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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.
Showing posts with label church. Show all posts
Showing posts with label church. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Saturday, August 04, 2007
San Ignacio de Velasco
Last night I took an all-night bus on the 11 hour journey to San Ignacio de Velasco, the northernmost town of the Jesuit Misión Circuit. I went alone, and with no hotel reservations. I felt a bit nervous about taking off on my own, especially since I heard that much of the road was unpaved and who knew what I’d find when I arrived. However, all went well. Though I’d prefer to have some company, I’m enjoying my adventure so far.
The bus, a two-story Jenecheru bus-cama, was extremely comfortable, like a business-class of buses. The seats are wide, recline so far back one is almost horizontal, and have a leg rest. There is even enough room to curl up. The most prepared came with blankets, which probably made for a cozy ride. But even without, it was possible to get a decent amount of sleep. I rode next to a Brazilian woman with a three-month-old baby.
Though the majority of the ride was in the dark, by moonlight I could see the desolation. After we passed San Javier, it was almost nothing but vast empty plains, the word pampas comes to mind – covered by a variety of grasses and brushes, small, bare, spindly trees, and occasionally, swamps. Every so often, a thatched hut would come into view. But that was it.
I could feel the bump when we descended from the pavement onto the dirt road. But it wasn’t uncomfortably bumpy. And our driver seemed to be especially careful, which I appreciated.
When light appeared, around 6 a.m., I could see the same things. Only at this time, I also saw the bright red dust of the road, the red light that rose behind the plains and then turned into blue sky, and the fine patterns of the bare branches.
San Ignacio seemed to appear out of nowhere. All of a sudden we stopped, and people began to disembark. We were in the middle of a dusty, red dirt road, a chilly wind blowing, despite the sunny sky.
I found it easier to arrive at 7 a.m., then at 1 a.m., such as I arrived in San Javier. I rolled my suitcase the several blocks to the plaza, then looked at two hotels. I chose the Hotel San Ignacio. It’s a very comfortable place in a historic building, remodeled just a year and a half ago. I have a high wooden ceiling, a tile floor, large wood-paneled windows, wooden furniture that probably comes from some of the same talented artists that carve the pillars in front of buildings here, a TV, phone and refrigerator.
After taking a nap, I strolled around town. The central few blocks are paved, but the rest of the roads are loose, ochre dust. It’s one of the largest towns in Chiquitania, with a population of about 35,000. But it still retains a small-town feel. I walked just a few blocks away from the plaza, to a man-made lagoon, and found myself alone in nature, with good opportunities for birdwatching.
Carved wooden crosses have been placed in several intersections. The central plaza is a large, spacious square, dense with greenery and decorated with statues and benches. The buildings are mostly one and two story, supported by carved wooden columns and topped with roofs of curved red tile. Motorcycles flit around town, their low roars a constant background noise, and bicycles are common.
I found a Brazilian restaurant where I enjoyed a surprisingly healthy lunch buffet of beans, rice and salad. The owner, who is from Brazil, said there aren’t so many Brazilians now, but more are coming to the area. Many, like him, are coming because it’s much easier to start a business in Bolivia. In Brazil, he said, there are a lot of requirements and taxes that serve as barriers. Others, he said, come to escape something they’ve done in Brazil. I’m not so sure the second group is very good for Bolivia, but I don’t know how they are enforcing migration rules.
I strolled through the market area, where I saw homemade dairy products, cell phones, pirated DVDs, cheap shoes, and rich-smelling leather products from Brazil for sale. I stopped in the church, the largest of the Jesuit mission churches, and caught part of a confirmation-preparation class for local youth. The church is the largest of the Jesuit Mission churches. If I hadn’t seen San Javier first, I would have been more impressed. The church is beautiful, wide, open-aired, and full of carvings. But the altar seemed a bit gaudy in its bright goldness. And unlike the other mission churches, which have been restored, this one was created anew. The original, built in 1748, was destroyed 200 years later, then rebuilt from scratch. Perhaps for that reason it seems to lack a bit of the historical sense I felt in San Javier.
