"To get away from one's working environment is, in a sense, to get away from one's self; and this is often the chief advantage of travel and change" - Charles Horton Coole
Today was my last day in La Paz, Bolivia. Five and a half weeks have passed since I arrived in the El Alto airport, and now I have to start on the second part of my summer adventure: four weeks in Quito, Ecuador studying Spanish. Two of my friends and I left La Paz at 8:00 a.m. and arrived in Cusco two hours later. From Cusco we plan on riding a bus to Quito, a three day journey.
Even though Cusco is a beautiful city with gorgeous colonial architecture, I already miss La Paz. I am looking forward to exploring more of Latin America and experiencing new places; however, I feel empty right now as I realize that I may not see Bolivia again for a long time. I got used to the country; in a way, Bolivia became a home in the five weeks I have been there. I met new friends, I learned the customs, and I sank into the routine of everyday life. Time flew by between school, friends, traveling, and exploring. I will miss the vibrant colors of the Bolivian markets, the bright and cloudless skies, the magical mountain views. Most of all, I will miss the people I met there and the friends I made. Things can be replaced and substituted; places are empty without human connection. However, people are all different, all one of a kind, all special in their own way. Friends cannot be replaced or substituted. All of the people I met in Bolivia will always have a special place in my heart and I hope to see them someday soon.
I also wanted to add to this post all the valuable life lessons I learned in Bolivia. They are not in any particular order, and they are all my personal experiences so don't take offense if you don't agree with something.
Life Lessons Learned:
1. There is no such things as too much hand sanitizer, and its use is appropriate at any time of the day and night in vast quantities.
2. The more muscle you have, the more the altitude sickness will suck because muscles need more oxygen than fat.
3. Keep an open mind and don't judge everything by your values.
4. In order to survive crossing the road, look both ways and run if no cars are coming. Sometimes you will have to zigzag through a line of cars, and they will try to run you over if given a chance.
5. Speaking in Spanish is a lot harder when a reporter sticks a camera in your face and starts asking questions.
6. Do NOT carry your entire wardrobe with you to Bolivia. However, do bring enough variety. I regretted not bringing more T-shirts and tank tops with me.
7. Kindle is your friend. When you get homesick and lonely, a good book in English is a miraculous cure.
8. Bring lots of Immodium. Be prepared to get food poisoning several times as our stomachs are not used to the bacteria.
9. People in La Paz drive like lunatics. Be prepared to be terrified by manic drivers at least once a day.
10. Good internet in Bolivia is hard to find. Just remember, patience is a virtue.
11. Drink a lot of water, you will get dehydrated quicker at this altutude.
12. For the trip to Tiwanaku, invest in a llama hat, llama gloves, llama sweater, llama pants, and llama socks. 3 A.M. is very cold at high altutudes.
13. There are no fans in Bolivian bathrooms so keep the window open while showering.
14. ALWAYS CARRY AROUND TOILET PAPER. Bathrooms are difficult to find, and sometimes not worth the trouble. Also, you may have to go at an inconvenient time, such as a road blockade due to the car race.
15. Try to speak in Spanish as much as possible. It's easy to fall into the English-speaking routine, especially if all your friends speak English.
16. Watch a sunrise and a sunset at least once if you can. There is a nice park near Plaza España with amazing views of the city.
17. Above all, enjoy yourself. Time in Bolivia will FLY, and you will be dissapointed by the things you didn't do.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Party Time!
"Time and space are the modes by which we think and not conditions in which we live" - Albert Einstein
This past week two major events took place in Bolivia: Gran Poder and the Aymara New Year. Gran Poder is a big festival celebration to honor the protectors of El Alto that took place on Saturday, June 18th. To celebrate Gran Poder, over sixty groups of dancers perform traditional dances from El Alto way down into La Paz, a distance of almost ten miles. We went to downtown early in order to get good seats and to escape the multitudes of drunk crowds that emerge in the city by the evening. We got seats under the big red Paceña sign (a brand of Bolivian beer) and waited for the show to begin. The first groups of dancers began to come by us around nine-ish in the morning. Those groups were pretty small and generally not as good as later groups. To make them stay and perform for us, we had to clap really loud. The dance groups came with their own bands and wore really expensive and probably heavy consumes. One group, which performed the herder's dance, even had people dressed as cows. Let's just say that walking ten miles dressed as a cow is not my idea of a good time. As the day progressed and the sun graced us with its welcome presence, more and more people began to fill up the empty seats. The vendors came out and maneuvered between dance groups as they shouted their wares for sale. The most popular good was beer (surprise, surprise) but many other things were for sale, including pillows to make the plastic chairs more comfortable. Since we sat in the front row and were obviously foreign, we got interviewed by television reporters several times. Unfortunately, the reporters were not the worst of my attention-hiding woes. During one of the dances (that told the story of the archangel Michael), a demon that looked like a fluffy polar bear dragged me out into the street to dance. Fun times. After seeing three hours of dancing, drinking, and merriment, we went back home; the celebration of Gran Poder, however, continued until the next day.
