Travels travels

Caitlin wandering lost, and probably dismayed, through the endless white expanse of Salar de Uyuni. Our trip there was far from uneventful. Packed with long hours in the car (23 in 3 days), extreme temperatures, some rowdy Brazilians, outrageous landscapes, broken windshields and running out of gas in the middle of nowhere, it was certainly something to tell the kids about. Freezing and beautiful Salar is not for the faint of heart, even if Caitlin looks pretty chilled out here.
At 16,000 feet, in the frigid cold, with winds whipping about, are hundreds and hundreds of contented looking Flamingos. Totally bizarre. I mean do they know there are a lot of warmer, lusher places they could live? Don't they have cousins in the everglades they can stay with? Anyway, they are majestic and giant birds. Their pink is only outdone by the fact that in one of the lakes (Laguna Colorada) is an even brighter hue than they. It's something out of a demented fairytale, the water, shimmering against red mountains, under viciously blue skies, shifts from a passionate purple to the color of cherry flavoring.
This is Laguna Verde. You can't really tell how green the water is, but with the volcano looming it's an impressive sight. Unfortunately, at negative temperatures, we really only had time to hop out snap a few photos and plunge frantically back into the jeep.
More impressive than pink lakes, salt flats and volcanos, our kitten, Salvador's, growth. He's a monster, and pretty good looking. Caitlin and I have decided he either is posing for a woman's magazine (what a bod) or is some sort of sexy R&B singer. We'll call him Sal D. Either way, he brings the funk. And he's giant.

Overdue Pics

Caitlin and I on the Isla del Sol, Copacabana's main tourist attraction. And, after putting it off for four months, I must say absolutely worth the effort. It's outstandingly beautiful. Clear, almost tropical water with sandy beaches, give way to swooping and dramatic hills. With incredible views of the Cordillera Real (think the Olympics times five) in the background beyond the deep blues of the Lake, it's all really magnificent. We had the pleasure of doing the day tour with my sister and her friends who were visiting. Good times all around.
A shot of some spooky rock formations on the island. And, you know, the mountains too.
In a complete change of scenery, I'm not in the middle of the tundra, though the weather certainly felt like it (-20 celcius!), but rather in the vast salt flats outside of Uyuni. It was a totally mindblowing and disorienting place. Something of a salty moon land. The environment was completely different than anywhere I've ever been previous, or ever will be again. In a word, harsh. Dry, freezing, blindingly white, but somehow mysterious and magical.
On Fish Island in the middle of the salt flats, its a giant coral reef above ground dotted with massive, imposing cactus. Definitely surreal. Definitely the moon.

Top Ten Ridiculous Things About Copacabana...

Caitlin and I live a good fifteen minute walk out of town, which gives me some time to do serious thinking each and everyday. Most of this time is spent brooding over the loss of the Sonics. But yesterday I created a top 10 ridiculous things about Copacabana list, reading it over baffles me, so try and understand...

10. The heaps of 16 year old boys dressed in strict military fatigues who guard the ¨city limits.¨They spend the vast majority of their time cat calling girls and drinking soda, not to mention their all important, and quite serious task, of checking all cars for drugs. Though they are more interested in watching the WWF matches they have on loop in their offices. The Bolivian military, hooray!

9. The three women who neighbor the store, on the main drag of town, all sell the exact same product. Giant, football sized, popcorn called pasankalla. It's kind of like large, stale kettle corn. I hate it. Caitlin likes it. They women hate each other (as you can imagine, competition is stiff) and have a ridiculous rivalry all based in giant popcorn. The drama therein is worthy of its own short story, to be certain.

8. Walter Polma (the town's main drug dealer and owner of I'd say 60% of the lake view real estate) drives a sweet sweet minivan. Guess narco traffickers in Bolivia are not as fancy pantsed as elsewhere.

7. The fact that we live on a giant lake, notorious for its trout (which is, sadly, farmed) and there is absolutely no fishing industry here. Though tourists ask about it daily. Logic is not really en vogue here.

6. There's no ATM (millions lost), but there is a loopy, bar owner named Macarena. She's ten times more lively than the dance.

5. Walking to work at 8:50 on a Monday morning I'm almost certain to pass a group of older men and women sitting on the side of the road, an empty bottle of vodka and beers scattered around them as they sit in a bizarre and uncomfortable silence with one another. Drinking hard before nine on a Monday. And who said people here are lazy? That's serious dedication.