In the evening, I attended a concert in the church. Both the local San Ignacio choir and orchestra and the Cochabamba symphony orchestra performed. I had the chance to speak with the impressive woman who directs the local musical group, as well as to talk to a 16-year-old violinist. They performed as part of Seasonal Concerts of Chiquitos Missional Music, a series to help draw tourists to the region. The church was about half-full of attendees for the free concert. The music was beautiful, and it’s amazing to hear it in such an atmosphere. But it didn’t captivate me quite as much as the practice session I happened to come across accidentally in San Javier, where the sounds of Baroque music flowed out of a side-building window, and I sat on the grass, a secret absorber of the sweet sounds.
The people here are uniformly friendly and helpful. I always feel much better upon exiting Santa Cruz. Santa Cruz feels too much like a fight to me, one always has to be on guard. Thugs are unable to hide for long in a small, isolated community such as this. Here I can stroll at leisure and comfortably, I can approach anyone and speak to them, I feel free to explore and to be myself.
The bus, a two-story Jenecheru bus-cama, was extremely comfortable, like a business-class of buses. The seats are wide, recline so far back one is almost horizontal, and have a leg rest. There is even enough room to curl up. The most prepared came with blankets, which probably made for a cozy ride. But even without, it was possible to get a decent amount of sleep. I rode next to a Brazilian woman with a three-month-old baby.
Though the majority of the ride was in the dark, by moonlight I could see the desolation. After we passed San Javier, it was almost nothing but vast empty plains, the word pampas comes to mind – covered by a variety of grasses and brushes, small, bare, spindly trees, and occasionally, swamps. Every so often, a thatched hut would come into view. But that was it.
I could feel the bump when we descended from the pavement onto the dirt road. But it wasn’t uncomfortably bumpy. And our driver seemed to be especially careful, which I appreciated.
When light appeared, around 6 a.m., I could see the same things. Only at this time, I also saw the bright red dust of the road, the red light that rose behind the plains and then turned into blue sky, and the fine patterns of the bare branches.
San Ignacio seemed to appear out of nowhere. All of a sudden we stopped, and people began to disembark. We were in the middle of a dusty, red dirt road, a chilly wind blowing, despite the sunny sky.
I found it easier to arrive at 7 a.m., then at 1 a.m., such as I arrived in San Javier. I rolled my suitcase the several blocks to the plaza, then looked at two hotels. I chose the Hotel San Ignacio. It’s a very comfortable place in a historic building, remodeled just a year and a half ago. I have a high wooden ceiling, a tile floor, large wood-paneled windows, wooden furniture that probably comes from some of the same talented artists that carve the pillars in front of buildings here, a TV, phone and refrigerator.
After taking a nap, I strolled around town. The central few blocks are paved, but the rest of the roads are loose, ochre dust. It’s one of the largest towns in Chiquitania, with a population of about 35,000. But it still retains a small-town feel. I walked just a few blocks away from the plaza, to a man-made lagoon, and found myself alone in nature, with good opportunities for birdwatching.
Carved wooden crosses have been placed in several intersections. The central plaza is a large, spacious square, dense with greenery and decorated with statues and benches. The buildings are mostly one and two story, supported by carved wooden columns and topped with roofs of curved red tile. Motorcycles flit around town, their low roars a constant background noise, and bicycles are common.
I found a Brazilian restaurant where I enjoyed a surprisingly healthy lunch buffet of beans, rice and salad. The owner, who is from Brazil, said there aren’t so many Brazilians now, but more are coming to the area. Many, like him, are coming because it’s much easier to start a business in Bolivia. In Brazil, he said, there are a lot of requirements and taxes that serve as barriers. Others, he said, come to escape something they’ve done in Brazil. I’m not so sure the second group is very good for Bolivia, but I don’t know how they are enforcing migration rules.
