Babies from multiple partners and fighting back against road blockages

Last night I took a taxi from work into the center of the city. My driver, Leo, was a talkative man and since traffic was heavy at that hour, we had quite a bit of time together. Suddenly, he let out a big yawn.

“Are you ready to go home?” I asked.

“Yes. I work until ten, but I’m tired already.” It was shortly before eight. “The thing is I have a three-month old baby and he doesn’t let me sleep, crying all night.”

I congratulated him.

“I actually have two children, both born on the same day, May 6th. One is from my wife and one is from my second woman. I certainly didn’t plan to have two, but my boys are really beautiful, really special. One was born at 11 a.m. and the other at 8 p.m.” I wondered how he arranged the logistics of that.

His chubby face fell into a reverie as the images of his baby sons appeared in his mind. He didn’t even seem to think it strange at all to admit to his foreign passenger that he has two women, or two babies that may or may not know about their brother.

I had to stock up on food last night since stores and restaurants will be closed until this evening. Early this morning, around 6:30, I saw a couple of cars driving around. That might be early enough to be safe, before the blockaders get out of bed. A little after seven I heard the first firecrackers going off. And now, shortly after 8, I hear only an occasional car going by. I expect it will stay that way until the late afternoon, when people will start to reopen and try to recoup the income they lost during the day. As long as the strikers prevent a full day of normal business operations, they will probably be satisfied. The government estimated that the strike, taking place in six regions across Bolivia today, will prevent the exchange of $20 million.

People seem to accept the limitations on their freedom with surprising passivity. Yesterday, while returning from Samaipata in a taxi, I told the driver I’d read that in a national road blockage, the population only rose up against those blocking the roads in two places. One of them was Samaipata, a small mountain town.

“Yes,” he said. ‘They are afraid to block the roads near Samaipata now. When they do, we all go out, as an entire community – men and women and children, all carrying sticks. And we get rid of them.”

He told me how the church bells are used as a means of announcing community information. “Usually, when they ring, the children rung to the square to find out who has died, or what has happened. But when they ring urgently, as they do when there is a road blockage, the adults gather.”

I’d also read that it wasn’t so easy, that some citizens were severely injured. However, it seemed to have been a good investment for the community. Now, unlike much of the country, they are free from being trapped within their town. But today, even my driver who shuttles passengers between Samaipata and Santa Cruz, will be sitting at home. He hasn’t been able to stop the strikes in the big city.

El Fuerte

Today was a cold, drizzly, windy day – the kind of day that’s perfect for curling up indoors with a book and a cup of hot chocolate. I did find two cups of hot chocolate, and luxuriate in the warmth of Tuscany in my book Under the Tuscan Sun. But I also took a half-day tour of the nearby El Fuerte ruins, one of four UNESCO World Heritage Sites in Bolivia.

It’s only nine kilometers away, at the summit of a mountain, but the going was rough. On the way out of town, the driver stopped at a store to buy shampoo. “So the window won’t fog,” he said. “It’s a secret trick among drivers.”

It did keep the window from fogging, but it also streaked the inside of the window, so viewing was still difficult. We headed up a dirt road that had turned to mud from the drizzle. We crossed a river, continued uphill, then drove over rock. We were among the first to make it up. An SUV in front of us turned around partway. When we left an hour or two later, we saw many cars stopped part of the way up, or turning around in defeat.

Our guide, Erica, took us along the path through the pre-Incan ruins. The area was beautiful. Unfortunately, the fog and mist prevented us from seeing more than 10-20 meters ahead. When we climbed the overlooks, we could see only what was right below us. The photographic sites were, for us, just a collection of mist off the edge of a mountain. From what I’ve heard and seen in photos, the views are supposed to be spectacular. But I imagined they had misty days centuries ago as well. And I could try to visualize what it would have been like to live there and see a scantily dressed warrior with a bow and arrow emerge along the misty jungle path.

