Crazy to sell coca

Those coca leaf vendors I saw yesterday ended up causing quite a havoc. On the front page of today’s El Deber newspaper is a photo of a wildfire set by the protestors. They tried to take over the offices of Digeco, The Coca Leaf Control Office, but were repelled by police tear gas. When they didn’t get the response they wanted from government leaders, they blocked the road leading to the airport at the peak time for traffic headed to the airport. Again, they were tear gassed. Two of them set fire to the dry, scrubby area leading to the airport. When the firefighters arrived, the protestors threw rocks at them and hit them.

The coca leaf vendors are upset about rules that will put them under the control of the Digeco office if they sell more than 500 pounds of coca leaves a month. The protestors say that 12,000 families in Santa Cruz live off the sale of coca leaf and that the majority of that distributed by the producers goes to illegal purposes. They claim that women, children and the elderly weren’t respected in the repression of their protests. It seems to me like the aggressive men amongst them used the women, children and elderly as shields.



This evening I very nearly escaped a freak accident. I was in my room, preparing my suitcase for a trip to Cochabamba tomorrow. At one point, I decided to take a rest. I sat on my bed and was listening to a broadcast from This American Life.

Suddenly, the light in my room intensified and I heard a loud crash. The glass covering over the light bulb on my ceiling had suddenly dislodged and fallen to the floor, breaking into many shards. It landed right by my suitcase. Had I still been packing, the hot projectile could well have landed right on my head.

There was no movement or anything to provoke the sudden fall. Maybe they didn’t screw it on properly. Or my apartment mate thought it overheated. As I picked up the shards, it felt like a low quality product to me. I suggested maybe it was just poor quality.

“That’s possible,” Renata said. “They are always looking for the cheapest things without realizing that by doing so, they can be creating a serious danger.”

a gathering of the people

This afternoon I was sitting in a coffee shop when I suddenly saw blocks and blocks of average-looking people, probably indigenous, walking down the Avanza, a main street heading north toward the airport. I didn’t know what they were marching for. I couldn’t see any signs clearly, and I’ve learned better than to approach for pictures. They appeared pretty normal and peaceful, but every so often they let off loud, smoky firecrackers, which scare me, because I can’t tell if they are gunshots or an explosion. Many walked with umbrellas, others had shawls. Some held the hands of small children.

Amidst the bangs and the booms, the other people continued on with their lives. The car attendants guided cars into parking spots and provided quality washes while the patron was away, in return for a better tip. Upperclass patrons drank coffee and fruit shakes at The Alexander Café, many taking advantage of the free wireless with their notebook computers. The traffic was blocked on the protestor’s side of the road, but continued going the other way.

I was impressed that the protestors could attract so many people, but I didn’t think they did a very good job at carrying signs, or otherwise making it clear what they were marching for. It’s almost as though they just want to take a group walk through town, making a little noise along the way.

Within several minutes, traffic had resumed and except for the distant bangs, it was almost as though they’d never passed.


Later, when I took a taxi down the Avanza, we could see them up ahead. They had walked several kilometers and were blocking the road, a little further on from where I was headed. The taxi driver told me the are entrepreneurs who work as distributors of coca leaves – the raw plant that cocaine is derived from, but is a common thing to chew on here. I thought it was part of an anti-drug effort. But the driver said no, just that the coca farmers will now sell their products directly instead of through these people. These people aren’t going to be able to renew their licenses. I don’t understand the details, but they were clearly unhappy about this.



Yesterday a large military parade took place in Santa Cruz. There was a lot of contention surrounding the parade, because the President Evo Morales came to town for it, and because he combined it with a march of indigenous people. The government paid to bus in indigenous people just to participate in the march.

Some in Santa Cruz were going to declare a day of civil disobedience in protest. But in the end they decided not to and everything went fine. People were wary none the less though. Luis and his family didn’t travel over the holiday weekend, for fear of a road blockage. A taxi driver told me that the cambas (the locals from the east) are afraid of the President, and the President is afraid of them.

