Rainy Predicaments

I was talking to an old friend the other day online, and upon him asking me how things were going and what I was working on, it occurred to me that it had been quite a long time since I have written in my journal. Let me start off by saying I am at a difficult crossroads with my community, Pucará. In mid-September I was approached by the Vallegrande guide service to teach a new cycle of tourism classes. They want to train new guides and knew I was working in tourism. I was excited at the opportunity to work, as it had almost been a full year of struggling to find anything resembling a tourism project. José, the president of the dysfunctional guide association would help with the class, as would Barbara, a Swiss volunteer living in Vallegrande. I told them that I didn’t want to leave Pucará altogether, but that I would come in once a week and stay for 3-4 days.

So life took its course, and I have since been teaching English and tourism classes to a group of 10-12 people. In October I had my friend Thomas come visit, sit-in on one of my English classes and gave him the grand tour of Pucará. Since Emily’s visit in January, I had gotten used to living alone and not noticing how different life was here in my little hamlet than in the United States; but having Thomas there I again noticed the little things that I have just become accustomed to. We hiked and got caught in the middle of nowhere in a huge lightening storm, witnessed some beautiful sunsets over the Andean peaks, and enjoyed a typical Bolivian dish that the Club de Chicas made for him.

One of the main reasons I look forward to going back to Pucará each week after teaching is being with the 8 girls of my Club de Chicas. We have so much fun together: baking, cooking, playing cards, and working in the greenhouse. We were able to sell lettuce two weeks ago (pocketing $1.50!!!), and are just waiting for the moment the tomatoes, zucchini, beets and carrots are ready! The rains have really begun beating down on the Valles Cruceños and with the rains come planting season, which is again in full swing. My 72-year old friend, Doña Laura, is out helping her husband plant just enough potatoes for their own consumption; they can only be gone a few days, because their livelihood, the main store in Pucará cannot afford to be closed. Doña Laura tells me this over coffee and empanadas last week, as we sit and chat about the general happenings of town: when the priest will come say mass next, whether the streets will be fixed before the party of our patron saint, and how frustrated she is that the hospital is running out of her heart medicine.

Last Wednesday and Friday we had a dance and music competition within the whole municipality. Students from the schools in Pucará, Las Huertas, Lacayotal, Salsipuedes, and Kiñal participated in reciting poems, singing songs, dancing, and playing instruments. It was a beautiful sight to see so many little kids gathered to be the center of attention; usually they are squeezed in a corner hiding, watching their parents drink heavily during a town fiesta or at the local “bar”. Prizes of new backpacks, notebooks, and soccer jerseys were handed out to all the participants, and those who didn’t live in Pucará headed back to their small pueblos with big, empty backpacks on their back and even bigger smiles.

I was headed into Vallegrande for a workshop this week when I was told, by my counterpart, that the Council of Pucará wanted to see me. Apparently, to them, I am breaking my contract by going to Vallegrande and teaching. I was flabbergasted at their audacity to not only not be able to tell me this to my face but also by their desire to address my service for the first time in such a negative manner.

In other news, I may appear on a Madrid-based television show, highlighting the joys of adventuring the Bolivian unknown. Two Spaniards working in television and wanting to create a documentary came through Pucará and La Higuera this week exploring the Che route; one was traveling with his bike, the other opted to walk between hitching rides. While waiting for their bus to carry them through to Villa Serrano, I opened up my room to them to have a picnic, repack, and relax a bit. They took their cameras and video recorders out to film the beauty from my window, but also wanted to capture the story of an extranjera living in this little lost paradise. We were lucky because it was also the day of the school musical competition, so Pucará was teeming with young faces and overall glee that often is associated with the end of the school year. They had visited La Higuera where several Italians have invested money in the community and understood the difficulty of bringing aid to impoverished areas without setting a destructive precedent. I think this is one of my main difficulties that I do not want to give in to- setting up a project that gets popularity solely because I am bringing money to the community. It has been detrimental to the community of La Higuera years after the international funding has disappeared and just not sustainable for the future. I am hoping that I can take my tourism curriculum and teach it in Pucará as well; perhaps then they will see that knowledge is the best road to a wealthy community.

I will keep y’all posted as to what happens in the next couple weeks. I am looking forward to Thanksgiving with several Peace Corps Volunteers then the visit of Maman, Papa, and Emily in December.

Thanks for reading, and remember, I only have a year left, so please let me know if you would like to come visit!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Casi un año

The days are perfect. Windows open at twilight and crickets chirping while the odd rooster crows. I arrived today on the bus from Vallegrande sitting next to six tourists on their way to La Higuera; they were snapping pictures and marveling at the valleys down below. Arriving in Pucará, a Belgian couple decided to walk to La Higuera, leaving their large backpacks in my house until their return; the others took a taxi on their journey west. It was a beautiful day to witness Pucará for the first time!
My work with the Mayor’s office is slow and frustrating. My presence is neither expected nor acknowledged- and without support from them, it has been near impossible to rally the community to form a tourism committee or even discuss the issue seriously. My computer classes have stopped; those who were interested have finished the course and that is that. Despite lack of “traditional” work, I still am in love with Pucará and its people. They are the reason I get up each morning (usually!) and make me feel like a pucareña.

