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Kayaking in circles on Lake Titicaca's Capachica Peninsula**
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Trekking, Camelids & Kallawayas
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S E P T E M B E R & O C T O B E R / 0 6
Friday October 20, 2006
Gringos march to the US Embassy in La Paz
This story is from guest blogger, Frank
Seier, who lives in La Paz, Bolivia
This past Tuesday, October 17, was the 3rd anniversary
of Black October, in La Paz, Bolivia. More than 60 people were
killed and over 400 injured (mainly civilians) over a 2-week period
of rioting and confrontation between police and the military,
and protesters opposed to then-president Gonzales Sanchez de Lozada’s
(“Goni’s”) plans to export Bolivian natural
gas to California and Mexico through Chilean ports. October 17
was chosen as the date to commemorate Black October because it
was the date that Goni finally accepted that he had lost control
of the country, and fled the presidential palace in a helicopter
for eventual asylum in the United States.
This October 17, in solidarity with the families that had lost
loved ones during Black October, over 60 foreign residents of
Bolivia (many of them American citizens) marched to the U.S. Embassy
in La Paz, dressed in black and carrying white crosses with the
names of each one of the dead, to demand that the U.S. extradite
Goni to Bolivia to stand trial for murder (to date, the U.S. has
refused the Bolivian Government’s requests that they officially
notify Goni of these criminal charges and extradite him).
Although the march was a mainly solemn event, there were some
particularly wrenching moments for me. I had arrived in Bolivia
during the events of Black October, but was living and working
in the eastern lowlands of the country, which were completely
isolated from (and seemingly unaffected by) the events unfolding
in La Paz. The footage of the rioting I saw on TV could have been
happening anywhere in the world.
But to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with the family members of the
dead and some of the injured was very real. When we arrived at
the U.S. Embassy, the grief and anger of the family members was
shockingly palpable in a brief confrontation with the ring of
riot-clad security police guarding the entrance. When no Embassy
officials made an appearance (including the newly appointed Ambassador
Phillip S. Goldberg), we read out our statement and the
names of the dead, and left.
Goni’s impunity, however, continues. While he lives in comfortable
asylum in Chevy Chase, Maryland, with the U.S. government’s
complicity, the legacy of Black October worsens. On the evening
before its 3rd anniversary, we learned the sad and distressing
news that one of the injured during Black October, a 23 year-old
young man, gave up his struggle to deal with his injuries by committing
suicide.
Photos of the October 17 March on the US Embassy
can be seen here
photos by Tomas
Ahlberg ©2006
Monday October 09 2006
October 17th: International Day of Solidarity
with Bolivia
On October 17th, activist groups around the
world will be gathering in support of the Bolivian campaign to
bring former President Gonzalo "Goni" Sanchez de Lozada to trial
for his role in the 2003 massacre of civilians in the city of
El Alto during the so-called "Gas War." In La Paz there will be
a "Gringo March" where 60 foreigners will each carry a cross (representing
the 60 civilian deaths) to the US Embassy, and here in Vancouver
there will be an evening of film and commentary at SFU Harbour
Centre. Contact the Bolivia
Campaign BC for more information and click here
for international events. If you can't get out to participate,
and have interest in knowing more about the issue (or just want
to see a damn good documentary), check out Our
Brand is Crisis, Rachel Boynton's excellent film about Goni's
sleezy election campaign (engineered by James Craville and Associates).
Here's a synopsis:
For decades, U.S. strategists-for-hire have
been quietly molding the opinions of voters and the messages
of candidates in elections around the world. They have worked
for presidential candidates on every continent (in Britain,
Israel, India, Korea, South Africa, Venezuela, Brazil, to name
a few…) Without the noise of tanks or troops, these Americans
have been spreading our brand of democracy from the Middle East
to the middle of the South American jungle. OUR BRAND IS CRISIS
is an astounding look at one of their campaigns and its earth-shattering
aftermath. With flabbergasting access to think sessions, media
training and the making of smear campaigns, we watch how the
consultants’ marketing strategies shape the relationship
between a leader and his people. And we see a shocking example
of how the all-American art of branding can affect the “spreading
of democracy” overseas.