I strolled through the market area, where I saw homemade dairy products, cell phones, pirated DVDs, cheap shoes, and rich-smelling leather products from Brazil for sale. I stopped in the church, the largest of the Jesuit mission churches, and caught part of a confirmation-preparation class for local youth. The church is the largest of the Jesuit Mission churches. If I hadn’t seen San Javier first, I would have been more impressed. The church is beautiful, wide, open-aired, and full of carvings. But the altar seemed a bit gaudy in its bright goldness. And unlike the other mission churches, which have been restored, this one was created anew. The original, built in 1748, was destroyed 200 years later, then rebuilt from scratch. Perhaps for that reason it seems to lack a bit of the historical sense I felt in San Javier.
In the evening, I attended a concert in the church. Both the local San Ignacio choir and orchestra and the Cochabamba symphony orchestra performed. I had the chance to speak with the impressive woman who directs the local musical group, as well as to talk to a 16-year-old violinist. They performed as part of Seasonal Concerts of Chiquitos Missional Music, a series to help draw tourists to the region. The church was about half-full of attendees for the free concert. The music was beautiful, and it’s amazing to hear it in such an atmosphere. But it didn’t captivate me quite as much as the practice session I happened to come across accidentally in San Javier, where the sounds of Baroque music flowed out of a side-building window, and I sat on the grass, a secret absorber of the sweet sounds.
The people here are uniformly friendly and helpful. I always feel much better upon exiting Santa Cruz. Santa Cruz feels too much like a fight to me, one always has to be on guard. Thugs are unable to hide for long in a small, isolated community such as this. Here I can stroll at leisure and comfortably, I can approach anyone and speak to them, I feel free to explore and to be myself.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
San Javier
This weekend I made my second excursion from Santa Cruz. Granted, not much for two months in Bolivia, but I'm getting there. I so enjoyed my time in Samaipata, experiencing the peaceful calm of small town life, and the invigorating freshness of mountain air, that I set a goal to travel at least twice a month.
San Javier is a town within the Mission Circuit, a series of towns and villages with beautiful and historic Jesuit churches that were named UNESCO World Heritage Sites. If I had more time, I'd take a week or so and make a loop of the towns. That would be the easiest way of doing it. But since I don't have that much time, I figured I'd spend a weekend in one town, and later, a weekend or two in others.
I chose to go to San Javier first because it's the closest to Santa Cruz, about 4 hours away. I left on a bed-bus (with reclining seats and leg rests) at 8 p.m. and arrived by midnight, giving me the whole weekend here.
I was the only passenger on the bus that got off here. And I have to admit that disembarking in an unknown place at midnight did make me nervous. Especially when I found out that no one from the hotel had come to meet me, as promised. I had no choice but to walk through the town in the still of the night to try to find my hotel. Except for on the main road, where shops sold local cheeses, baked goods and drinks to passengers and truck drivers, there wasn't a soul on the street. I reached the plaza and found it empty, dark, and forbidding. I saw the names of other hotels, but everything looked boarded up for the night, with thick wooden doors.
I couldn't find the hotel on my first try, so I went back to the main road to ask for directions, then tried again. I was very thankful when I arrived, was let in, and received my very own room and bed. I felt much more relaxed and safe.
My hotel, the Gran Hotel Reposo Del Guerrero, is simple but nice. Rooms are arranged around an attractive patio, filled with chairs, hammocks, trees, plants and wildflowers. I have my own bathroom, A/C, and more importantly in the current cold weather, nice blankets - all for $10 a night. Unfortunately for such a nice place, I think I'm the only guest here.
Most people visit the churches on a tour. And therefore, many tourists just pass by - take a look at the church and move on. I knew there might not be a whole lot to fill a weekend, but I brought books and a mini-computer and looked forward to some down time. However, I ended up finding plenty of interesting things today.
