Bolivia is the poorest country in South America.  The threads of its culture are among the oldest on the continent.  And yet these threads seem independent, unwoven.  This is a country that embodies paradox.  From the Aymara indigenous in the Andean Altiplano in the west to the Europeans, the Mennonites, and the indigenous Guarani in the tropical plains of the east; from the Quechua descendants of the Incas in the silver mines at Potosi in the south to the cocaleros, coca growers in Chapare in the north, this is a land of opposites.  The geographic, cultural, and climatic diversity of Bolivia has only been intensified by its historical experiences over the past five centuries.

The Inca Empire experienced only 80 years of total dominance, operating out of Cusco, Peru and the Lake Titicaca region of the Altiplano.  The Inca descendants of Wayna Qhapaq were fighting and killing one another in a power struggle for the Inca throne when Cortes, Pizarro, and the Spanish Conquistadors arrived. The Spaniards were no match for the Inca Empire, militarily, but the Conquistadors brought with them two elements which would decimate the Inca domination.  The first was a divide and conquer strategy. Given the internal struggles between the various Inca leaders who were fighting for total power, the Spaniards formed strategic alliances.  They facilitated the Incas killing one another. At the end of the fighting the Conquistadors executed the remaining Inca leaders with whom they had formed alliances.

The second and more dramatic destructive element the Conquistadors brought with them was disease. Small pox, influenza, typhus, diphtheria, and measles wreaked absolute havoc on the indigenous people throughout the entire new world.  The native peoples of the Americas had absolutely no resistance to the epidemics that swept through North, South, and Central America.  The European diseases took millions of lives, perhaps up to 50% of the indigenous population. Charles C. Mann’s recent book 1491 New Revelations of the Americas before Columbus describes the Americas prior to the arrival of Columbus, the European conquest, and the consequent results. Once the Inca Empire was destroyed, the Spanish would control Bolivia for over 300 years. (Flickr photo by Martha de Jong-Lantink)

In 1492, Spain had a huge national debt.  With the conquest, the debt was paid off.  Spain would build the strongest naval fleet in the world and dominate the seas. The standard of living in Spain would be among the world’s highest.  What brought this incredible economic turnaround?  New world resources which specifically included Bolivian silver.  Bolivia’s wealth would paradoxically bring her impoverishment and enslavement. During the 300 years of Spanish control, 200,000 tons of silver would be taken from the Bolivian mines at Potosi and shipped to Spain. The men and boys who had somehow survived the European plagues now had to endure work and early death in the silver mines.

The Spaniards were not satisfied with the amount of silver reaching their treasuries.  They wanted more and so they brought in African slaves to the mines at Potosi.  The Africans were simply unable to work in the cold temperatures and at the 12,000 foot altitude.  Today, an African-Bolivian colony lives and works in the Yunga, a tropical plains region where the Africans went after the Spaniards eliminated them from Potosi.  When I went to visit Carmen Pampa University near Coroico I saw African looking women, descendants of the slaves, wearing traditional Aymara skirts, blouses, leggings and hats.

Spanish dominance, rather than bringing unanimity, created and maintained a tension, a division among the various new world factions.  The Spanish King, like the Conquistadors, used a divide and conquer strategy.  Because of the wealth that Bolivia was providing and because of the resultant power that the wealth bestowed, the monarch needed to preserve the system that allowed him to remain a primary recipient.  To do this, the Spanish King gave lands to the men who governed the new territory and were faithful to him.  The King also bestowed lands and titles on the military leaders who protected the politicians and the Spanish ruling class in the new world.  But the King needed a third contingent, an institution to protect the indigenous people who were providing the labor to keep the silver coming.  Here the King was strategically brilliant. He promoted and supported the Church and its missionaries to care for the native people.  Because the King of Spain was financing the papacy during this time he demanded that he have the right to appoint all bishops in the new world.  These appointees had to have the approval of the Vatican but that didn’t cause any problems, at least, initially.  The missionaries did care for the indigenous.  In the eastern lowland area of Bolivia the Jesuits taught the Guarani and Chiquitano people to read, write, make and play Baroque musical instruments, and to live in communities based on the model created by St. Thomas More in his book Utopia. In 1767, the Spanish King rescinded all rights and privileges of the Jesuit missionaries in the new world.  They were told to return to Europe.  The King was frightened by the power and influence of the missionaries.  He was also concerned about a possible move towards independence by the indigenous.  He was frightened by the strength the mission communities were displaying.  Most of all, the King was frightened of losing his work force and the continued flow of silver into the Spanish treasury.  Paradoxically, the existent health, welfare, and autonomy of the indigenous people resulted in the Jesuits being recalled and the missions being closed. The 1986 film Mission provides a sense of this historical period. (Flickr photo by eputigna)

In today’s Bolivia, the symbol of paradox is the coca plant.  Some experts say between 30% and 40% of Bolivia’s GDP is derived from the coca industry.  Coca has been part of Bolivian life for centuries.  The use of coca leaves has been and is a part of the lifestyle of the Altiplano people.  They use coca leaves to ward off the effects of altitude, of hunger and thirst, as well as to minimize stress. They chew the leaves, use them for tea, and use them in their cultural and spiritual rituals.  Coca is for the indigenous Bolivian what tobacco is for the American Indian.  Once again, however, the paradoxical effect which is part of the Bolivian experience comes into play.

