Happy New Year!

Its the end of 2007 and I have finished my 27-month Peace Corps Service. It has been a wonderful collection of bold emotions, painted images of the Andean countryside, and experiences of immersion in Bolivian culture. Most of the Volunteers who began with me in August 2005 are now back in the States, adjusting to the idea of customer service, grid-lock traffic, biggie soft drinks, hands-free cell phones, and throwing their toilet paper into the toilet! I, on the other hand, have decided to stay one more year (as most of you already know!), not wanting to give up speaking Spanish daily, eating salteñas on the street corner, being a part of political history, and throwing my toilet paper in the trash can!
I had the pleasure of coming back to Virignia for a month to celebrate Christmas and New Years with my parents, sister, grandparents, and various friends; thank you all for your support the past two years and now, I would not have had such an experience without your letters, phone calls, and general good wishes!
I am now living in Cochabamba, and truly love it! I have a roommate, another Volunteer who is staying a third year, and our house is very central (near the soccer stadium, an outdoor market, a gym, and several dance clubs!)
I begin working next Monday with both Peace Corps and Habitat for Humanity International. I look forward to the new challenges these jobs bring as well as the thrill of living again in a city.
So, I will be continuing (posting more regularly, I promise!) on this blog site: claireinbolivia.blogspot.com/

I wish you all the best for 2008 and look forward to sharing this year with you!

Back in Red, Yellow, and Green

“Has traído el frió contigo, Clara!” (“You brought the cold back to Pucará, Claire!”), they tell me upon my return from vacation a couple of days ago. I was so anxious to arrive, that despite the bitter cold and muddy streets, I walked around town, greeting my good friend Yuma, stopping by the mayor’s office to let them know I was here, and searching for Osito in the plaza. I felt like years had passed since I was last here, it was nice to see that nothing had changed; the pile of rocks in front of my house was still there and Doña Inez was in her usual spot selling Sunday lunch and Jell-o to those who wanted. The wind was cold alright, but after a warm two weeks in the States, it was bearable. I went home to Virginia to surprise my dad for his 60th birthday; my plane from Santa Cruz was late, so the surprise at 1:00 in the morning wasn’t as exciting as it would have been surprising him at home, but nevertheless worth the trip!

I settled excitedly into my childhood room, jumped on my bed, took a scalding hot bath, walked barefoot on the carpet, stuck my head in the freezer; I even went through pictures and memories of life before “Oblivia.” I awoke the next day, thinking I needed to put on shoes to walk to the bathroom, but instead saw my mom bringing me a cup of tea; its one of those experiences you amaze yourself at how easy it is to fall back into a routine, even after two years. Every step I took, however, felt a bit new. Running around the neighbourhood at such a low elevation made me feel like I could win the Boston Marathon, and I almost panicked walking into my local Safeway grocery, not knowing where to look or what seemed edible behind all the plastic wrapping. Instead of everything feeling new, though, I think it’s just that I now see things with changed eyes, as if everything had a new value. Why would you need to buy 20 rolls of toilet paper, when you can just buy two at a time at your local tienda? Why is “fresh” lettuce sold in a plastic bag? As I was suffering a case of reverse culture shock, I allowed myself to enjoy the benefits of such a life…Sharp cheddar cheese, 7-11 slurpees, sushi, microwaves, hair straighteners, washing machines and dryers, comfortable couches, 300+ television channels… all things I couldn’t really find much to complain about! But of course the best part of this trip weren’t the amenities I was happy to have, but the people I was with. Spending time with my family and various friends was by far the highlight. I went to New York City, shopped in Manhattan (and realized people spend more on their pets’ weekly grooming than I have on my own grooming in the past two years!), walked the streets of my sister’s diverse Brooklyn neighbourhood, ate hot dogs and rode the Cyclone at Coney Island, even visited the new terminal hub/memorial at ground zero, and strolled through Central Park. Through all of these activities, I appreciated the aesthetic beauty of cityscapes and the amalgam of languages spoken in the streets. I could see the draw to living in the States, despite the lukewarm reputation we have abroad, and for someone who was completely disillusioned with living there before, it was a welcoming surprise.

Like most vacations, they pass in the blink of an eye; fortunately there were few mishaps, aside from running a stop sign that was definitely not present last time I was home and saying something in Spanish on occasion. But the funny thing was, I realized that like Pucará upon my arrival two days ago, life in the States hasn’t changed that much either. I guess I am the one who has, and whether it is for better or for worse, it feels good to know that travelling and experiencing the ends of the world are indeed the best decisions I’ve made in all my 24 years.