I didn’t understand the relation between the indigenous people and the military parade. In the evening, I had a long and illuminating talk with my roommate Renata, a 30-year-old professional from La Paz. She is one of the only people I know here who seem to support some of the President’s policies. She makes a special effort to buy only Bolivian manufactured clothing, to support the local industry and she told me Evo won the election in Santa Cruz as well, regardless of how people talk about him.

She said that the indigenous people were subject to severe racism over a long period of time, that in the past they weren’t even allowed to attend a military school. So that is why he asked the indigenous people to march as well, to celebrate their progress.

As our conversation continued, Renata lost her supportive posture and began to criticize the government more. She told me that Evo brought into power those like him, who are uneducated, indigenous, and full of resentment of how they’ve been treated in the past. But instead of trying to give opportunities to those who faced discrimination in the past, they want to punish the others.

Renata said that in La Paz, the government officials frequently criticize those who live in the Sur, which I gather is an upper-class area.

“They act like it’s all privileged people and foreigners, but I live in the Sur. They don’t recognize that it possible for a middle-class family to live there, to want to live there in order to give their children better opportunities,” she said.

She told me that the emphasis on clothing has reached such an extreme that people are judged based on their dress rather than their skin color. “Because we all come from mixed blood, it’s hard to tell who is really indigenous and who’s not. You can’t look at one person and say they are more Bolivian than another, because we are all mixed. So they look at dress. They hate suits and ties, because they see them as symbols of capitalism. And if a group of peasants is marching in town, they can cut off the tie of someone passing by. They can get quite unruly when together as a group.”

She said she’s disappointed that Evo did as all the others did and brought his own people into office. “These are people who are uncompletely uneducated and who know nothing. They want to make Quechua the first language of study, and only after that, English. I have friends who know a lot more and can’t find a job. And I see these people occupying high office and it’s shameful.”

She said people are worried about Evo making the country Communist and she worries about the regions fighting amongst themselves. Because of these concerns, she says, a lot of people are leaving.

Evo only has two years left in office, but she doesn’t see a possible opposition leader. “We have no leaders,” she said. “One needs to be trained in how to be a leader and we don’t have the environment here for that. Evo himself is a product of an indigenous leadership training program sponsored by UNITAS. And one needs to have their group, the people who will support them.

“At the time of the last election, we had the choice – to vote for how things had always been, or to vote for a change. Evo was the only one who offered a chance. And so many people decided to try for a change, even though they weren’t sure what they were going to get. Because they thought it would be better than continuing in the same path.”

She’s an interesting person – intelligent, passionate, cultured, open to new ideas. She’s hesitant to marry because she doesn’t want to give up her independent life. She is a leader at work and works hard, but also likes to party. I once left for the airport at 5 a.m. and tripped over her passed out in front of the front door. She’s so focused on her own success and advancement that she didn’t even notice the paucity of women in middle and upper management in the institution until I pointed it out to her. Unfortunately she’ll be going back to La Paz later this week. I think I could learn a lot from her.

My first roadblock

One week in Bolivia and I came across my first road block, a popular means of protest in this part of the world.

I was in a taxi on my way to work when the driver and I saw that traffic was suddenly going against us, despite the fact that the lanes only went one way. He was intelligent and didn’t try to go further, asking me to walk the short distance that remained to work. Other cars tried to go around the oncoming traffic. But as I saw while walking, they ended up just reaching the road block, and having to turn around with more difficulty.

The roadblock was just a little bit down from my office. I didn’t come too close. Last time I messed around with a roadblock in Ecuador, my mom and I were held by the protestors. The fireworks, which sounded like a gun, scared me off as did the story of a manager in Cochabamba who recently lost an eye by being at the wrong place during a civil disturbance.

I could see that tires were placed across the road, as were Bolivian flags. There didn’t seem to be so many people – about ten on either side of the road. Yet these few people were able to force hundreds of cars to turn around on the major thoroughfare leading to the airport.