Prior to the 1980’s, Americans had no problem with coca production in Bolivia.  In fact, cocaine and caffeine were two of the secret ingredients in the original Coca Cola formula.  The name of the product “Coca” came from the words cocaine and caffeine.  The shape of the Coca Cola bottle was based on the shape of the coca bean.  Because an extract from the coca leaf is still used today in the production of Coca Cola, Bolivian law makes an exception and allows the legal exportation of coca “flavoring elements” to the Coca Cola Company in the US.

In the 1980’s with the sky rocketing drug culture and the use of crack cocaine in the US, Bolivian- American relations changed.  The US demanded the eradication of Bolivian coca plants.  But a significant percentage of Bolivian farmers were dependent on the income from coca to clothe, house, and feed their families.  Because the price of coca leaves was escalating, the farmers grew more.  Another complicating factor occurred during this period, the price of tin plummeted worldwide.  Bolivia, which had the most productive tin mines in the world, experienced a sudden loss of work.  So in 1985 the Bolivian government resettled the jobless miners in a new region of the country to begin a new career.  The government moved the former miners to the developing agricultural region of the tropics known as Chapare.  And what is the most profitable product to grow in Chapare?  Coca.

Once the miners, now turned farmers, settled in Chapare, the government left them without an infrastructure, without electricity, and without any structure for regional governance.  In response, the miners who had a strong union tradition in the mines, organized and created what would become one of the strongest political coalitions in Bolivia.  This coalition would become the springboard to launch one of their own, Evo Morales, into the Presidency.

Evo Morales, the current Bolivian President, is aware of the economic needs and means of his political base.  Morales is also fully aware of the history of human rights violations committed by the military over the past 30 years while enforcing the American-sponsored eradication programs.  Morales knows that the US has provided millions of dollars to Bolivia on the condition that demanded the elimination of a significant percentage of coca production.

Why not encourage alternative agricultural products?  It takes two years for a pineapple plantation to initially produce fruit; eight years for a citrus grove.  How does an impoverished farmer survive while waiting for an orange tree to reach maturity?  Besides, the world produces tons of oranges in a very competitive market.  Coca provides an income that oranges won’t.  The Bolivian government, under an insurmountable debt to the World Bank, doesn’t have the resources to subsidize farms that produce alternative crops.  The World Bank, under pressure from the US government, tells the Bolivian government to eradicate coca production or it will not loan the country another dollar.  What to do?  The Bolivian paradox.

Five months ago I stepped into the La Paz International Airport, altitude 12,078 feet.  I went into the airport restaurant to order a pot of coca tea.  I had a headache and the tea soothed my throbbing head.  In the last five months I have acclimated to the altitude.  But whenever I try resolving the complexity of the history, culture, beliefs and traditions of Bolivia and its people, the headache seems to return.  I can only imagine what policy makers in La Paz and in Washington D.C. must feel.  Perhaps I could invite them to Woodbury, Minnesota to come sit on our deck over-looking the flower garden while I serve them all a cup of coca tea.  I will be going home soon.  After June 14 I invite you to join me there on the deck for a cup of tea as well.

Saludes,

Ray Spack

Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar.

The Jesuits have incorporated the Quechua rite into a Christian context and have bridged the ancient religious practices of the indigenous people with those of contemporary Catholicism.  The old fertility rite is now called Sancta Vera Cruz, the Holy True Cross.  In order to unite the rituals, the Jesuits erected a large temporary shrine of the crucified Jesus next to the Church.  The life-sized cross and figure of Jesus face the courtyard where the campesinos tend their fertility fires.  In addition, the campesinos stand in a long line, perhaps for an hour or more, to approach the cross and put flowers at its base. Similar to Pachamama, Mother Earth, Jesus brings a compassionate and attentive presence to the prayers of the people.  A couple of the women from the parish church, wearing their communion distributors’ stoles, bless each person with holy water after he or she has kissed or touched the cross.  Meanwhile, the priests and deacons from the parish, wearing their stoles over either white liturgical albs or bright colored ponchos, tend a larger ceremonial fire between the cross and the people gathered in the courtyard.  Periodically, men with accordions, trumpets, or guitars add music to a family’s ritual.

The autumn sky was crisp, clear and filled with bright stars.  Meanwhile, wisps of smoke laden with sweet smelling incense left a mystical haze over the entire courtyard.  The sounds of hushed conversations were periodically interrupted by the music.  Once in a while some hombre with a more volatile sense of ritual would light off a string of fire-crackers.  Meanwhile the folks with flowers slowly moved forward in the line toward the crucified Jesus next to the church.

