that started the climbing group and turned his garage into a super bad-@ss climbing cave, Santiago, died six months ago December 8 while he was trekking Mount Tunari alone. There is a pretty rugged part with a slanted gravel trail and jagged rocks below. That's where they found him. But he died doing what he loved and his legacy lives on at Andes Extremo (the name of the climbing group). We miss Santi.




I made a day trip to Aramasí with some folks from Amistad. They had to do inventory. I got to teach the kids hacky-sack, visit the dam, see the community gardens, and get a wicked sun burn on my nose. I think I will learn most of my Quechua from the children, they talk to me and hang around most, the adults are still a little sheepish. Maybe that's not fair, I just haven't got to meet many grown-ups in Aramasí. I'm scheduled for my first Quechua lesson in Cochabamba on Friday. Supposedly the teacher is great, very engaging and interactive, which is exactly how I learn, especially languages.

The water behind the dam is pretty low. But it's a pretty good lookin' dam, eh?
There has been a dry spell made them use most of the water that had stored up so their gardens wouldn't dry-up. But it looks like there is some serious rain coming these next couple weeks. At least today there is. They are still working on the tubing to direct the water to strategic spots around the community. But there is enough to make do for now. They mostly dig trenches from where the water comes out to their gardens, so the water flows down the trenches. This is effective, but not very efficient.
Elections are this weekend, so the government issued a nationwide ban on alcohol consumption Thursday, Friday and Saturday. No drunk voting allowed. So tonight they are going to make up for the loss of this weekend. Ah, Cochabamba.