When I asked what was going on, one person said it was the passengers from LAB airlines, who are still stuck at the airport and haven’t gotten their money back. I was amazed how disgruntled airline passengers, many of them not from this area, could organize a roadblock.

The more believable story, told to me by several others, is that the blockers are from a nearby barrio and are protesting the lack of a stoplight. There is a high school on one side of the road. Being a major causeway, the traffic moves quickly and there is no safe way to cross. Recently, a woman was hit and killed.

That seemed to me to be an understandable reason for a protest. But what I didn’t understand was how so few people could inconvenience so many without consequence.

“Couldn’t the police move them?” I asked my colleague Maria.

“Yes, but they will take at least an hour to arrive,” she said. “People here don’t have much respect for public officials.”

“But they seem to have respect for the blockaders. No one complained. Everyone, including giant trucks, turned around.”

“Yes, that’s true. Sometimes passing cars even cheer the blockaders.”

I wondered why the blockade wasn’t used very often as a means of protest in the States. I figured people might be afraid of going to jail. I asked Maria if they didn’t have the same fear here.

“If they are brought to jail, it’s just for an hour or so. Then they are let go,” she said.

For about an hour, no traffic at all passed the office. We wondered if we’d be stuck there. But by 10:30, the road was open again. By the time I went out for lunch, it was hard to even tell where the blockage had been. Most locals seemed pretty inured to it, but I found it scary.



Today, during my Spanish lesson, Oscar read me an article about the Canadian Mennonites, who are marking the 50th anniversary of their arrival in Santa Cruz. They live in a village called Pailas, about 30 kilometers from Santa Cruz.

These Mennonites are more modern than others. They can wear modern clothing and they have cars, tractors, and electrical appliances. They are very light-skinned, with many blonds and blue or green eyes – quite a contrast to the rest of the population. They came to Santa Cruz from Paraguay, where they had been limited to growing peanuts and cotton. Here they had greater options in agriculture. Currently they specialize in corn, soy, sorghum and dairy farms.

Their young study German, math, Spanish and the Bible for six months per year. Girls graduate at age 12, boys at 14. They believe the greatest lessons are taught by the land. Oscar told me they have a reputation for being very hard workers.



Another coworker today told me a about a very interesting opportunity for locals here. When I asked how he spent his weekend, he told me he was looking for a new house to live in. But the catch is this. He will pay the owner $2500 upfront to live in his house. He will live there 12-18 months. At the end of the period, the owner returns the $2500 to him and he moves on. During that time, he can save more money in order to be able to buy his own house.

In effect, he is giving a loan to the home owner, with the interest being the ability to live in his property for free. I don’t know why someone with a spare house wouldn’t just apply for a loan and put the house as collateral. But it’s certainty a nice opportunity for a forward-thinking young man like my colleague.

Galapagos day 10 – Cruise day 5 – Western Isabela Island

I asked Juan today about his impressions of how the protest went. He estimated there were 200 people in attendance – tourist guides, employees of the National Park, their families, and average citizens. He said the mayor spoke at the demonstration and is on their side.

He explained that the Ecuadorian air force controls both the Baltra airport on the Galapagos, and they control the gas station, where international and local ships refuel. He says the air force sells gas at the set price to the local ships. But when international ships come in, they sell gas at a higher price. According to Juan, none of this hits the books. Effectively, they are stealing gas and making money from it.

He said that tomorrow, a commission will be going to the Baltra airport and turning over control of the airport and the gas station (la capitania) to the local government. The air force (about 100 members) will remain only for military functions.

“Our constitution doesn’t allow for the military to control anything like an airport or a gas station. All other airports in Ecuador are under local government control. It is only here because Baltra started out as a military base. They got used to controlling it and they have interests tied in with local politicians that has made it hard to take the control away.”

“Will this be a peaceful transfer?” one of our shipmates asked.