On Tuesday, June 21, we went to Tiwanaku to celebrate the Ayamara New Year (which is on the day of the winter solstice in South America). We woke up at 3:00 a.m. in order to reach Tiwanaku (a sight of an important ancient indigenous temple) before sunrise. Since I was warned that Tiwanaku is much, much colder than La Paz, I wore three sweaters and two pairs of pants. When we got to the town of Tiwanaku, I also bought an alpaca hat for a dollar to keep my ears warm. We got our tickets to enter the ruins (about ten dollars for foreigners, one dollar for Bolivians) and bought some hot beverages (tea on tea) to keep warm. I also tried a piece of a cow's heart in order to attempt to be an adventurous eater. It really wasn't as disgusting as I thought it would be. We stayed in a long line to enter the ruins; finally, we passed the guards and climbed a steep hill to wait for sunrise to come. As the sky began to lighten, the temperature dropped sharply. We waited for the sun to come up over the mountain range and hit the Sun Door (a part of the ancient temple); my fingers and toes lost all feeling. When the sun finally cleared the last part of the mountain and shone through the clouds, everyone cheered loudly. The Bolivians raised their hands to greet the sun; I followed the suit. The sensation of the warmth of the sun on my frozen hands was incredible - I could feel the energy flow through me. The whole place had a sense of mystique and power - although it is quite possible I was simply really cold and sleep deprived. After the sun came up and the ritual was complete, we watched the departure of Evo Morales, the Bolivian president. He left Tiwanaku on a helicopter, disturbing the quiet dawn around the ancient ruins. As he left and the sun rose higher in the sky, I was visited by a strange thought - how does the concept of two New Years work in Bolivia? I asked a friend next to me if the Bolivians celebrated a New Year every six months because for some reason the concept did not make sense to me, the child of the Western Civilization. He answered that I must remember that Bolivia is a product of two great cultures and explained that the two New Years in Bolivia are in separate dimensions of time and space. Time runs in two different worlds, one a world of the past and one a world of the present. The concept is very interesting to me, even though the idea is hard to wrap my head around. We stayed in Tiwanaku for a few more hours and then took a bus back home to La Paz, returning to the time of the present.
This past week two major events took place in Bolivia: Gran Poder and the Aymara New Year. Gran Poder is a big festival celebration to honor the protectors of El Alto that took place on Saturday, June 18th. To celebrate Gran Poder, over sixty groups of dancers perform traditional dances from El Alto way down into La Paz, a distance of almost ten miles. We went to downtown early in order to get good seats and to escape the multitudes of drunk crowds that emerge in the city by the evening. We got seats under the big red Paceña sign (a brand of Bolivian beer) and waited for the show to begin. The first groups of dancers began to come by us around nine-ish in the morning. Those groups were pretty small and generally not as good as later groups. To make them stay and perform for us, we had to clap really loud. The dance groups came with their own bands and wore really expensive and probably heavy consumes. One group, which performed the herder's dance, even had people dressed as cows. Let's just say that walking ten miles dressed as a cow is not my idea of a good time. As the day progressed and the sun graced us with its welcome presence, more and more people began to fill up the empty seats. The vendors came out and maneuvered between dance groups as they shouted their wares for sale. The most popular good was beer (surprise, surprise) but many other things were for sale, including pillows to make the plastic chairs more comfortable. Since we sat in the front row and were obviously foreign, we got interviewed by television reporters several times. Unfortunately, the reporters were not the worst of my attention-hiding woes. During one of the dances (that told the story of the archangel Michael), a demon that looked like a fluffy polar bear dragged me out into the street to dance. Fun times. After seeing three hours of dancing, drinking, and merriment, we went back home; the celebration of Gran Poder, however, continued until the next day.