I have formally organized a club de chicas; we have been hiking, baking, and reading books in English and Spanish together for a while now and I love spending time with these 8 girls. They are now helping me unwed and replant the greenhouse with fresh vegetables to sell on the plaza on Sundays. I am working on setting up a recycling project with them as well. My 7^th grade class in the school here has begun an exchange with a school in Iowa; we are learning about the Plains Indians and basic English and the 7^th graders in the U.S. are learning a bit of the Incas too. I also have been inquiring in Vallegrande to teach new guides about tourism and some English vocabulary… I am basically trying every outlet towards still working on tourism these days!

When I see experiences such as today with the tourists coming through Pucará, I wonder whether the pucareños aren’t right, and that maybe the level of tourism here is nearly sufficient; after all, most travelers to these parts are looking for the adventure, the hiking, and really experiencing the heart of the Bolivian countryside. Winter is almost over, and aside from a light snow and freeze two weeks ago, it has been uncharacteristically mild.At the end of August I am going south to the Grand Chaco region to visit another PCV, Andrew, in his site outside of Yacuiba where they hold an annual rodeo! Several of us will then venture a couple hours south into Argentina to visit the wineries of Salta. I have been here a year and realize I have chosen the best rollercoaster ride yet of my life!

Dia del Maestro a.k.a. "National Teacher Day"

Yesterday we left at daybreak, all huddled in a flatbed truck, down the mountain pass that goes past the school and various people’s estancias (ranches). From the valley we had to walk a kilometer up a mountain to our destination; having brought along stereo (and battery to play the stereo), cases of beer, buckets of corn, 10 kilos of meat, a grill, and charcoal; we were each trudging up like ants, going to have a picnic. We arrived at Prof. Nelson’s farm and were welcomed with cups of sweet, sweet coffee and warm cheese empanadas. As we ate breakfast and marveled at his location overlooking the mountains and cornfields that he owns, his wife pulled out piping hot zapallo (squash) from the adobe oven. We each took spoonfuls of squash and added warm milk to our bowls, almost like a type of cereal; it was surprisingly delicious and fun to eat! The men began to slip shots of singani into their coffee and the women were gathered in the room with the stove, talking about food and preparing “lunch.” Now, I can’t really say what “lunch” was, because we ate almost all day long. The director of the schools arrived on his atv and came walking up the mountain with cases of beer on his head. We were then ready to go to the cow pasture and enjoy Ambrosia (warm cow’s milk and cinnamon liquor shots). We took turns, and went from cow to cow until there was no more milk coming out of each one! Most of the teachers know that this is the only type of alcohol that I really enjoy, so they took advantage of invitaring me every other shot (or so it seemed!) we were so full by 10 o’clock, that we returned to the house and just lounged, peeling potatoes, yucca, and tomatoes for later. We jammed to cumbia and vallegrandino music. Prof. Nelson is what we call a bailador and asked everyone to dance at least 3 times during the course of the day. As we took off our dancing shoes, Hilda, Nelson’s wife, served us hot zapallo soup with pieces of campo cheese and potatoes. Maria, the director’s wife and I snuck a locoto pepper and added our own spice secretly, giving it an even stronger taste. Gaby, Marile, Adair, and Ivi (all sons and daughters of teachers present) were intrigued with my camera so we decided to go on a photo shoot; I captured funny faces and poses on the mountain; you could tell that even for them, this was the rural countryside compared to “urban” Pucará. I returned to the house after escaping the beginning of “invitaring” (you invite someone to drink after you, then you drink) of beer. Magaly, Nelson’s daughter passed around a plate of fresh cheese, to be eaten with moté (warm corn kernels).
The vallegrandino music switched to merengue and more cases of beer were brought out. The day was perfect, without a cloud in the sky; we went back and forth from sun to shade, talking about families, and food, and telling jokes on each other. The barbeque was being prepared, tomato-onion-locoto salad being made, and yucca boiling on the wood stove, all in preparation for our big “lunch.” At this point I didn’t think I could fit one more morsel of food in my stomach… but dancing to song after song helped me digest. Around 4 o’clock, the meat was finally ready, rice was cooked, potatoes were soft, and beer was running out. We ate heartily, enjoying the last hours of the day and knowing that we could fast tomorrow if only to enjoy one more piece of grilled steak and a little more yucca. The kids were getting cranky, and the teachers went around making speeches about the importance of an education and working for the future. It was an odd moment for me because I was included as if I were a teacher like them, Bolivian like them, in this little hamlet at the end of the world; and I guess for me it was enough to show that feeling of really being included in their celebrations, such as this “Day of the Teacher,” to show how accepting they are of having me in Pucará. No one treated me differently, I had to haul down a crate full of empty beer bottles and sit in the back of the truck like everyone else… and after such a glorious day, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.