As I stood in the courtyard I was initially turned off by the superstitious practices I was witnessing.  The external rituals seemed to manifest a bartering with some kind of negotiating deity.  The agony and pain of daily life could somehow be tempered by a ritualistic immolation of cow dung, coca leaves, alcohol, and incense.  I could understand the small step it would take to move into thinking that a blood sacrifice might be more valuable in the negotiating process.  That idea intensified the thought that this was all nuts and that we really don’t understand anything of the nature and reality of the Creator God.  But then it occurred to me, who am I to judge the mind or heart of anyone trying to communicate with a mysterious God who seems to be the only hope, the only ally in a world of uncertainty, struggle, and helplessness?  Who am I to stand in my arrogance and say my concept of God is more elevated or morally astute than theirs?  I have been the man standing in line with my offerings.  I have been the woman kissing the cross.  I have been the child mesmerized by the glow of vigil lights.

Standing in the courtyard with a hundred or more cow dung fires sending hopes and dreams skyward, I was aware of the judgmental nature I carry.  It comes from roots that were passed on to me by immigrants trying to prove themselves as valuable members of a new society.  I accepted that judgmental sense and have affirmed it throughout a lifetime.  As I watched the Jesuit missionaries tending the community’s ritual fire, I silently commended their acceptance of a different ritual and the indigenous people who celebrated it.

If life is about living in the question; if life is about accepting uncertainty; if life is about trusting in the Creator’s mysterious but simple reality, then the missionaries who tend the fertility fires, who bless the people with water, who wear a poncho and stole and hug the people are the ones who get it.  They are the ones who are living in the question.

Jesus said it; Jesus lived it – God is love.  Love is not about distancing ourselves from superstitious ritual and negotiations with Pachamama.  Love is about embracing the ritual, letting it be, and just living in the question.

Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar.

Saludos,

Ray Spack

(Flickr photos by Jessie Reeder)

The Quechua people of Bolivia have gathered for centuries on the first week-end of May to celebrate a fertility rite for the coming year. May is the beginning of autumn, of cool, dry weather and fallow fields here in the southern hemisphere. I went to the fertility festival a week ago last Saturday evening with Paul Newpower, a former Maryknoll missionary and friend who lives here in Cochabamba with his wife Rebecca and their two children.

The Quechua peasants, the campesinos, come to the Jesuit parish just outside the city of Cochabamba with sacks of dried cow manure. They use the manure to build small fires in the courtyard just outside of the parish church. The people also bring small statues which are strategically placed next to the fires. These images represent hopes and dreams for the coming year. I saw statues of cows, llamas, sheep, pigs, as well as images of small infants. In addition to the statues the campesinos put candles next to their fires, adding a mellow glow to the statues. They burn coca leaves and incense in the fires as further offerings. Very much like the Pachamama ritual, they pour alcohol on the flames and on the ground at the four corners of the fire. The fires and the rituals continue throughout the night and into the next morning. The Quechua then gather the burnt dung and the ashes and take them home to bury them in their fields and around their homes. They believe the remnants of the fire are holy and will bring fertility to their families, animals, and crops. As I watched the ritual I was reminded of our American practices of lighting votive candles or of burying statues of St. Joseph next to a house we want to sell. (Flickr photoby quinet)

The Jesuits have incorporated the Quechua rite into a Christian context and have bridged the ancient religious practices of the indigenous people with those of contemporary Catholicism. The old fertility rite is now called Sancta Vera Cruz, the Holy True Cross. In order to unite the rituals, the Jesuits erected a large temporary shrine of the crucified Jesus next to the Church. The life-sized cross and figure of Jesus face the courtyard where the campesinos tend their fertility fires. In addition, the campesinos stand in a long line, perhaps for an hour or more, to approach the cross and put flowers at its base. Similar to Pachamama, Mother Earth, Jesus brings a compassionate and attentive presence to the prayers of the people. A couple of the women from the parish church, wearing their communion distributors’ stoles, bless each person with holy water after he or she has kissed or touched the cross. Meanwhile, the priests and deacons from the parish, wearing their stoles over either white liturgical albs or bright colored ponchos, tend a larger ceremonial fire between the cross and the people gathered in the courtyard. Periodically, men with accordions, trumpets, or guitars add music to a family’s ritual.

The autumn sky was crisp, clear and filled with bright stars. Meanwhile, wisps of smoke laden with sweet smelling incense left a mystical haze over the entire courtyard. The sounds of hushed conversations were periodically interrupted by the music. Once in a while some hombre with a more volatile sense of ritual would light off a string of fire-crackers. Meanwhile the folks with flowers slowly moved forward in the line toward the crucified Jesus next to the church.