On Tuesday, June 21, we went to Tiwanaku to celebrate the Ayamara New Year (which is on the day of the winter solstice in South America). We woke up at 3:00 a.m. in order to reach Tiwanaku (a sight of an important ancient indigenous temple) before sunrise. Since I was warned that Tiwanaku is much, much colder than La Paz, I wore three sweaters and two pairs of pants. When we got to the town of Tiwanaku, I also bought an alpaca hat for a dollar to keep my ears warm. We got our tickets to enter the ruins (about ten dollars for foreigners, one dollar for Bolivians) and bought some hot beverages (tea on tea) to keep warm. I also tried a piece of a cow's heart in order to attempt to be an adventurous eater. It really wasn't as disgusting as I thought it would be. We stayed in a long line to enter the ruins; finally, we passed the guards and climbed a steep hill to wait for sunrise to come. As the sky began to lighten, the temperature dropped sharply. We waited for the sun to come up over the mountain range and hit the Sun Door (a part of the ancient temple); my fingers and toes lost all feeling. When the sun finally cleared the last part of the mountain and shone through the clouds, everyone cheered loudly. The Bolivians raised their hands to greet the sun; I followed the suit. The sensation of the warmth of the sun on my frozen hands was incredible - I could feel the energy flow through me. The whole place had a sense of mystique and power - although it is quite possible I was simply really cold and sleep deprived. After the sun came up and the ritual was complete, we watched the departure of Evo Morales, the Bolivian president. He left Tiwanaku on a helicopter, disturbing the quiet dawn around the ancient ruins. As he left and the sun rose higher in the sky, I was visited by a strange thought - how does the concept of two New Years work in Bolivia? I asked a friend next to me if the Bolivians celebrated a New Year every six months because for some reason the concept did not make sense to me, the child of the Western Civilization. He answered that I must remember that Bolivia is a product of two great cultures and explained that the two New Years in Bolivia are in separate dimensions of time and space. Time runs in two different worlds, one a world of the past and one a world of the present. The concept is very interesting to me, even though the idea is hard to wrap my head around. We stayed in Tiwanaku for a few more hours and then took a bus back home to La Paz, returning to the time of the present.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Coroico: a valley above the clouds
"Before we had airplanes and astronauts, we really thought that there was an actual place beyond the clouds, somewhere over the rainbow. There was an actual place, and we could go above the clouds and find it there" - Barbara Waters
This weekend we visited Coroico, a cozy little town just above the Amazonian basin. Coroico is the end of the infamous Death Road in Bolivia, which is basically a tiny little path through the cliffs where many people die every year. Needless to say, we took the new and safer road to Coroico, which was finished only recently. The road to Coroico from La Paz took our driver about three hours, but the scenery was unbelievable. We drove up to about 5,000 meters above sea level where we stopped and took some pictures. I could barely breathe at that altitude (the fact that I was sick earlier that day did not help at all). Then, we went down, down, down through the cloud forest (yes, we were actually in the clouds) to Coroico, which is about 2,000 meters above sea level. The weather in Coroico was much more pleasant than in La Paz, obviously. We arrived in Coroico in the late afternoon and, after checking into our hotel, went out to eat dinner. We had to walk around the main plaza for some time searching for an open restaurant because most places only open late in the evenings. Finally, we found a place to eat. After dinner we lingered in the plaza and took in the quiet atmosphere of the tropical scenery. I went to sleep early that evening to be ready for the long and dusty hike to the waterfall the next morning.