Monday September 25 2006
Keeping Up...
There is a rather sad lack of information on
South America, let alone Bolivia, up here in Euro/US/Asia concerned
Canada. Thank Gawd for the internet. Here are a couple of interesting
stories from my favourite blogs on Bolivia, check them out:
Evo
and Coca at the UN
...There at one of the most prominent podiums
in the world, before the UN General Assembly and the leaders of
nations across the globe, the President of Bolivia whipped out
a small leaf, held it aloft and declared, “This is the green
coca leaf, it is not white like cocaine. It represents Andean
culture. It isn’t possible that it is legal for Coca Cola
and illegal for other medicinal consumption in our country and
around the world.”
Patrimony
...I had been translating the words "patrimonio"
and "bienes comunes" for several days and hadn't really
thought that they are hardly everyday expressions in England.
The question came on Day Five of a tour of Britain
by Oscar Olivera, a Bolivian social movement leader who successfully
helped lead resistance against privatisation of water in Cochabamba
in 2000. A small quietly-spoken man in his forties with
a now trademark mao-style hat, Oscar nevertheless conveys with
great passion the desire for radical economic and social change
in Bolivia.
Monday September 18 2006
The Fair Trade boom, drink up!
As I've been prowling around my favourite
haunts here in Vancouver, I have been impressed by a noticeable
boom in the popularity of Fair
Trade products. It's hard NOT to find FT coffee and chocolate
in most popular cafés and markets. I was tickled to see Vancouver
Island's Level Ground Trading Co.'s organic Café
La Paz in Capers (the biggest natural foods market in town).
At Ten Thousand Villages (run by the Mennonite Central Committee)
you can find handcrafted musical instruments here
(click on 'artesans') made by Asociacion de Artesanos Q'antati
artisans in Walata Grande, Bolivia.
This is how International Fair Trade Association,
(IFAT) defines fair trade:
Fair trade is better than aid--it builds a sustainable future
on artisans own abilities.
• Improving the artisan's quality of life is the main objective.
• Artisans receive a fair price for their goods and advances
on orders.
• ATOs work with artisans to provide quality products.
• Purchase and marketing of artisans' goods are conducted
according to high ethical standards. Continuity of orders is important.
• Sources, production and workplaces do not exploit people
or the environment.
• Products have meaning above their tangible attributes.
Consumers are informed about the people who make the products
they purchase, increasing their loyalty and understanding that
their purchasing power makes a difference.
• Cultural exchanges between people in the South and people
in the North are encouraged.
After hundreds of years of colonialist exploitation
in South America, and having seen first-hand the devastating effect
this has had on Bolivia's indigenous cultures and environment,
it's about time that producers of export goods receive not only
a fair price for their products, but are able to work on their
own terms and with dignity.
So, when you're next shopping for coffee check
out products with the Fair Trade logo, or go a step further and
seek out the smiling guy wearing a bright stripey "toque" on Level
Ground's Café La Paz package, your purchase goes to help the farmers
in Coroico
have a better life.
Thursday September 14 2006
CoffeeCarcentric Vancouver
Traffic, traffic, everywhere traffic. Shiny,
brand new cars and SUVs, usually with a single occupant, dominate
Vancouver... bumper to bumper, exhaust to exhaust, til death do
us part. In La Paz, most of the bumper-to-bumper bumpers belong
to 16-passenger micros, and 4-person "trufis" (shared taxis),
as owning a car - and parking it - is a luxury beyond the means
of even middle-class Bolivians.
As I adjust to life back in Canada, I am overwhelmed
by the decadence of urban life here. It seems this decadence is
rooted in our obsession with having choices (which equal freedom),
and is evident in the ridiculous and tedious line of questioning
one gets while ordering a coffee. It goes something like this:
"dark, medium or decaf blend... tall, grande, or alto... low-fat,
skim or whole milk, foam or no foam, sprinkles...?". Then there's
the "Java Jacket" that quilted, disposable cup-protector that
prevents burning one's hand while drinking, driving and making
a phone call at the same time. Yeesh.