As I stood in the courtyard I was initially turned off by the superstitious practices I was witnessing. The external rituals seemed to manifest a bartering with some kind of negotiating deity. The agony and pain of daily life could somehow be tempered by a ritualistic immolation of cow dung, coca leaves, alcohol, and incense. I could understand the small step it would take to move into thinking that a blood sacrifice might be more valuable in the negotiating process. That idea intensified the thought that this was all nuts and that we really don’t understand anything of the nature and reality of the Creator God. But then it occurred to me, who am I to judge the mind or heart of anyone trying to communicate with a mysterious God who seems to be the only hope, the only ally in a world of uncertainty, struggle, and helplessness? Who am I to stand in my arrogance and say my concept of God is more elevated or morally astute than theirs? I have been the man standing in line with my offerings. I have been the woman kissing the cross. I have been the child mesmerized by the glow of vigil lights. (Flickr photoby NileGuide.com)

Standing in the courtyard with a hundred or more cow dung fires sending hopes and dreams skyward, I was aware of the judgmental nature I carry. It comes from roots that were passed on to me by immigrants trying to prove themselves as valuable members of a new society. I accepted that judgmental sense and have affirmed it throughout a lifetime. As I watched the Jesuit missionaries tending the community’s ritual fire, I silently commended their acceptance of a different ritual and the indigenous people who celebrated it.

If life is about living in the question; if life is about accepting uncertainty; if life is about trusting in the Creator’s mysterious but simple reality, then the missionaries who tend the fertility fires, who bless the people with water, who wear a poncho and stole and hug the people are the ones who get it. They are the ones who are living in the question.

Jesus said it; Jesus lived it – God is love. Love is not about distancing ourselves from superstitious ritual and negotiations with Pachamama. Love is about embracing the ritual, letting it be, and just living in the question.

Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar.

Saludos,

Ray Spack

The traveler who is willing to put up with the delays and absence of certain conveniences will be rewarded with stunning views, constantly changing landscapes, and a variety of flora and fauna.

Two different Andean mountain chains frame the country. In between the mountains in the western part of the country, one can travel the Altiplano, the high treeless plain that ranges in altitude from 11,500 to 13,000 feet. At the northern end of the Altiplano is Lake Titicaca, one of the world’s highest navigable lakes.

I travelled with ten other students from the Maryknoll Institute to Lake Titicaca on the third week-end of March. We left Cochabamba on Friday night and flew for 35 minutes to La Paz, landing at the world’s highest airport. At 12,000 feet the runways have to be longer so that the airplanes have room to stop. Here the pilots aren’t kidding when they say they dropped out of thin air. La Paz, like San Francisco, is built on hillsides that slope steeply to the valleys below. 830,000 people live in Bolivia’s largest city with another 650,000 living in El Alto, a twin city adjoining La Paz on the Altiplano plain just to the west of La Paz. The air is thin and, with all of the traffic, polluted. We drank mate tea, a combination of tea and coca leaves, to ward off the effects of the altitude. After staying at the Maryknoll House in La Paz on Friday night we headed west across the Altiplano early Saturday morning. Snow covered mountains in the distance framed the high treeless plains, sheep and llamas grazing in the fields. We arrived in Copacabana, elevation 12, 500 feet, on Saturday afternoon, checked into our hotel, and went exploring.

I made it to the top of a major hill that overlooks Copacabana but it was not without innumerable breathing breaks. When we got to the summit, once I caught my breath, the view of the harbor and the lake were spectacular. I could understand why the Incas used this hilltop to perform rituals and offer prayers to the sun, the moon, and Pachamama, the earth mother. There is just something about mountaintops that seems appropriate for worship. We left the mountaintop and headed for the Saturday night mass at the Cathedral.

Begun in 1614, the Copacabana Cathedral wasn’t completed until 200 years later in 1820. It is a lovely building. Spanish architecture, white stucco walls, Moorish styled domes, and blue tiles make it a crown jewel in the center of the city. The sanctuary is floor to ceiling carved wood with niches for statues of patron saints. Gold leaf covers the wood. The altar is covered with silver, the precious metal mined in Potosi, Bolivia for over four hundred years. The story of the silver taken from Bolivia by the kings of Spain to finance the Spanish Empire is its own tragic tale. I was struck by the irony of the contribution of the body and blood of the Bolivians to provide silver for the altar that celebrates the sacrifice of the body and blood of Jesus. (Flickr photo by ** Maurice **)

The richness of the Cathedral sanctuary and altar is stunning, however. In the center of the back wall of the sanctuary is a carved wooden statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary, La Virgen Morena del Lago. A number of miracles were attributed to the Virgin after the statue was completed in 1853 and the Cathedral soon became a pilgrimage site. The devotion to the Virgin has not stopped. For an hour before the Saturday night mass, people offered a series of Marian litanies and prayers as well as the rosary. Prior to the end of the mass, the celebrant turned from the altar, faced the statue on the sanctuary back wall and led another series of Marian prayers. Even though the mass lasted 90 minutes, the Church was packed. When I went to communion, the woman who had pushed her way into our pew at the gospel time had her husband take my seat. I returned from communion sanctified and seat less. I began to understand how the old custom of infrequent communion might have begun.