The next morning I woke up early, hoping that the ancient shower in my room would have hot water. No such luck; however, the early morning had its rewards. Because Coroico is just a little higher and just a little colder than the jungle, the clouds form below the town, and in the morning the view is spectacular. I felt like I was in paradise with palm trees, tropical flower scents, and clouds below my feet. When everybody else woke up, we went to the plaza to have breakfast and meet our Bolivian friend for the waterfall hike. We started walking down the unpaved, dusty road around 11 in the morning. Everytime a car passed by us, we got covered in dust from head to toes. All the plants on the sides of the road were grey, instead of green. After walking for a while, we found an orange tree grove with really delicious oranges; we took some with us for the road. We finally reached the waterfalls after two hours of walking the treacherous mountain trails. The water was frigid, but I got in the river anyway. We played around in the water for a few hours and then walked back to the bridge. Most of the people choose to take a taxi, but I decided to climb back up the mountain with a friend as a personal challenge. I think that if I knew how difficult it was going to be, I would have taken a taxi. Nah, probably not. The worst part was the tiny, vertical trail that rose about 1000 meters in altitude. We had to stop frequently and desperately gulp the diminishing supply of oxygen. After we got through that part of the journey (in about 45 minutes), the rest of the road was a piece of cake. We got back to Coroico and joined the rest of our friends for dinner. Needless to say, we were starving after the intense workout we put our bodies through. After dinner we went back to the hotel because we were all exhausted and needed a good night's sleep. The next morning we bid a sad farewell to Coroico and headed back up to the cold and polluted La Paz.
This weekend we visited Coroico, a cozy little town just above the Amazonian basin. Coroico is the end of the infamous Death Road in Bolivia, which is basically a tiny little path through the cliffs where many people die every year. Needless to say, we took the new and safer road to Coroico, which was finished only recently. The road to Coroico from La Paz took our driver about three hours, but the scenery was unbelievable. We drove up to about 5,000 meters above sea level where we stopped and took some pictures. I could barely breathe at that altitude (the fact that I was sick earlier that day did not help at all). Then, we went down, down, down through the cloud forest (yes, we were actually in the clouds) to Coroico, which is about 2,000 meters above sea level. The weather in Coroico was much more pleasant than in La Paz, obviously. We arrived in Coroico in the late afternoon and, after checking into our hotel, went out to eat dinner. We had to walk around the main plaza for some time searching for an open restaurant because most places only open late in the evenings. Finally, we found a place to eat. After dinner we lingered in the plaza and took in the quiet atmosphere of the tropical scenery. I went to sleep early that evening to be ready for the long and dusty hike to the waterfall the next morning.
The next morning I woke up early, hoping that the ancient shower in my room would have hot water. No such luck; however, the early morning had its rewards. Because Coroico is just a little higher and just a little colder than the jungle, the clouds form below the town, and in the morning the view is spectacular. I felt like I was in paradise with palm trees, tropical flower scents, and clouds below my feet. When everybody else woke up, we went to the plaza to have breakfast and meet our Bolivian friend for the waterfall hike. We started walking down the unpaved, dusty road around 11 in the morning. Everytime a car passed by us, we got covered in dust from head to toes. All the plants on the sides of the road were grey, instead of green. After walking for a while, we found an orange tree grove with really delicious oranges; we took some with us for the road. We finally reached the waterfalls after two hours of walking the treacherous mountain trails. The water was frigid, but I got in the river anyway. We played around in the water for a few hours and then walked back to the bridge. Most of the people choose to take a taxi, but I decided to climb back up the mountain with a friend as a personal challenge. I think that if I knew how difficult it was going to be, I would have taken a taxi. Nah, probably not. The worst part was the tiny, vertical trail that rose about 1000 meters in altitude. We had to stop frequently and desperately gulp the diminishing supply of oxygen. After we got through that part of the journey (in about 45 minutes), the rest of the road was a piece of cake. We got back to Coroico and joined the rest of our friends for dinner. Needless to say, we were starving after the intense workout we put our bodies through. After dinner we went back to the hotel because we were all exhausted and needed a good night's sleep. The next morning we bid a sad farewell to Coroico and headed back up to the cold and polluted La Paz.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
In the name of research!
"I may not be there yet, but I am closer than I was yesterday." - Author Unknown
This past week I have started doing a lot of research about my project topic of Mercosur and the Bolivian integration into the Latin American market. On Tuesday afternoon I visited the Library of Congress and looked through the old editions of Bolivian newspapers to get an idea about the political implications of Mercosur. The majority of newspaper articles were about the war in Iraq and the collapse of the Soviet Union. On Wednesday morning, instead of our regular class, we went up to El Alto to visit the factory that manufactures traditional and modern medicine. The factory is pretty small but manufactures many medicines for Bolivia. A fact that surprised me was that the factory is owned by one family, instead of being a corporation of shareholders. That afternoon I went to the Ministry of Economics and Finance to look for more information. Apparently, the library for the ministry is nowhere near the actual ministry; I had to walk around for two hours and ask multiple police officers to find it. Eventually, a random guy on the street asked me what I was looking for and pointed me in the right direction. On Thursday we went back up to El Alto again to visit the Radio "Pachamama." A group of bloggers told us about the challenges of blogging in Aymara, an indigenous language. We also participated in the radio shows as the visiting speakers. Speaking in Spanish is a lot more difficult on the radio. I think I forgot how to conjugate most of the verb tenses. On Friday we were finally done with classes for the week; we went to Coroico on a weekend trip.