Easter in Pucará

Easter has come and gone... and along with it the humid breeze of summer. Saturday we experienced a cold front that required all of gloves, hats, scarves, and té con té (tea with liquor shots in them.) As cambas were arriving in their detailed four-wheel drive vehicles to visit their pariente Pucareños, everyone was wondering whether there would be a fiesta the next day because of the weather. Women huddled by their adobe ovens as bread was made by the kilo and men just decided to begin drinking in anticipation.
Mass was at 3:30 a.m., meant to be celebrated so that we would finish as the sun was rising. I was asked to be the godmother of a five-year old, Alejandra, who lives here with her grandparents. Her parents live in Santa Cruz and have another daughter, but thought raising two was too much, and therefore was sent back here. She is a rather wild child, speaking her mind, hitting girls and boys alike when she doesn’t get her way, and practicing to be a tomboy. But in return she has a wonderful, caring spirit, and I was honored to stand next to her that chilly morning. After the main ceremony was over, about 15 children, mostly babies, gathered around the altar in their white gowns and Father Carlos anointed each of them; we lit our candles together, everyone hesitant to blow them out in hopes of raising the temperature of the church a degree or two. I went to have cafecito at Doña Miriam´s house (Alejandra´s grandmother), and the Nescafé and fresh bread were a welcome treat.
Sunrise was beautiful as I was walking back to my house along the cobblestone street. It looked like all the prayers and good wishes for a sunny Easter had been fulfilled. Women were selling salteñas in the morning, and children were dancing near Prof. Cesar as he played his accordion. I sat with Doña Laura, one of my good friends, outside her store, both like little cats soaking up the mid-morning rays of sun. She wanted to “dar la vuelta” in the plaza, so we did. On the church side of the plaza, I could see women still kneeing in the church, praying. On another the vaqueros were finishing off their ambrosia; stumbling to untie their cows and to bring them back to the fields. On yet another, children were playing soccer with a deflated ball, staying away from the main drinking holes. Women were gathered around the lonely telephone, waiting to call family in Vallegrande or Santa Cruz. The phone hadn’t worked in two days due to the cold, so the line was long and older ladies growing impatient. I could hear teenagers whisper and mock me as I walked linking arms with Doña Laura. Usually you go around the plaza with your cortejo (boyfriend), and of course, my lack of boyfriend in this town makes everyone gossip that I hide him under my bed, or that I just have too high of standards for the pucareños.
In the afternoon, I showed Karate Kid III in the library, kids piling three to a chair, sitting on tables and on the floor. They had obviously tired of seeing their fathers drunk and wanted a new diversion. After the movie, a couple of the boys and I debated which was better, part I, II, or III not to mention which of them had the best karate kick. Before I knew it, the sun had set, and it was yet another holiday I would not see next year. I have to admit I would have done most anything for a brunch out on the patio in Virginia and Maman´s home-cooked meal. Then I realized that it probably wouldn’t have included morning salteñas, accordion music, or strolling through the plaza… so I went to bed completely satisfied on this beautiful, crisp, sunny day in Pucará.

Unconventional Carnaval

carnaval is a time of water balloons, comparsas, binge drinking, and foamy string...

last year was spent in Vallegrande but this year, i was unable to make it to Oruro for the best Carnaval of Bolivia. i planned on going until i became sick with bronchitis again and had to stay in Cochabamba until I finished my antibiotics. feeling a lot better but longing to get back to Pucara, i decided to cancel my vacation plans and return to santa cruz to take a bus back to vallegrande...

unfortunately there were major landslides the day before i was to leave and after sitting on the bus for an hour or so, i saw that the chances were slim that a landslide could be fixed in a couple of hours...after all, this is bolivia, the land of "ahora" meaning tomorrow, and "ahorita" meaning after a siesta. so i waited a couple of days and, with another volunteer, decided to take a taxi to make any detours and turning around (if necessary) much easier on a two-lane road. We prepared to leave as heavy rains hit Santa Cruz and the surrounding area. The landslides worstened and entire villages were being washed away, some estimated 1,000 trucks and cars, most of them carrying goods and fresh vegetables were stranded on small strips of deteriorating asphalt and sinking in quicksand. The rains continued and we thought perhaps flying to Cochabamba and taking the long way home would be easiest; we booked flights only to find that the "long way home" road was also closed due to heavy rains.

i was looking at being stuck in santa cruz for the weekend... and not just any weekend, but Carnaval... where plastic ponchos and silly string are typical daily acoutrements of any person between the ages of 5 and 80. I must admit i haven't been hit too badly yet; aside from being pegged this morning during my yoga routine on the balcony of my hotel, i have been quite lucky. buses, taxis, men selling orange juice, women flipping hamburgers... all fair targets during these couple days.

The sun has been shining for two days now, so my hope is that I will be able to head back to Vallegrande and Pucará tomorrow or thursday. i look forward to getting back to liliana, alejandra, nina, richard, david, cristian, maria, and all the other kids who frequent the library every morning. i also begin a series of tourism lectures in March so i need to begin preparing for those. but more than anything, i anticipate returning to my "simple life" (no, not even remotely similar to that of paris or nicole!) but the tranquility of the countryside, the views of the andes, and the villagers of my little pueblo. i long for hour chats over nescafé, making roscas with doña mary, strolls along the creek with oso, and sitting on the steps of the alcaldia's office contemplating life with don choco and iver.

Feliz Mardi Gras!