On Sunday morning our group took a launch and headed toward Isla del Sol, an island on Lake Titicaca where the early Incas lived, farmed, and thrived. Lake Titicaca is 142 miles long and 60 miles wide making it South America’s second largest body of fresh water after Venezuela’s Lake Maracaibo. Titicaca reminded me of a large version of Lake Vermillion or Lake Kabetogema in northern Minnesota. The beauty, like that of northern Minnesota, is stunning. The mountain hillsides coming down to the water add a vestige that northern Minnesota doesn’t have. Coming across the water and looking at the hillsides, I was reminded of Tuscany with its picturesque terraced gardens that were and are the bread basket for the people of Italy. On the steep hillside terraces of Titicaca the Incas raised potatoes, wheat, oats, quinua, a high protein grain, and habas, a form of lima bean. Looking out from their gardens, the Incas could see the clear blue, deep, but fishless Lake Titicaca. It has only been in recent years that the Bolivian government began stocking the lake with Trout that are now served in all of Copacabana’s restaurants and hotels.

In my hotel, I woke up on Sunday morning with a room temperature of 54. I know it was that temp because my alarm clock also has a temperature gauge. Thank God for the five blankets on my bed. And this is the summer season in Bolivia. I don’t know what people do in the winter time. There are no furnaces in the houses or hotels I have stayed or lived in. I can’t imagine how any hotel can thrive with rooms that simulate winter camping. Needless to say showering was not a viable option, at least not for Raymond the blue-nosed reindeer.

A week ago I ventured out with three classmates to another Bolivian treasure resource closer to Cochabamba, lower in altitude and warmer, Torotoro National Park. The natural beauty there is simply astounding. The Andes Mountains, the valleys, and the rivers leading to Torotoro are as beautiful as anywhere I have travelled. Canon de Torotoro is like a miniature Grand Canyon, only more accessible. Wildflowers, birds, and snow-capped mountains make the canyon all the more lovely. A river runs through the base of the canyon and waterfalls cascade down into it from the hillsides above. Strata of rock make this area a geologists dream. (Flickr photo by jennifrog)

Most visitors come to Torotoro, not for the geology, but for the paleontology. The village of Torotoro sits in a valley surrounded by mountains and flanked by inclined mudstone rock formations. These petrified mudslides preserved dinosaur tracks which were made between 65 and 145 million years ago. The tracks are from both herbivorous and carnivorous dinosaurs of that period. I can’t conceive of 100 million years ago. Intellectualization might not work here but imagination does. As I looked out over the grass covered plains I could envision all types of creatures similar to those many of us saw in the film “Jurassic Park.”

Bolivia is filled with places that inspire awe, initiate imagination, or evoke astonishment. It is a land that has witnessed dinosaurs, Incas, Conquistadors and campesinos. From the jungle areas of the east to the Altiplano of the west; from the great salt lake in the south to the rainforests in the north, Bolivia is an astounding land of beauty, mystery, and diversity. It is raw, it is undeveloped, and it is intriguing. I think that perhaps I have had a taste of what Meriwether Lewis and William Clark experienced as they travelled through the center of the United States between 1803 and 1806. As I stood on the plain of Torotoro, I could imagine what must have crossed the minds of the men and the woman who formed Lewis and Clark’s Project Discovery and who transversed what was to become a great nation. Bolivia has the same natural beauty. It has been a gift to experience the raw beauty of nature and to come once again to an awareness of the grandeur of its Creator.

Saludos,

Ray Spack

Carnaval is a celebration of the three worlds of the indigenous people, heaven, earth, and the underworld.  It is also a celebration of the fruits of the earth since this is harvest time in the southern hemisphere.  The costumes the Carnaval participants wear represent one of the three worlds.  The world of heaven is represented by the condor, the large black bird that soars through the Bolivian skies.  The world below is represented by people wearing a mask representing the devil, or a costume of an armadillo, or a costume of Uncle Tio, a mustached older man in a business suit and hat.  The underworld and heaven are connected by the earth’s mediator, a great white bear. Male and female dancers dressed in an array of multi-colored folk costumes also represent the earth and the celebration of life.  Harmony, liberation, and fertility are the three themes that are represented not only in the costumes but in the dancing and music.

One million people lined the five mile route, but a significant portion came for more than simply listening and watching.  There are a couple of other aspects of Carnaval that come into play.  One is water and foam.  We were warned before we registered for the tour that we would get soaked.  For whatever reason, kids as well as adults throw water balloons at each other.  It doesn’t make any difference who you are or where you are from, you are subject to getting drenched.  That became imminently clear as a bucketful of water came down on our heads as we were walking from the bus to the parade route.  All of us had on rain ponchos of one sort or another but the surprise attack from a third story balcony made us aware we had arrived.  But this was just the beginning. 