Though conditions were less than ideal, it was still interesting to see. It was unique compared to other ruins I’ve seen in that the highlight was a giant, 200 by 60 meter sandstone rock, carved with jaguars, serpents, ceremonial circles and tombs.

I had my lunch in the Latina Café, a nicely decorated place with large windows looking out over the hills. I ordered the pollo milanesa and was surprised to see it was as big as a pizza, taking up the entire plate. They brought the sides in a separate dish.

I’m taken with the prevalence of natural and organic food here, so I stopped at the local market to see how much the local products reflected the finished goods sold so enthusiastically to tourists and to restaurants and grocery stores in Santa Cruz. The first thing that caught my attention were the green and brown eggs from sale, from criollo chickens. There was a full and colorful selection of fresh vegetables overflowing wicker baskets – lettuce, spinach, carrots, peppers, radishes, and herbs.

Erica told me that now should be high tourist season, due to the European summer vacation. But they have less visitors than they’d expect. “Bolivia has a lot of problems,” she said. What amazes me though is how many Europeans cross the world and the ocean to get here, yet so few Americans know about it or make the trip. Samaipata is a wonderful little retreat – a great place to relax and enjoy nature, or to explore the surrounding ruins, national parks, or a giant, ancient fern forest that I unfortunately haven’t been able to get to. I’d love to come back here for an extended time.

The cold prevented me from using my hammock or spending any unnecessary time outdoors. Even so, every time I went out, I breathed in the spicy, sweet scent of herbs, flowers and tropical trees. I purchased herbal teas, an herbal mix for pizza and a rhubarb compote. But I wish I could somehow bottle the scent of the air and take some home with me.

Return to Samaipata

I’m extremely content right now. I have my own little house with a gate (called La Casita) and I’m currently sitting in a hammock, with my laptop on my thighs. I look out at vines, flowers and tropical trees. I smell herbs and flowers. I hear thunder, the rustling wind, and someone whistling to a dog.

It was so hot in Santa Cruz this morning it was almost uncomfortable. I took a shared taxi, that took an hour to fill up and cost just over $3 per passenger. I was happy to have a good driver and a comfortable ride. On the way, we passed a dance troupe and band, similar to those that performed in Cochabamba, walking down the side of the road. The dancers wore heavy red and gold costumes, with bells built into the men’s shoulders. Despite the heat and the sweat, they smiled, wiggled and blew into their heavy brass instruments.

We traveled along the old road to Cochabamba, driving under sheer rock faces, occasionally looking up for pending avalanches. As we followed the edge of a cliff over a river and winded around the mountain turns, we drove through a dense conglomeration of greenery, flowers, rocks and birds. I felt dwarfed by the nature, impressed by our insignificance.

Samaipata was quiet, but still looked the same as before – the dirt streets calm, the central, cobblestoned streets lit up by the stones, sculptures and greenery of the central square. Carefully built homes stood next to small, mud structures. Cacti grew around both types of residences, a natural art form. I noticed the signs throughout town – fresh bread, ice cream, homemade cheeses. This is a really unique town in that people seem to compete with each other to produce the most natural, healthy and organic foods. It’s a culinary paradise, set amidst a cool, flowering tropical mountain setting.

I began my culinary experience at Landhaus, a German owned hotel and restaurant. I enjoyed a meal fit for a king – pork medallions in a mushroom sauce, potato croquettes, green beans with grated cheese, vegetables, salad and homebaked rolls. This was accompanied by two bottles of mineral water and a slice of apple strudel with vanilla ice cream and sweetened cream sprinkled with cinnamon. Given the quality of the ingredients it was made with, it could easily have cost over $30 in the U.S. Here it was a mere $8. Even better, while eating, I got to watch the wind ripple the tropical trees and see a tortoise stroll by.

In the afternoon I came to my hotel, La Vispera, the place I stayed before. The hotel has a fully functioning organic farm and café, specializing in herbs and teas. I have a cabana, or a little house to myself. It has a hammock out front, where I can lie amidst the scent of fresh herbs and watch hummingbirds feed from nearby flowers.