I started my day visiting the local San Javier cheese factory. I was hoping to watch the process. They wouldn't let me inside, but they did sell me fresh cheese and yogurt, produced from the milk of four local dairies.
It felt nice to walk through town - to watch the families zoom past on motorcycles, up to three people aboard, to see the beautiful thatched roofs, that fit as neatly as a hat, to see the green, tree-dotted plains and the blue hills rising up in the distance. A friendliness and a slowness moved through the air, and I immediately felt the difference. I could walk here without looking over my shoulder, I could pause to watch the toddler in the cowboy hat run across the field, or the woman giving a man in a haircut in a single-chair beauty shop.
I went to the church, not really expecting much but an excuse to spend a weekend here, to say that I saw something. I've done all the great churches of Europe and considered myself churched-out. So this church must really be remarkable, because I was impressed and awestruck.
Approaching it from the square, I thought the carved pillars of faded wood, the pitched wooden roof, the heavy brown doors, and the the ivory carvings and brown fretwork were beautiful. Like the other buildings on the center square, surrounding the ample green park, the church took up an entire block. A covered walkway ran along the face of it, making it look like a long cow shed, but a much fancier one than the building opposite or diagonal it. A wooden belltower rose up from the interior grounds, with four bells visible from the center square. So far it was nice, but nothing amazing.
It was when I walked into the attached museum, which led into the church and its property, that I realized this was something special. The carved wooden museum pieces - the sacrificial cross, the old bells, the statues, were filled with an aura of age and beauty. They had been so much more lovingly than the gilded materials in many church. It was real artistic creation and it showed.
In the grounds, I walked under wooden porticos with carved wooden columns on one side, beautiful carvings and paintings along the church exterior on the other. The chapel was a wonder unto itself. Five carved scenes, framed in gold, surrounded a golden carved Jesus. The long and wide nave was a maze of carved and painted wooden boards and columns. No board, no surface, were spared the artist's hand, not even the upper boards of the roof. Everything was carved and painting. Except for the gold frames, nothing shone or glittered. The beauty was more gentle, natural, loving.
Carved cherubs with wings smiled down from the walls, over full-body carvings of saints. Two young boys went through the pews with rags, racing each other to clean the fastest, driving along the pews as though in an Indy-500 race.
Besides the beauty of the churches, another aspect that has made the mission circuit famous is the baroque music the Jesuits taught to the locals and carried on by youth musical groups. It's a little seen phenomenon when young village natives become masterful violinists or operatic singers. From what I'd heard, the quality is very good and these groups travel widely.
The mission circuit holds a two-week music festival in the summer (that would be six months from now) and they put on concerts over three weekends in the winter. I was disappointed to hear that I'd just missed one of those concert weekends. The next would be in early July and I hoped I could return.
As I exited the other side of the church and strolled the grounds, I suddenly heard a sharp, beautiful melody. Was someone playing a tape of this music? I approached the sound - the choralic ah, hah, hahs, the operatic arias, the smooth orchestral notes. I glanced into a dusty screened window and saw it was live, a group was practicing. I felt so lucky to come across this, I sat on the grass until the practice was over, enjoying the beautiful melodies.
They disbanded with members still calling out operatic notes, with violinists walking around while still practicing chords. As I'd heard, they were young, about high school age, average looking boys and girls, with jackets and backpacks. Yet they spent their Saturday mornings practicing in a dark church room and had the ability to produce a breathtaking sound.
I stopped by the Buen Ganadero for lunch, a recommended local restaurant. For less than four dollars, I had fresh squeezed peach juice, a giant, tender cut of beef, two fried eggs, french fries, salad and rice. It was enough to last me for the entire day.
During my afternoon stroll, I found the soccer field, where motorcycles were abandoned in a group, their owners in the stalls watching the game. I found a small tourist office, where there was a museum about the Yarituses. This religious group existed before the Jesuits. They dress in masks and costumes and dance in honor of Piyo. When the Jesuits arrived, they allowed them to continue dancing, as long as they danced in honor of San Pedro and Pablo.