People in the bleachers all along the parade route were throwing water balloons at each other throughout the entire time of the parade.  Whenever a lull in the parade occurred you could bet on a barrage.  The more sophisticated kids had huge water guns that they pumped with air.  With high tech, the kids could shoot a stream 25 yards across the street into the bleachers on the opposite side of the street.  But the water wasn’t sufficient.  People bring cans and cans of a white foam substance that they spray on one another.  These pressurized cans of foam have a range of 5 to 10 feet and can cover the target in a matter of seconds.  I thanked God I had spent 5 bucks the week before and picked up an army poncho.  Those who got into the foam wars simply wore the cloth clothes they had on and knew they would be dripping water and foam all day long.  None of the combatants had to worry about running out of ammunition; there was a plethora of “arms dealers” walking the parade route selling bags of water balloons and cans of the foam stuff.

Trying to go with the local culture, I put up with the bombardments.   At some point in the afternoon, however, after I had been blasted for the umpteenth time by a middle aged lady sitting on the top seat of the bleacher section next to me, I stood up and found the Spanish vocabulary to tell her that I had had it with her, her damn water balloons, and the whole sopping Carnaval tradition.  I’m not sure how effective my Spanish was, but the body language must have been sufficiently expressive.  The water balloon artillery, at least on my front, stopped from her section of the peanut gallery.

The second aspect of Carnaval that has a dramatic effect is the consumption of beer.  Getting totally drunk, or “borracho” as they say in Spanish, is one of the goals of a significant part of the viewing population.  Needless to say, the more “borrachoed” the individual, the greater the escalation of the water and foam wars.  There was one bleacher section just down and across the street from us that looked as if it had run into a troop of boy scouts practicing firemanship with foam extinguishers.

During the entire day in the bleachers I only had a coke and a bottle of water.  Around 2 in the afternoon I decided it was time to head for the bathroom.  It was at this point that I realized the only bathroom in was blocked by Evo Morales, the President of Bolivia.  Evo paid a surprise visit and so the police erected a special bleacher for him, right in front of the door leading into the government building, the building with the one accessible bathroom.  I took a quick picture of Evo, did a quicker exit up the street, and started looking for a restaurant, a bar, a portapotty. Nada, nothing.  Six blocks away from the parade route I decided a tree was as good as it got.  On the way back to my seat I started thinking, where did all of those borrachoed Bolivians go?  How can a person drink all of that beer and not be floating down the parade route?  I began to wonder if there was a genetic factor that provided bigger bladders for Bolivians.  All I know was there was one large segment of foam covered, water inundated, beer bloated Bolivians who somehow miraculously withheld “output” or who had secret toilets camouflaged in ways gringos just didn’t notice.

At 5 o’clock our tour group headed back to the bus to for the four and a half hour bus ride back to Cochabamba.   Evo was still blocking the bathroom door.  I found another tree on the way to the bus.

Many people say that attending the Carnaval in Oruro is a once in a lifetime experience.  I agree. It was and it will be.

Saludos,

Ray

On the first Friday of every month, anyone walking down any street in Cochabamba will notice sweet smells of incense and see trails of smoke coming from the houses and stores.  It’s there that a great number of people continue to practice a ritual which has its roots in the ancient spiritual practices of the Quechua and Aymara, the indigenous peoples of Bolivia.  The practice of giving thanks to the Pachamama, Mother Earth, comes from the belief that everything we need we get from the earth where Pachamama resides.  The first Friday ritual asks for balance with the earth, for harmony between the land and the people.  It is also a prayer for a good harvest, for health and happiness, for family, friends, and community. (flickr photo by guido612)

We celebrated our own ritual, Q’owa, pronounced koh-wah, at the Maryknoll Institute on Friday.  Faculty and students gathered in a circle under the towering pines just to the east of our three story classroom building.  One of our Quecha language instructors, a male, led the ritual assisted by Sara, one of my Spanish teachers.  Both are Quecha and have the distinctive native appearance of indigenous Bolivians.

We began the ceremony by taking a large three foot square sheet of paper similar to heavy brown wrapping paper placing it on the ground and making a bed of cotton on top of it.  Then, each of us was invited to choose three coca leaves which were spread on another cloth on the ground. The leaves are what the indigenous regularly chew for sustenance as well as to neutralize the effects of the altitude.  We held the leaves to our lips and breathed on them three times symbolizing our energy, the offering of ourselves, our prayers, and our petitions.  Each of us then placed our leaves on top of the cotton and the paper.  The leader and his assistant then added a number of other symbolic gifts to our offerings.  They added small charms or figurines made of sugar.  These can be purchased in the cancha, the large market in the center of town.  The figurines represent the participants’ hopes for good health, safe travel, children or family members, success in school or business.  Pieces of llama fat representing animal life were placed among the offerings.  Then copies of money, similar to what we might use in Monopoly, were added.  I was reminded of the imitation currency I saw people burning in similar ritual fires in the temples in Taiwan.  Our Quechua ritual leaders then added grains and seeds as well as pieces of incense.  The ritual leader then calls and welcomes Pachamama as well as the Earth, the Sun, the Moon, and other protective spirits.