This past week I have started doing a lot of research about my project topic of Mercosur and the Bolivian integration into the Latin American market. On Tuesday afternoon I visited the Library of Congress and looked through the old editions of Bolivian newspapers to get an idea about the political implications of Mercosur. The majority of newspaper articles were about the war in Iraq and the collapse of the Soviet Union. On Wednesday morning, instead of our regular class, we went up to El Alto to visit the factory that manufactures traditional and modern medicine. The factory is pretty small but manufactures many medicines for Bolivia. A fact that surprised me was that the factory is owned by one family, instead of being a corporation of shareholders. That afternoon I went to the Ministry of Economics and Finance to look for more information. Apparently, the library for the ministry is nowhere near the actual ministry; I had to walk around for two hours and ask multiple police officers to find it. Eventually, a random guy on the street asked me what I was looking for and pointed me in the right direction. On Thursday we went back up to El Alto again to visit the Radio "Pachamama." A group of bloggers told us about the challenges of blogging in Aymara, an indigenous language. We also participated in the radio shows as the visiting speakers. Speaking in Spanish is a lot more difficult on the radio. I think I forgot how to conjugate most of the verb tenses. On Friday we were finally done with classes for the week; we went to Coroico on a weekend trip.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Sucre: The white city
“Black and white are absolute...expressing the most delicate vibration, the most profound tranquility, and unlimited profundity.” - Shiko Munakata
The drive down to Sucre was much more eventful than the drive to Potosi because of a car race that blocked the road for more than two hours. We were going along, doing sixty kilometers per hour on a really curvy mountain road, when suddenly we saw a long line of cars up ahead. At first, we thought that somebody had wrecked, but our driver told us that the road was closed because of a car race. The owners and the passengers of the cars and buses have vacated their vehicles to climb the hill and watch the race. The scene reminded me the movie "The Day After Tommorow" because of all the rows of empty cars. We followed the suit, and climbed up a hill. We didn't see anything for a while, and we thought it was over because some cars started driving up from the other side of the barricade, creating a very interesting situation with a line of cars facing-off. However, we learned a little later that those people just got tired of waiting and jumped the barricade. I wonder about people sometimes. Then, the race cars started coming. I am not a big racing fan, but I have to admit that seeing cars race by at crazy speeds was exiting. We finally got to Sucre around six and had the evening to ourselves to go out and have fun. The next morning, we walked around Sucre and learned a little about the city's rich history. Sucre was the base of independence fighters in 1809 and the place of the constitutional assembly in 1825. Therefore, the city was the capital of Bolivia until the civil war in the 1900s. There is a law in Sucre that all the buildings around the main square have to be white - that is why I titled this entry "the white city." Most of the museums in Sucre were closed because of the car race, which lasted two days, so we had some down-time to catch up on homework and sleep. Later that day, I went to the soccer game, which the team from La Paz lost horribly. However, the event was really fun. We stayed in Sucre for another night and returned to La Paz the next morning, together with the disgraced soccer team.
The drive down to Sucre was much more eventful than the drive to Potosi because of a car race that blocked the road for more than two hours. We were going along, doing sixty kilometers per hour on a really curvy mountain road, when suddenly we saw a long line of cars up ahead. At first, we thought that somebody had wrecked, but our driver told us that the road was closed because of a car race. The owners and the passengers of the cars and buses have vacated their vehicles to climb the hill and watch the race. The scene reminded me the movie "The Day After Tommorow" because of all the rows of empty cars. We followed the suit, and climbed up a hill. We didn't see anything for a while, and we thought it was over because some cars started driving up from the other side of the barricade, creating a very interesting situation with a line of cars facing-off. However, we learned a little later that those people just got tired of waiting and jumped the barricade. I wonder about people sometimes. Then, the race cars started coming. I am not a big racing fan, but I have to admit that seeing cars race by at crazy speeds was exiting. We finally got to Sucre around six and had the evening to ourselves to go out and have fun. The next morning, we walked around Sucre and learned a little about the city's rich history. Sucre was the base of independence fighters in 1809 and the place of the constitutional assembly in 1825. Therefore, the city was the capital of Bolivia until the civil war in the 1900s. There is a law in Sucre that all the buildings around the main square have to be white - that is why I titled this entry "the white city." Most of the museums in Sucre were closed because of the car race, which lasted two days, so we had some down-time to catch up on homework and sleep. Later that day, I went to the soccer game, which the team from La Paz lost horribly. However, the event was really fun. We stayed in Sucre for another night and returned to La Paz the next morning, together with the disgraced soccer team.