The woman told me that every June 29th and 30th, they dance from the church to the Apostle's Rock, a large rock a few blocks away that she suggested I visit. So I walked toward it in the afternoon, and what did I happen to see, but a group of Yarituses, in costume, dancing in a circle in front of the rock and in front of a giant, iron cow.
I happened across the opening ceremony for a new art gallery that is located within a rock, a small, subterranean, artsy place that is meant to expand San Javier's cultural offerings. The area is actually more of a rock forest than one single, imposing rock, and I walked along a path surrounded by giant boulders and trees.
As usual, darkness fell by 6:30 and I was back in my room by then. I heard the church bells chime at 7, a light, melodic sound that carried across the village. But I decided to wait until the next morning to see part of a mass. I like the quiet and the isolation that falls in small towns at darkness, giving me nothing to do but read, write and sleep. It's very calming and relaxing.
San Javier is a town within the Mission Circuit, a series of towns and villages with beautiful and historic Jesuit churches that were named UNESCO World Heritage Sites. If I had more time, I'd take a week or so and make a loop of the towns. That would be the easiest way of doing it. But since I don't have that much time, I figured I'd spend a weekend in one town, and later, a weekend or two in others.
I chose to go to San Javier first because it's the closest to Santa Cruz, about 4 hours away. I left on a bed-bus (with reclining seats and leg rests) at 8 p.m. and arrived by midnight, giving me the whole weekend here.
I was the only passenger on the bus that got off here. And I have to admit that disembarking in an unknown place at midnight did make me nervous. Especially when I found out that no one from the hotel had come to meet me, as promised. I had no choice but to walk through the town in the still of the night to try to find my hotel. Except for on the main road, where shops sold local cheeses, baked goods and drinks to passengers and truck drivers, there wasn't a soul on the street. I reached the plaza and found it empty, dark, and forbidding. I saw the names of other hotels, but everything looked boarded up for the night, with thick wooden doors.
I couldn't find the hotel on my first try, so I went back to the main road to ask for directions, then tried again. I was very thankful when I arrived, was let in, and received my very own room and bed. I felt much more relaxed and safe.
My hotel, the Gran Hotel Reposo Del Guerrero, is simple but nice. Rooms are arranged around an attractive patio, filled with chairs, hammocks, trees, plants and wildflowers. I have my own bathroom, A/C, and more importantly in the current cold weather, nice blankets - all for $10 a night. Unfortunately for such a nice place, I think I'm the only guest here.
Most people visit the churches on a tour. And therefore, many tourists just pass by - take a look at the church and move on. I knew there might not be a whole lot to fill a weekend, but I brought books and a mini-computer and looked forward to some down time. However, I ended up finding plenty of interesting things today.
I started my day visiting the local San Javier cheese factory. I was hoping to watch the process. They wouldn't let me inside, but they did sell me fresh cheese and yogurt, produced from the milk of four local dairies.
It felt nice to walk through town - to watch the families zoom past on motorcycles, up to three people aboard, to see the beautiful thatched roofs, that fit as neatly as a hat, to see the green, tree-dotted plains and the blue hills rising up in the distance. A friendliness and a slowness moved through the air, and I immediately felt the difference. I could walk here without looking over my shoulder, I could pause to watch the toddler in the cowboy hat run across the field, or the woman giving a man in a haircut in a single-chair beauty shop.
I went to the church, not really expecting much but an excuse to spend a weekend here, to say that I saw something. I've done all the great churches of Europe and considered myself churched-out. So this church must really be remarkable, because I was impressed and awestruck.