I had pumpkin soup, cubes of gouda cheese, whole wheat rolls, and fruit tea delivered to my cabin for dinner. I could heat it up in my own little kitchen. Darkness fell at 6:15 and I moved inside, to my cozy little abode. I was struck by the silence, and by the feeling that my one-room space (that encompassed a double bed, a table and chairs, and a kitchen) was all I needed. I dreamed of returning here for an extended time with my family. Until then, I enjoyed the peace and the deliciously sweet air that surrounded me.

Upcoming General Strike

I read in the paper today that the regional assembly declared a 24-hour general strike for this coming Tuesday. From what I could understand, it’s in support of Sucre. Several regions will be joining in, paralyzing the majority of the country.

I called Maria to ask what that means. “There will be no transportation,” she said. “Neither government agencies, nor private companies will be working.”

“So we have the day off?”

“Yes.”

It doesn’t do much good to have the day off when there is no transportation and you can’t go anywhere. I’m going to have to cancel the appointment I had for an ultrasound on Tuesday afternoon. That’s disappointing since I was looking forward to getting a good view of the baby for the first time. I hope it will be possible to reschedule before leaving. The same service of a 3D or 4D ultrasound that costs $25 here costs $400 in the U.S.

I asked one of my roommates why she thought the strike was being called.

“Every region wants to be independent, to manage its own resources,” she said.

“So Bolivia could become a bunch of miniature countries?”

“Yes.”

I asked if there would truly be no transportation available during the strike. I
imagined some of the drivers must need the money.

“They make an agreement that anyone who is out driving will get attacked, will have their tires burned. So everyone stays home.” Guess I have no choice.

Tomorrow morning I’ll be leaving for Samaipata, the mountain resort a few hours from Santa Cruz, where I’ll spend my last Bolivian weekend.

Weekend in Samaipata

Yesterday, together with several colleagues, I made my first weekend excursion out of Santa Cruz. We came to the town I'd heard most about, Samaipata. It's a mountain hideaway, snuggled amidst tropical green hills, with a cool, fresh air and an enveloping scent of flowers, ferns, pines and herbs. It's also very quiet. One feels the night when the blackness falls here, which led me to bed early. And thus, I appreciated the morning, the fresh greenness, the sound of the birds and the crickets, even more.

I shared a station wagon with three other passengers, 2 male and one female. As we began to drive out of town, it felt good to be heading somewhere new. And it was nice to be with people other than my colleagues, to hear about some different topics and opinions.

The passengers were an interesting enough bunch. The man in front was from La Paz. He is in town to check the radiation levels emitted from cell phone towers, to make sure they aren't harmful to human health.

"In reality, they never reach even half the level of the limits set by the FCC," he said. "The bigger problem is holding the phone up to your head. They should ban that."

The other two passengers got into an impassioned discussion about societal problems.

"The most important thing is liberty," said the man.

"Yes," agreed the woman. "Democracy. We should help the poor with education and health. Because a person with a bit of education can defend himself. Instead of spending money on stupid things, like sheets and paintings, we should spend money on schools, hospitals and churches. The churches helpas well, because a person without values, who isn't afraid of anything, isn't good for society."

"That's the most serious," said the man. "We live in Santa Cruz, where we live well, and we forget that the rest of the country lives in a different world."

"But Santa Cruz as well used to be without water and light," argued back the woman. "But who brought those things. The village did it itself." She complained about how the local rich take their money and spend it in Europe and the States. She thinks it should stay here, to help the local economy. "What do Europeans do?" she asked. "They collect taxes and invest it in their country. We also have brains, but we have bad customs and habits. We need to do this ourselves. Everyone who has the ability has the obligation to teach, educate, help."

Shortly after she left the taxi, the man threw a plastic bag with the remnants of his snack onto the mountain ride, a nice example of a bad habit.