Friday, June 3, 2011
A mountain of suffering
“A mask of gold hides all deformities” - Thomas Dekker
Last weekend we traveled to Sucre, the other capital of Bolivia, and Potosi, the mountain that provided silver and tin for over five hundred years. We flew from our homebase in La Paz to Sucre on Thursday morning and hired two taxis to take us to Potosi that afternoon. The takeoff in the airport in El Alto was a little frightening because the airplane had to reach higher speeds in order to take off at four thousand meters above sea level. However, the flight allowed me to see more of the rugged Andean terrain and allowed me to appreciate the difficulty that communication and travel presented up until the post-modern times. We arrived in Sucre around noon, had a quick lunch, and headed up to Potosi. The trip took about two and a half hours and involved a winding mountain road that sometimes had 360 degree curves. Most people in the taxi fell asleep on the drive; however, I stayed awake to watch the impressive mountain vista and the small villages we passed where people eked a meager existence in the harsh climate and terrain. We arrived in Potosi in time to take a tour of Casa de Moneda, a Spanish colonial money factory where the silver from the mountain of Potosi was transformed into coins. The place was a fortress that boasted almost two hundred rooms, which were used for melting silver, molding coins, and storing the treasure. The museum had an impressive collection of ancient artifacts as well as various minerals from the mountain. The most memorable artifact in the museum was the collection of machines for thinning silver. The machines took up four rooms and looked like a device used by the Inquisition to torture innocent people. In some places in those rooms footprints of the workers were imprinted into the wood. I left the museum awe-stricken by the enormous wealth and power that Potosi once represented. In the courtyard, the face of a clown (the symbol of Potosi) smirked at the backs of the leaving tourists. There is a story behind a clown as well - supposedly, he was carved by a French architect that chose the clown to mock the Spaniards and their greedy ambitions in the New World. After the tour we had dinner and took a walk around the city. The cathedrals and the colonial architecture loomed over us in a dark shadow of the city’s past, present, and future. And, of course, everywhere in Potosi, the mountain of riches watches and wonders at the greed of the human race. Because of the five hundred years of non-stop mining, the top of the mountain has fallen in and the working conditions in the tunnels are becoming more and more dangerous for the miners. We did not do a mining tour, despite the numerous advertisements throughout the city, but we went closer to the mountain to visit the miner’s market on Saturday morning. We saw little shops with tools for the miners, and we saw several trucks taking the men for the morning shift up the mountain. Some of those men will never come back from the tunnels of Potosi. And those who do come back, will only have a life expectancy of about thirty years because the air in the mines slowly sucks out the life of a person, hour by hour. After visiting the market, we walked down back to the main plaza and decided to take a tour of the Spanish convent, probably one of the richest places in the city. The convent was established in the 1700s and is still a functioning establishment. Here, the Spanish sent off their young daughters with a huge dowry to become nuns and to never see the light of the world again. The girls who arrived here were never allowed to see anyone, nor to own any personal belonging. Most of the rooms have now been converted into a museum - to store religious paintings, ancient books, and other relics of the past, such as self-mutilating tools. Many of the walls in the hallways were covered by golden-framed mirrors; looking into one, I could imagine a scared seventeen-year-old girl walking the same hallway three hundred years ago and knowing that her future is bleak and hopeless. Even the bodies of the dead nuns were not allowed to leave the convent - they were buried there and some skeletons still lie in open graves in the floor. Needless to say, I was very happy to leave that place. It was fascinating, but in a very morbid sort of way. The last sight we visited in Potosi was the cathedral on the plaza. The catherdral was in the middle of renovations but amazing nevertheless. The church was gigantic - I can’t even imagine how difficult it was to build at 4100 meters above sea level. However, one of the columns did have a pyramid with an eye - the symbol of the Masons. I guess nothing is impossible for them. We got to climb fifteen or so flights of stairs to see a bird-view of the city of Potosi from the bell tower of the church. After the visit to the cathedral, we headed back to Sucre. Potosi was a great visit to see the colonial legacy first-hand and to appreciate the bloody price that wealth sometimes costs.