Approaching it from the square, I thought the carved pillars of faded wood, the pitched wooden roof, the heavy brown doors, and the the ivory carvings and brown fretwork were beautiful. Like the other buildings on the center square, surrounding the ample green park, the church took up an entire block. A covered walkway ran along the face of it, making it look like a long cow shed, but a much fancier one than the building opposite or diagonal it. A wooden belltower rose up from the interior grounds, with four bells visible from the center square. So far it was nice, but nothing amazing.
It was when I walked into the attached museum, which led into the church and its property, that I realized this was something special. The carved wooden museum pieces - the sacrificial cross, the old bells, the statues, were filled with an aura of age and beauty. They had been so much more lovingly than the gilded materials in many church. It was real artistic creation and it showed.
In the grounds, I walked under wooden porticos with carved wooden columns on one side, beautiful carvings and paintings along the church exterior on the other. The chapel was a wonder unto itself. Five carved scenes, framed in gold, surrounded a golden carved Jesus. The long and wide nave was a maze of carved and painted wooden boards and columns. No board, no surface, were spared the artist's hand, not even the upper boards of the roof. Everything was carved and painting. Except for the gold frames, nothing shone or glittered. The beauty was more gentle, natural, loving.
Carved cherubs with wings smiled down from the walls, over full-body carvings of saints. Two young boys went through the pews with rags, racing each other to clean the fastest, driving along the pews as though in an Indy-500 race.
Besides the beauty of the churches, another aspect that has made the mission circuit famous is the baroque music the Jesuits taught to the locals and carried on by youth musical groups. It's a little seen phenomenon when young village natives become masterful violinists or operatic singers. From what I'd heard, the quality is very good and these groups travel widely.
The mission circuit holds a two-week music festival in the summer (that would be six months from now) and they put on concerts over three weekends in the winter. I was disappointed to hear that I'd just missed one of those concert weekends. The next would be in early July and I hoped I could return.
As I exited the other side of the church and strolled the grounds, I suddenly heard a sharp, beautiful melody. Was someone playing a tape of this music? I approached the sound - the choralic ah, hah, hahs, the operatic arias, the smooth orchestral notes. I glanced into a dusty screened window and saw it was live, a group was practicing. I felt so lucky to come across this, I sat on the grass until the practice was over, enjoying the beautiful melodies.
They disbanded with members still calling out operatic notes, with violinists walking around while still practicing chords. As I'd heard, they were young, about high school age, average looking boys and girls, with jackets and backpacks. Yet they spent their Saturday mornings practicing in a dark church room and had the ability to produce a breathtaking sound.
I stopped by the Buen Ganadero for lunch, a recommended local restaurant. For less than four dollars, I had fresh squeezed peach juice, a giant, tender cut of beef, two fried eggs, french fries, salad and rice. It was enough to last me for the entire day.
During my afternoon stroll, I found the soccer field, where motorcycles were abandoned in a group, their owners in the stalls watching the game. I found a small tourist office, where there was a museum about the Yarituses. This religious group existed before the Jesuits. They dress in masks and costumes and dance in honor of Piyo. When the Jesuits arrived, they allowed them to continue dancing, as long as they danced in honor of San Pedro and Pablo.
The woman told me that every June 29th and 30th, they dance from the church to the Apostle's Rock, a large rock a few blocks away that she suggested I visit. So I walked toward it in the afternoon, and what did I happen to see, but a group of Yarituses, in costume, dancing in a circle in front of the rock and in front of a giant, iron cow.
I happened across the opening ceremony for a new art gallery that is located within a rock, a small, subterranean, artsy place that is meant to expand San Javier's cultural offerings. The area is actually more of a rock forest than one single, imposing rock, and I walked along a path surrounded by giant boulders and trees.
As usual, darkness fell by 6:30 and I was back in my room by then. I heard the church bells chime at 7, a light, melodic sound that carried across the village. But I decided to wait until the next morning to see part of a mass. I like the quiet and the isolation that falls in small towns at darkness, giving me nothing to do but read, write and sleep. It's very calming and relaxing.
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