4. The Bolivian Navy. This country is land locked. There's probably not a lot more to say. They don't really know how to row, and don't have any engine propelled boats. Again, the Bolivian Navy. And this is only number four.

3. There is a town tradition of blessing vehicles in front of the church. It's sacred and yada yada, but really it's just pouring beer and champagne on car engines and the seats inside. Guess, if you aren't drinking at nine a.m. you may as well douse your car in alcohol. Just to, you know, get that engine in prime condition.

2. The first week Caitlin and I were here we went into a restaurant for lunch, and the only person in charge (I shit you not) was a child in diapers, who could hardly speak. I would say the vast majority of the shops are run by children 12 and under. I mean, there are a lot of soap operas to watch in a day. You can't expect mothers to be in charge all day, not when there is adequate 2 year olds to do the work for you.

1. This kills me...the children just had a 3 week winter vacation. Acceptable, but a bit ridiculous as the kids here only go to school three or four hours a day at the very very most. But, since no one here really likes to go to school anyway, and since there is plenty of drinking to be done by the teachers, and the kids have restaurants to run, vacation was extended a week. But get this, the reasoning was...wait for it...some mornings there is frost. Yep. Frost. No school on account of frost. (Koreans and Japanese children are weeping) The weather here has not changed more than 2 degrees Fahrenheit since we arrived in March. It may have gone from 41 to 39 on a chilly night, but the days are still t-shirt and shorts ready, with nary a cloud in the sky. Yet, they cancelled school for a week, because of ¨frost¨which may or may not even exist. Ahh Copacabana, working hard at being ridiculous.

Pics

I doubt anyone really looks at this here website as we hardly ever update it at this point, but figured I'd plug in a few more pictures for the curious. This one is the border guard station. Right at the edge of town there are heaps of 16 year old boys in fatigues who check the taxis that come and go from Copacabana. It's at best a farse. The biggest drug dealer in town, who owns the vast majority of property here, has his own private large Mercedes bus that crosses the border (without passengers) and you better believe he has 16 year olds, who work in an office that looks like this, are going for the cash. Anyway. I feel safe.
One side of the street on our walk to work. It's mostly just crumbling half built houses, made of a dark adobe and brick. In the distance is the church and some of the massive, jagged hills that are omnipresent in the distance. To me this is a very indcative picture of middle class existence here...while the following picture...
Is a shot of the money that's flowing in this town. The lake is starting to be ringed by big beautiful (and extremely cheap) hotels such as these two. There are bell boys, restaurants, hot tubs and the like. Pretty nice. At times, when the sun is setting in the distance this look a lot like Monaco or some such wealthy principality to me. With the boats and the lake's gentle waves. If nothing is, this town is in a serious state of flux.
Just more of the walk to work. Nearly everything is stunning in both its beauty and simplicity.
You can't really get a great feel for his size here, but that's Salvador on our bedroom window ledge. He's just a monster. In three weeks he has easily doubled in size. He's quite the goodlooking young Simba, lion creature. Ferocious at times, but mellowing and becoming quite loving of Caitlin and I. You'll also notice in the background that pretty decent view we've got.

Long Overdue...and the family grows

In a stroke of fate that is let's say not surprising Caitlin was gifted a kitten by our ever friendly and muppet voiced landlord, Doña Sofia. Being a Canfield, she was unable to reject the offer. We now have in our room with a view an adorable and incredibly spunky baby boy by the name of Salvador. Or Sal, if you please. Or Simba. He's cute and acts pretty much like you'd expect a month old kitten to behave. Plays like hell. Sleeps. Repeat.
He may look cute but there is deep imbedded lion blood in this creature. He's an athletic freak (moreso by the day) eats more than Caitlin and I combined and is hardly bigger than my hand. His high pitched and somewhat demanding meow is unendingly adorable except when it happens in a pleading attempt at play at 4 in the morning. Otherwise, good stuff.
If you squint you can see the Fair Maiden seated in the corner of the store in Copacabana. It doesn't give you much perspective as to how tiny the place is, but four people in the store and you can tell what everyone else had for lunch. There's Lonely Planets, music, random books in at least 9 languages, compasses, ponchos, backpacks and much more. I don't really know what to say after that.
The "Pay Coo Coo" or Miss Primitiva Quispe Quispe and Caitlin. Primi is first cousins with Yoda.