And by the way, one of my favourite blogs on
Bolivia, from over at the Democracy Centre in Cochabamba, has
an excellent post about North American "car-centricity"
and Bolivian "tranquilidad" called Stopping
Traffic – Here and There.
Friday September 08 2006
Bye Bye Bolivia
Tonight I am flying back to Canada for an extended
stay in my hometown Vancouver. These past few weeks, as I prepared
to leave, I have felt somewhat retrospective. So, in keeping with
this theme, I'd like to share some of my favourite photos from
the 14 months I have spent in this incredible country...
Mi amor Frank, who's passion for Bolivia has
led the two of us into some of the most spectacular places on
the planet, soaks in the sublime hot springs in Parque Nacional
Sajama.
Most kids in Bolivia grow up fast: minding their
younger brothers and sisters, working in the fields, herding livestock,
selling food and drinks at bus stops. This photo was taken in
La Higuera, where little Eliane enthusiastically showed me all
the veggies she planted in her family's garden.
Eroded surfaces, stencilled typography, shredded
old posters, peeling paint and cracked stucco. The surface decoration
of Bolivia's streets has changed my sense of aesthetic forever.
Making a call in Buena Vista, gateway to the
awesome Amboro National Park.
A chollita strolls down Calle Illampu in La
Paz's central district.
Sharing a lunch of charque (dried llama meat)
chunyas (rehydrated freeze dried potatoes) and choclo (oversized
steamed corn kernels) with the amiable folks from Aguas Blancas,
Apolobamba.
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T R A V E L .S
T O R I E S
Paddling in Circles on Lake Titicaca (Aug 05)
click
here for more photos
Lost for the third, or fourth, time this elderly
man offered to guide us out of a maze of tall, spear-like, totora
reeds. We barely had to paddle to keep up with his laboured strokes
timed to strained breathing. After 15 minutes or so of creeping
behind him, we floated up ahead to see if we should still be following
along. I startled him by asking "Pardon sir, are we still going
to Ramis??" He looked at me, the whites of his bulgeing from under
the shadow of his fedora, as if for the first time. Having completely
forgotten he was being followed by two Gringos in a red kayak,
he mummbled for us to carry on, toward the hill. It was with this,
that we drew the conclusion he might be better following us.
Two weeks in Apolobamba (Aug 05)
click here for slideshow
This region north of Lake Titicaca, high up
on the Altiplano, is home to the Cordillera Apolobamba. Apart
from stunning peaks, creaking glaciers, Inca trails and Vicuñas
(dainty little camelids, a smaller, shyer version of an alpaca)
this remote area is home to the well-respected Kallawayas (travelling
shamans), goldminers, weavers and Alpaca breeders, amongst others
who try to eke out a living in this rugged land.
Life is tough on the Altiplano: An elderly couple
getting off the bus in the barren Ulla Ulla Vicuña Reserve,
in the Apolobamba protected area. As I squinted under the blinding
sun, I couldn't see a house or village anywhere. I wondered how
they would carry themselves and their heavy sacks as the elderly
man was blind and could hardly walk, and his wife was frail and
hunched over from years of back-breaking work. I often thought
of them as I struggled over 5000 meter passes and shivered in
the biting cold during a five-day trek through the Southern Apolobamba
range.
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While contemplating the implications of our
taxi's second flat tire, I explored this high-altitude cemetery
on the Tarija-Villazon road, one of Bolivia's many unpaved Autopistas.
Reserva Biológica de Cordillera Sama
(May 05)
click here for slideshow
Three hours drive, and 1800 meters up from the
Southern City of Tarija lies a basin on the Altiplano containing
four lagoons punctuated with pink flamingos, a wandering sand
dune and dozen or so traditional pueblos. This is the Sama Reserve,
a protected area since 1996, and breathtakingly beautiful. The
Reserve has had much attention from international aid agencies,
and is being developed for eco-tourism. There is a new Albergue
in pueblo Tajzara operated by the community. From here just the
views alone - of the lagoons at sunrise and emerging stars at
sunset - make the journey to this isolated park worth the effort.