In the final part of the ceremony each person who wanted poured a small amount of wine or alcohol on the earth just outside the four corners of the offering.  The corners represented the four directions of the earth and our connection to the planet.  Once we all had an opportunity to participate in the offering, two of the students lifted the offerings on the paper and placed them on a small metal stand, similar to a barbecue grill with wood burning inside of it.  The paper ignited, the offerings were immolated.  The smoke of the fire and the fragrance of the incense filled the air.  The celebration ended with the participants sharing a sign of peace, an embrace and a kiss on the left cheek, the traditional Bolivian greeting.

I appreciated being part of the Q’owa, not because of any intellectual curiosity, not from any bargaining with God, but because of the recognition of the sacredness of all creation.  More important, however, it touched an inner core within my spirit.  From the very beginning of humankind’s awareness of God, we knew a oneness with our Creator, with the earth, and with one another.  The Q’owa was a reminder of that.  Creator God, Mother Earth, Pachamama – the relationship, the unity of all with all continues.  First Fridays have an added memory for me now, one of smoke and incense and towering pines in the shadow of the Andes.

I hope all is going well for you.  Know of my continued thoughts and prayers.

Ray

Bolivia is the poorest country in Latin America.  It lies 4000 miles from the US yet this small country high in the Andes will soon challenge the US to establish consistency in what it says and what it does. In terms of foreign policy, will President Obama and the US government maintain the values it has defended in the civil rights of US citizens or will the US government use the economic value base that empires have employed for centuries?    The decision might be harder for President Obama because of some striking similarities between himself and the leader of this small, poor Andean country.

The President of Bolivia, Evo Morales, has a story which is very similar to Obama’s. In 2006, Morales became the first indigenous president of his country and a symbol of the potential of democracy. When the Spanish arrived in Bolivia in the 16th century, they enslaved the indigenous people to work the silver mines that kept the Spanish economy and naval fleet afloat for decades.  Those Bolivians who weren’t enslaved worked for substandard wages in unhealthy conditions that destroyed health and shortened lives.  Morales is the indigenous people’s symbol of hope.  Morales was born to a poor potato-farmer in the mountains.  He was one of seven children.  Four died in infancy.  The chances of Morales becoming President were as probable as that of an American abandoned by his immigrant African father and raised by his single white American mother.

US presidents and politicians have consistently said that they are committed to spreading democracy across the world.   One would expect them to welcome the democratic rise of Morales. But this is where the picture starts getting unclear.  Bolivia has massive reserves of natural gas, a resource that makes billions for American corporations.

Before Morales, the Spanish, the white ruling elite, and the wealthy were happy to allow American companies to simply take natural resources and leave the Bolivian people with little to nothing.  In terms of natural gas, the Bolivian people received 18 per cent of the royalties. The Bolivian politicians handed the country’s resource to US and international corporations while skimming a percentage for themselves.  In 1999, Bechtel, based in San Francisco, and of recent Iraq fame was handed the water supply.  Water rates for the poor majority doubled.

Morales ran for election against the old status quo agenda. He said that Bolivia’s resources should be used for the benefit of poor Bolivians.  Bolivia now keeps 82 per cent of its gas royalties with the income being used to increase health care and to build the country’s first pension system. Because of this, Morales remains extremely popular among the indigenous poor here.

Under the Bush administration, the US has spoken negatively about Morales. But the US wasn’t alone.  Almost all of Bolivia’s gas supplies are in the east of the country where the richest and whitest part of the Bolivian population lives. So the US government has been funding and fuelling the political right separatist movements that want these regions to break away.  The interference became so severe that last September Morales expelled the US ambassador for conspiring against democracy. Today, Sunday, January 25, the people of Bolivia will vote on a new constitution for the country, the one advocated by Morales.  The constitution has many critics but it claims to restore basic rights to the indigenous people.

Here is where things get sticky for President Obama.  Does the US stand for international civil rights movements or does the nature of our economy drive a movement towards cheap, necessary resources?  Which America will Obama embody?  The situation gets murkier when we look at the person who is Obama’s Bolivia adviser.  He is Greg Craig, a lawyer who represents Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada – the right wing former president of Bolivia who imposed privatizations in the 1980s, and is now wanted on charges of genocide. Craig’s legal team says Morales is leading an offensive against democracy. (Flickr photo by Jessie Reader)

The US needs to heat its houses and keep its lights on.  There are major US corporate lobbies who have a huge interest.  So what is going to happen?   Stay tuned, the saga continues throughout the day as a small, impoverished Andean nation goes to the polls.

Ray

Thanks to my friend Andrew Link who sent an article in the London Independent by Johann Hari which is the basis for this letter.