Last weekend we traveled to Sucre, the other capital of Bolivia, and Potosi, the mountain that provided silver and tin for over five hundred years. We flew from our homebase in La Paz to Sucre on Thursday morning and hired two taxis to take us to Potosi that afternoon. The takeoff in the airport in El Alto was a little frightening because the airplane had to reach higher speeds in order to take off at four thousand meters above sea level. However, the flight allowed me to see more of the rugged Andean terrain and allowed me to appreciate the difficulty that communication and travel presented up until the post-modern times. We arrived in Sucre around noon, had a quick lunch, and headed up to Potosi. The trip took about two and a half hours and involved a winding mountain road that sometimes had 360 degree curves. Most people in the taxi fell asleep on the drive; however, I stayed awake to watch the impressive mountain vista and the small villages we passed where people eked a meager existence in the harsh climate and terrain. We arrived in Potosi in time to take a tour of Casa de Moneda, a Spanish colonial money factory where the silver from the mountain of Potosi was transformed into coins. The place was a fortress that boasted almost two hundred rooms, which were used for melting silver, molding coins, and storing the treasure. The museum had an impressive collection of ancient artifacts as well as various minerals from the mountain. The most memorable artifact in the museum was the collection of machines for thinning silver. The machines took up four rooms and looked like a device used by the Inquisition to torture innocent people. In some places in those rooms footprints of the workers were imprinted into the wood. I left the museum awe-stricken by the enormous wealth and power that Potosi once represented. In the courtyard, the face of a clown (the symbol of Potosi) smirked at the backs of the leaving tourists. There is a story behind a clown as well - supposedly, he was carved by a French architect that chose the clown to mock the Spaniards and their greedy ambitions in the New World. After the tour we had dinner and took a walk around the city. The cathedrals and the colonial architecture loomed over us in a dark shadow of the city’s past, present, and future. And, of course, everywhere in Potosi, the mountain of riches watches and wonders at the greed of the human race. Because of the five hundred years of non-stop mining, the top of the mountain has fallen in and the working conditions in the tunnels are becoming more and more dangerous for the miners. We did not do a mining tour, despite the numerous advertisements throughout the city, but we went closer to the mountain to visit the miner’s market on Saturday morning. We saw little shops with tools for the miners, and we saw several trucks taking the men for the morning shift up the mountain. Some of those men will never come back from the tunnels of Potosi. And those who do come back, will only have a life expectancy of about thirty years because the air in the mines slowly sucks out the life of a person, hour by hour. After visiting the market, we walked down back to the main plaza and decided to take a tour of the Spanish convent, probably one of the richest places in the city. The convent was established in the 1700s and is still a functioning establishment. Here, the Spanish sent off their young daughters with a huge dowry to become nuns and to never see the light of the world again. The girls who arrived here were never allowed to see anyone, nor to own any personal belonging. Most of the rooms have now been converted into a museum - to store religious paintings, ancient books, and other relics of the past, such as self-mutilating tools. Many of the walls in the hallways were covered by golden-framed mirrors; looking into one, I could imagine a scared seventeen-year-old girl walking the same hallway three hundred years ago and knowing that her future is bleak and hopeless. Even the bodies of the dead nuns were not allowed to leave the convent - they were buried there and some skeletons still lie in open graves in the floor. Needless to say, I was very happy to leave that place. It was fascinating, but in a very morbid sort of way. The last sight we visited in Potosi was the cathedral on the plaza. The catherdral was in the middle of renovations but amazing nevertheless. The church was gigantic - I can’t even imagine how difficult it was to build at 4100 meters above sea level. However, one of the columns did have a pyramid with an eye - the symbol of the Masons. I guess nothing is impossible for them. We got to climb fifteen or so flights of stairs to see a bird-view of the city of Potosi from the bell tower of the church. After the visit to the cathedral, we headed back to Sucre. Potosi was a great visit to see the colonial legacy first-hand and to appreciate the bloody price that wealth sometimes costs.
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