“Of course,” Juan said. “There are 15,000 residents of Puerto Ayora and only 100 of them. For their sake, it must be a peaceful transfer.” He of course forgot that those 100 are probably better armed than the 15,000. The members of the commission are courageous people.

But that’s what I like about Juan – his passion for the environment, for the park, and for education of the young. I like his confidence that something can be done and his commitment to playing a role in the changes.

Last night we sailed all night, for over 9 hours, to get to the western side of Isabela Island, the largest island in the archipelago. No more than 30% of the cruise ships reach this region, due to the long cruise. And so we are much more alone in nature here.

Of course, I appreciate the scenery and the ability to see animals. But the newness of seeing the most common species – the sea lions, the crabs, the turtles, the iguanas, the blue-footed boobies, the frigate birds – has worn off. I appreciate greatly the knowledge we receive from the guide. But rather than walking slowly over a short distance, I find myself aching for some kind of a goal, for something a little more strenuous, a little more challenging. While the schedule is relatively busy, I think it’s the lack of initiative and creativity required from me that’s beginning to bore me. I think I would have been better off with a five day, rather than an eight day tour.

What we did see today was marvelous though. We started off at Punta Moreno, walking across a black lava field – one of the most barren environments I’d ever come across. We could see two volcanoes – Sierra Negra, which we’d summitted last week, and Cerro Azul, both contributors to the ropy knots of solidified basalt we were stepping over. The silica in the basalt (40%) gave it a crunchy, glassy sound as we stepped over it.

This was a place to see how life developed from the beginning. There we were, in a most inhospitable environment – lava rock, ocean, and burning equatorial sun. Yet, in the less than 1,000 years since the last major lava flow, life was developing. This was especially evident around the brackish lagoons, green oases amidst a desert of black.

To me, this was a visual lesson, an analogy, of how things could have evolved after a big bang. For the first time, I understood the baby steps that led to an environment of verdant vegetation and abundant wildlife.

Only a few plants are capable of colonizing in such an environment – Galapagos sedge, candelabra cactus, grasses, and mangroves. These pioneer plants survive and create the soil for secondary plants, more complicated growths. Some plants, such as mangroves, attract insects, which then brings small invertebraes that feed on the insects. The lava cactus is another pioneer plant that uses the strategy of use its parts to generate itself. As parts fall off, they become part of the soil. I found it a fascinating and amazing process, so slow, but the effects, when looking at the islands of different ages, are so strong over millions of years.

We paused at a pond of brackish water, green around the edges, where life was concentrated. Another sinkhole, carpeted in green, stood out brilliantly against the harsh pahoehoe and aa lava. There were a few flamingoes in the water. A feral cat, which feeds on fish and lives on the brackish water, darted through the brush. There were flyless cormorant, the Galapagos martin, a more hen, and blue wing teals. In another little pond, we saw a yellow tail mullet. He’d been trapped in there as larvae, when the waves washed up through rock cracks. And now he had outgrown the pond, but had nowhere to go. And the Park policy of non-interference with the natural process (except when doing things like repopulating tortoises and shooting goats, rats and feral cats) means that tourists will pass by and watch as he eventually expires.

This island was fascinating not for the quantity of life, but rather for its scarcity, and the amazing conditions under which that life appeared.

We motored a bit further north during lunch, to Elizabeth Bay. There, we took out the dinghies for a three-hour ride through the mangroves. In the dark, quiet, mangroves, we found a “tree lion,” (a sea lion lying on a mangrove tree), many Great Pacific sea turtles swimming gracefully underwater, several rays, and penguins. Along with the gentle swish of the paddes, we heard the singing of yellow finches, warblers and great blue herons.