The drive was beautiful. Leaving Santa Cruz, we saw women selling stalks of sugar cane, and little baggies of peeled, individual-sized pieces. Fifteen minutes outside of the city, it already felt open, more free, greener. Donkeys pulled carts on the side of the road, a man rode an umbrelled bicycle with a canister in front filled with a local drink for sale, and white geese waded along the mudded, wet brown roads. As we traveled further, I had vast, wild views of tropical green trees. As the road became smaller, the trees came closer and we entered a countryside of green field, green trees, and green misty mountains. Small village cemetaries were marked by a tall, colorful oval of flowers atop each white tomb.

We made our way into the mountains and I suddenly felt myself back in Kyrgyzstan - the windy roads following rivers below, the sheer rock faces emerging from mountains, and portions of road that just disappeared into the canyon below. We were stopped by an avalanche, which caused us to pause for close to two hours while they cleared the roads.

"I don't know what we are waiting for," the radio tower guy said. "The rocks will continue falling. It's like a lottery."

We saw several falls during our wait. During the first one, a rather large boulder rolled down the hill and across the road. It could have done quite a bit of damage to whatever might have been in its path. Most the others were small rocks. But no one knew when another large fall could come. We watched two motorcycles risk it. They got across OK, but several rocks fell behind them. The rest waited until the crane cleared the way. Then a parade of vehicles came through, one by one. Giant trucks and buses wavering on the rough road, then picking up speed and gunning across as fast as they could.

"I've been to Samaipata 11 times and this is the first time I've come across an avalanche," my colleague Maria said. It made it all the more an adventure.

The rest of the journey was along a windy road, through thick greenery and a gorgeous landscape of red soil, rolling mountains, and cliffside white homes with red tiled roofs, fronds, flowers, cacti and trees. We crossed a bridge over a sheer rock waterfall, and within a couple of kilometers, were in the small town of Samaipata. The central square is the prettiest I've seen, dense with flowers, greenery, stone arches and sculpture. It has a speaker's corner, modeled after London's Hyde Park. When one stands on the circular platform and speaks, you can hear your voice amplified. The central streets are made of cobblestone, making it sound like we were driving over a washboard.

We stayed at an organic farm called La Vispera. It has a spectacular setting on a hillside, the air rich with the heady scent of lavender and tropical flowers. I had a gorgeous little cabana called the Sweet. I could look out at pink bouganvillea, at cacti, rhubarb, herbs, and all kinds of tropical flowers - blue, yellow, red, white - that I didn't recognize. They also serve organic, vegetarian food at their cafe. Only problem was the service. They say their food is slow. But when my pancakes didn't appear after an hour and 45 minutes, I had to leave. I'd forgotten my camera in the taxi and had to go try to find it before the driver returned to Santa Cruz (luckily, I got it back). They said they'd leave the pancakes for me and I could have them for dinner. When I returned at dinner, no one knew where the pancakes were. The kitchen had already closed, at six. I asked if I could have something simple and cold, like bread and cheese, because I had nothing to eat. Nope, the kitchen closes at six. So I was unhappy to spend much of the afternoon and evening hungry.

This town has a serious fixation on the healthy. The sugar is brown, the tea is herbal, the bread is wheat, and meat can be hard to find. When I sought out lunch in town, I went to a place that I heard had good hamburgers.

"Would you like a vegetarian or meat burger?" the waitress asked me.

"Meat."

The hamburger came accompanied by lettuce, grated carrots and grated beets. I was so hungry I didn't notice at first, but it soon became apparent that my burger was greenish and the texture soft. It looked like I'd gotten vegetarian - like it or not. There is lots of great, homemade stuff for sale here - from herbs and herbal teas to cheeses, sliced ham, chutnies, james and marmelades.

While some of my colleagues went to visit some nearby ruins, I stayed on the farm to participate in an outdoor yoga class, to walked up to the golden throne (a thrown made of rock under a flowered arch up high on the hillside), and to listen to the crickets and watch the butterflies, sip lemon-orange herbal tea, and enjoy the tranquility.