My first impression of Cochabamba was from the window of the plane.  We were flying around giant cumulous clouds under a beautiful blue sky.  As the plane descended across a ridge of the Andes a valley with the city of Cochabamba lay ahead.  The outskirts of the city were filled with small sheds and houses covered with tin roofs that gleamed as they reflected the sunlight.  Dirt roads connected the small plots on which farmers and their families survive.  Five percent of Bolivia has paved roads.  Cochabamba has a half million inhabitants, many of whom are peasants who have immigrated from the countryside.  Like other Latin American cities, Cochabamba has pot-holed streets, small stores with pull down aluminum front doors, speeding traffic, beat up but colorful old buses, and dogs everywhere.

My host family Aida Jordan and Alberto Acuna picked me up at the airport and described the city as we drove from the airport to their home on the north side of town.  Perhaps it was the fog of travel, but my mind actually comprehended a bit of what their Spanish words were describing.  That comprehension has continued to grow because conversations at home are totally in Spanish.

Albert and Aida are wonderful people, both in their mid 60′s.  They own and run a small Mom and Pop grocery store, a tienda, which is attached to the front of their home.  They meet the bakery man at 6 am and keep the store open until 9 o’clock at night.  They are warm, hospitable people who have hosted students from the Maryknoll Language Immersion School for years.  I have a second floor private bedroom, bathroom, and separate entrance.  All my meals are with the family.  Daisy, the empleada or maid, comes in 5 days a week to clean, cook, and do laundry.  I look out the windows of my room at the Andes reflecting the rising or setting sun. The view is panoramic.  Days are warm with temperatures in the 70′s and low 80′s.  Evenings cool down with nighttime temperatures in the 60′s.

Last Friday, my 66^th birthday, I woke up feeling sad and isolated.  I had only been here a day and already I missed Dianne.  I wondered what in God’s name I was doing here and what had I been thinking.  The feelings persisted through mid-morning until Aida told me that she was having a birthday celebration at noon.  She had also invited Fr. Ray Finch, the director of the Immersion Program, and Sister Cathy De Vito, coordinator of orientation and volunteer projects.  Lunch or almuerzo is the main meal of the day here in Bolivia so my birthday lunch was superb – squash soap, roast beef, mixed vegetables, and French fries. A bottle of Bolivian wine added to the festivities.   Aida had even gone to a local bakery and purchased a cake that said, “Feliz cupleanos, Ray.”  Happy birthday.  I was touched to the point of tears. (Flickr photo by Jessie Reeder)

Our first class was this past Monday morning and I was chomping at the bit to get going.  Being here without Dianne is difficult.  The aloneness continues to force me to get back into my Spanish far more quickly. I kept wondering if I would have the ability to remember all of the vocabulary, the verb forms, etc, etc.  I am not quite sure how you say “anxiety” in Spanish, but I definitely knew the feeling.  I was pleased, however, with the amount of Spanish that did come back.  That became apparent as I went through a half hour evaluation Monday afternoon.  The faculty tested us to see where we are in our Spanish and determine who are learning partner would be.

The mixture of my classmates is amazing.  One 1 man is from Germany; 3 nuns are from Korea; a bio medical male engineer is originally from Kyoto; a nun and priest are here from Switzerland; a young couple and their 13 month old daughter are here from Ontario; in addition there are 6 of us from the US.

We met some of the faculty and my first impression is positive.  I still am very high on Fr. Ray Finch and Sr. Cathy de Vito.  At an orientation session Ray said he thought the Institute had the best language program in Latin America because of the emphasis not only on learning language skills but also on cultural formation.  Ray had my attention and as far as I was concerned things were looking up.  I definitely want to have a chat with Cathy regarding her experience, if she is willing.  She came here for language school in 1980 and then left for El Salvador.  Four American women missionaries had been murdered just before she arrived.  I cannot begin to imagine what Cathy must have been feeling and experiencing as a young woman going into a country that was in political turmoil.

Studies here are not going to be a busman’s holiday.  The orientation sessions are over and we start in earnest today.  We are in class for 4 hours a day and then are expected to do 2 to 3 hours of homework.  Each of us will need to hand in regular written assignments.  The goal of the program is to get us to the point where we can study Spanish on our own after we leave without help from a teacher.  Ray said that it is important to use the language after we leave.  He said that after about a year we could expect to be fluent.  The textbooks we will be using here are similar to the ones we have used to teach English to our Hispanic students at CLUES in St. Paul.  Each lesson is built on practical experiences or living situations to teach a particular vocabulary or point of grammar.  The learning takes place in the dialog and interchange with our instructors and other students.

I hope you don’t mind my attempt to communicate via a group.  It is the only way I will be able to stay on top of my commitment to spend the time required to learn.  If you prefer not to receive these travelogues, or if you prefer I use a different address, just e-mail me and I will remove your name from my list.  I continue to be amazed at the difference 36 years has made in communications.  I was in Israel in 1983 and it took 3 weeks to receive a letter.  Phone calls, at $1 a minute, had to be made from a central office in downtown Jerusalem.  Right now you are an instant away from the electronic word.  Skype has provided an option to be in touch via satellite with friends for free.  An extrovert’s prayers have been answered.

Until next time, although I am 4,639 miles away, know of my thoughts and prayers,

Ray