One fun scene was watching a group of blue-footed boobies diving together for fish. As soon as one made the move, all the others followed suit. By cooperating in this way, they gave the fish less time to disperse. And they figure that the waves produced from the first bird diving would bring other things to the surface. They nose dive from a substantial height and it was quite remarkable to see the splashes like bangs of a repeatedly fired gun, then the birds skidding across the water as though they were on waterskis. Above, the pirates of the sky, the large, black frigate birds, loomed ominously, looking for someone to intimidate or steal from.

A little ways out into the ocean stood three red rocks, made of terracotta tuff cone. These rock faces, covered with a thick layer of white guano, were teeming with animal life – penguins (the second smallest penguin in the world and the only one to live in a tropical environment), sea lions, iguanas, blue-footed boobies, flyless cormorants. Out in their own remote corner of the world, it was nice to know that once we leave, they will go on with their existence and their role in promulgating the Galapagos ecosystem.

Galapagos day 9 – Cruise day 4 – Santa Cruz Island

As I expected when spending time on the island where we already spent a few nights, this was the least interesting of the cruise days so far. Again, it seemed to be a day off for the majority of the staff, while we were kept away from the boat until evening.

The morning started off nice, with a two-time viewing of a group of 13-14 golden rays off the side of the ship, even though we were anchored in harbor.

What I liked least was all the breaks throughout the day. It seemed to me we were just passing time, 20 minutes for ice cream in the morning, over two hours for lunch, another 20 minutes for a drink in the afternoon. While we have such breaks on the boat and I appreciate the chance to spend a little time in the room, to read or to write to just to relax, on land I had nothing to do and felt bored.

We started out at the Charles Darwin research center, a hot, humid walk across town. And other than seeing the cute baby turtles they breed in captivity, it wasn’t a very interesting exhibition.

One story I enjoyed was that of Lonesome George, the Center’s conservation icon since the 1970s. He is a 90 kilogram giant tortoise who was found on Pinta Island in 1971. A man named Peter Pecker had read has a child that the giant tortoise species on Pinta was extinct. So he was very excited to hear about this discovery.

Scientists tried everything possible to get him to reproduce, including bringing in an Italian specialist to manipulate him by hand. But nothing worked. Juan told us that tortoises probably learn sexual behavior from others or by hormones trigged by watching others. George, left alone as a baby, missed out on that. As a result, he seems unable to develop a sexual interest or to perform, despite being exposed to younger males being sexually active. His plight shows the importance of turtles having behavioral models to learn from in the wild.

Charles Darwin was impressed by both the number and size of giant tortoises when he visited the Galapagos. He wrote about how Spaniards found fresh water by following the tracks that went from the seacoast to wells.

“I could not imagine what animal traveled so methodically along the well-chosen tracks,” he wrote. “Near the springs it was a curious spectacle to behold many of these great monsters; one set eagerly traveling onwards with outstretched necks, and another set returning, after having drunk their fill.”

He compared the tortoise bladder to a frogs, which acts as a reservoir for the moisture it needs to exist. After visiting the springs, the urinary bladder became distended with fluid, gradually decreased in volume and became less pure. The inhabitants, when overcome with thirst, would kill a tortoise. If the bladder was full, it would drink its contents.

“In one I saw killed,” Darwin wrote, “the fluid was quite limpid, and had only a very slightly bitter taste.”

They ate the meat, both fresh and salted, and made a “beautifully clear” oil from the fat.

From there, we went to lunch at Juan’s aunt’s house, a hacienda in the green highlands of Santa Cruz. They have a pavilion where they served grilled chicken to tourists, and a pool where we were able to take a dip. I tried cold lemongrass tea there, which tasted like a refreshing mixture of tea and lemonade.

After lunch we took some walks through the highlands. We walked through an escalacia forest, trees that are tally and bushy on time. The Cuban/Spanish cedars had the unique feature of emitting a scent of garlic, making it seem as though something good was cooking in the forest, like we’d soon approach a fresh pot of stew. The two crater holes were impressive. It was like a sinkhole, with the trees and grows growing within as usual, just far down, as though the land had fallen.