We spent two days exploring the area on mountain
bikes, followed by an overnight hike down a well-preserved pre-Inca
trail to the wine-making valley of Tarija.
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Two Warao boys paddle into the village of Curiapo,
South Orinoco Delta, Venezuela.
Kayaking on the River Orinoco click
here for more photos
"Puri Puri", or sand fly, was our
speed boat captain's name, and he drove like a stinging insect
should: persistent, swift and ruthless. His built-for-speed wooden
boat was saddled with two 70 horse-power motors. It felt like
we were riding on the top of an hydrofoil, flying above the surface
of the water, except for the rhythmic bashing against waves. Before
take-off, we were directed to load our gear in front. Meanwhile,
the remaining eight local passengers scrambled for the back. They
knew what they had coming. Gorgé, the doctor in Curiapo,
expertly applied his rain gear as if preparing for surgery. The
woman in front of me, positioned her young son against her breast
and tightly wound a plastic sheet over her shoulders, hermetically
sealing herself and her child into one. "Are these people
cautious, or what?", I thought as the raindrops, and the
140 horsepowers, started. At first the torrential downpour was
refreshing, within ten minutes I was starting to shiver, and my
lower spine and pelvic bone felt like they were beginning to fracture.
Sitting on top of our two kayak bags wedged
between wooden planks, we were getting a serious walloping at
the front of the boat. I kept my head down, occasionally peering
out at the magnificent scenery whilst gulping for air. When we
arrived at Curiapo, our destination, three hours later, sun- and
wind-burned, hair standing on end (even Frank's) and ears pasted
to the sides of our heads, we threatened: "This had better
be good," ... and it was.
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In the pouring rain, Frank does his best "Hunchback
of Notre Dame" impression by draping his poncho over his
backpack. We kept asking ourselves, "if this is the dry season,
what's it like in the wet?"
Trekking the Choro Trail (Aug 14-19, 2004) click
here for more photos
Back in January 2004, my partner Frank and I
had made an attempt at walking the El Choro Trail. It was the
rainy season, and we knew we were taking a risk at walking when
the path would be slippery, and storms could last for days. What
we didn't foresee, was that we would never even make it to the
trail head to start the trip.
After missing the 6 am bus to Zongo, our starting
point two hours up the road, we haggled with a "Taxista"
to to take us there. We felt we'd gotten off to a bad start, but
had overcome our temporary hurdles and were on our way. Now in
the rusty old taxi, bouncing up the bumpy mud road through fog
and light drizzle, we were soon watching the road through a blurry
patch in the windshield made by a single makeshift wiper feebly
smudging snowflakes to one side. The taxi would repeatedly sputter
to a halt and, after a carburetor adjustment, cough back into
action. But before too long we were outside in a blizzard, pushing
the now dead taxi uphill in minus 7 degree temperatures. At 4600
meters altitude, our lungs felt like they would explode from the
exertion. Panting, Frank and I looked at each other and agreed
that there were too many bad signs to start the trip that day.
We turned back to La Paz, determined to hike
El Choro in the dry season the following August.
Upon returning to La Paz seven months later,
we were very excited to hear reports of clear skies, warm temperatures
and that a brand new taxi would be waiting to take us up to Zongo
the following day.
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Kayaking on Lake Titicaca (Oct 2-9, 2004) click
here for more photos
"Maki pur kama!" we waved to the fishermen
as we back-paddled out of the plank landing on the Island of Tiquiri.
We had learned the night before how to say "hasta luego/see
you later" in Ayamara, the language of the people of this
land. This was our third morning of a seven-day paddle around
Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake on earth.
The light here is intoxicating. At 3860 meters,
an ether of thin air, intense sunshine, blue sky and ultra marine
water crystallizes focus, saturates colours and deepens shadows.
Ultra vivid scenes filled our minds and hearts as we navigated
our way past rocky coastline, tiny islets, tranquil white-sand
beaches and cliff hanging Inca Ruins.
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Thanks for visiting.
all photographs lindsay simmonds ©2005/2006
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