Juan took us to a lava tube. It was formed during a lava flow. When it moved like a basaltic river, the part that had contact with the air solidified and the area below kept flowing. There are several such tubes on the island, but some have been modified for tourists, with smoothed over paths and installed lights. This was a natural one. We scampered over damp rocks to get inside the tall arched tunnel, looking at dense greenery growing at either end.

Finally, we walked through the farm of Steven Divine, the owner of Moonrise Travel. His parents sailed here from Washington State in the 1950s and started a farm. He now owns a sizeable tract of land where giant tortoises saunter through, as well as run a successful tour agency. In crossing over his land, we found a giant turtle. The large male was more shy than those we’d seen in captivity at the research center.

For me, the most interesting part of the day had nothing to do with wildlife viewing, but the local political situation. As we returned to town, where we had a little free time before returning to the board, I saw some protestors. I asked Juan what was going on and he explained that he was planning to join the protest.

According to Juan, the Ecuadorian air force, based on the island of Baltra (where the airport is) has been engaged in illegal activities, such as leading kayak trips to places where kayaking shouldn’t occur (and they shouldn’t be involved in tourism activities) and selling gas to boat operators, undercutting local gas suppliers.

Several members of the national park captured some of these illegal activities on video and they planned to report these violations. The air force wanted to get the video from them, so they beat up a national park leader (I think the director), so badly he almost died. Shortly afterwards, the national park representatives went to confront the air force about selling gas to tourist boats. Again, there was a confrontation and the national park representative, a woman, was beaten enough to be hospitalized.

The protest was organized to protest the use of excessive violence by the Ecuadorian air force and they assembled quite a large crowd. While at an internet café near the center of town, we heard the 4x4 come down the street with a loudspeaker. I went outside to take a picture. Policemen in their brown pants and khaki tops walked on either side. Behind the pickup truck came two young woman, carrying a sign that read “Say No to Violence.”

Suddenly, a bedraggled looking man standing in between the pickup and the women holding the banner started to spin wildly and sparks began to fly. Something was exploding and it was just directly across the street from where I was standing. I bent down and ran into the internet café, ducking under the window frame for cover. I was sure shots were ringing out or a bomb or grenade was going to go off. “So this is what it’s like to be the victim of a bomb attack” I thought as I instinctively sought cover and fearfully awaited to see if the building I was in would explode. Another tourist in my group hit the floor.

When I next peeked out, the street was smoky and the women holding the banner looked dazed, but the protestors continued on ahead. I went out and took a few photos.

“I should warn you, this could be violent,” said an Englishwoman who seemed to live in the area. “They are protesting the military.”

I couldn’t believe that the police didn’t react to the explosives and that the man just seemed to disappear. The Englishwoman explained that whenever a meeting is going to be held, the tradition is to set off fireworks to announce that people come down to attend it. So this guy wasn’t trying to blow up the protestors, as I feared, but was announcing the presence of a demonstration. One of our shipmates got a picture on his digital camera. And from that, we can see that the idiot was smoking while holding a handful of firecrackers and a coke bottle. And so they must have accidentally all gone off.

Most of the internet café customers cleared out and I, shaken by the experience, was ready to go too. But once the protest passed by, we decided to stay. The last time I was in Ecuador, in early 2001, my mom and I found ourselves in the midst of a protest by indigenous groups. This caused us to have to raft down a river on inner tubes in order to get out of our jungle lodge and we were even held by the protestors for several hours. It seems to be quite easy to get caught up in civil unrest here, despite the large tourist presence.

By the time we went to the docks for our dinghy ride back to the boat, the protestors were gathered in the central park and a man was making an impassioned speech about the civilians inability to live in an environment where rules are not followed and order is not maintained. Our guide, Juan, skipped dinner in order to participate in the protests himself He is an intelligent, passionate, and caring person, with dreams of creating a school on a boat for local poor children who otherwise wouldn’t have the opportunity to see the islands. And he cares about the park rules being followed by everyone, even the military.