Internet

So,
The internets aren't working so hot right now. I've got a glut of other pictures I'd like to put up, but for whatever reason it ain't happening today. Instead I'll tell write a little on the racism that plagues Copa.

This town is a very closed off and strange place, where anything less than 5 generations here makes you a foreigner. So under these pretenses the locals stir up a large pot of xenophobia and racism they hurl towards anyone not specifically from Copa. That includes all other Bolivians as well.

They make up vicious rumors and sexually laced stories about the expat population, painting them as lurid drug addicts who do nothing but indulge in indecency. Which couldn't be further from the truth. Most of the foreigners who stay here for an extended period are friendly, helpful and goofy, three words I would never use to describe the local Aymara.

Recently, there was a march, after two local boys were caught stealing license plates, blaming and protesting foreign businesses for the teenaged troublemakers. People streamed the streets chanting ¨Death to Foreigners¨all in response to their own problems. Drunkenesss, alcoholism and abuse are massive problems amongst locals here yet they point the fingers squarely on the dreaded Argentines minding their own business.

Just the other day Caitilin and I repeatedly (twice) went to one woman's stand trying to buy some rice for dinner. She refused to acknowledge us, turned her back and then finally, after we persisted, said the rice was not for sale. We mentioned that she owned and store and it seemed inherently counterintuitive not to want to sell your wares, but alas. Scorn and hatred like this are far too common here. It's discouraging in so far as Caitlin and I were both very excited to involve ourselves heavily in the community, learn aymara, teach, work at the hospital, but with such an icy reception there is no desire to give back.

It does not taint our time here, however. The people who are kind and exceptionally kind and we have a great job and house to bide the time. The surroundings are certainly condusive to creativity and bettering our spanish is a joy. Not to mention the trips and visitors we have to look forward to in the coming months. If anything the divide just furthers the juicy intrigue that lays low over this town like one of the few clouds that hover over the lake.

We have a house

This is the view from the window of our new house! From our bedroom no less. Caitlin and I, after much heartache and deepset racism, found a place to live. It's about a ten minute walk out of town. We pay 40 dollars a month (shared) and live with an Argentine expat named Luciano (Lucho). He's incredibly kind and friendly and has pretty sweet dreads. After loads of people showing us houses with no electricity, no bathroom, broken floors (which they expected us to pay to get fixed!) we stumbled across Lucho's place. Apart from not having a fridge it's a dream come true. If we ever live anywhere with a view like this again, well then we will be doing something right. Not to mention the sunsets....
The living room. Complete with sparse hippie decor and cement floors. But we just made a two day trip to La Paz (running up the massive hillsides) and bought everything we could possibly want to turn the house into our home. With apologies to Luther Vandross. We are done sleeping on the matress made of dried reeds (which the local woman refused to show caitlin unless she promised she was buying the matress and paid first...I promise to post about the out of control xenophobia and racism asap.
Another shot of the view. There's a garden, it's massive, and a three legged dog named Rengo (Limp) just to make Caitlin feel completely at ease. We really couldn't have been luckier. Actually when we first got to town, some three months ago, we went for a walk and fantasized about this exact house, saying if we could choose any place in town that would be where we want to live. Low and behold, 90 days later and we're cooking stir fry in the kitchen.
The spartan exterior. All building is done here in either adobe or cement. Just pray there are no big earthquakes.
The other day we went to Primi, our co-employee's house in Yampupata (a small small town further down the lake about an hour away from Copa) for a campo cookout. This picture show's the group. On the left is Dave, owner and founder of The Spitting LLama, next to him is Primi in her finest hat. Romy is standing above Primi's son Brandon. Innocencia, Primi's mother, is glaring angrily at the camera and Caitlin is looking marvelous on the far right.

A Day with the Bolivian Navy

Here's lovely Caitlin enjoying our outing on the lake today. She refused to jump in the water.
Here's Jaron with, believe it or not, short hair. Also in the distance is Isla del Sol. Jaron did jump in the lake. He may or may not regret it.
So today we retrieved our friend Fatima's boat, which she keeps docked at Copacabana's Naval base. Yes, that' right. A landlocked country with a Navy. Boy do they keep the waters of Lake Titikaka patrolled and safe. Actually, the whole Navy appears to be nothing more than about 20 eighteen-year-old boys who alternate between wearing goofy 1940's Navy garb and drinking beer in dirty fatigues. Oh and officially stamping random papers. When Caitlin and I asked the Navy boys to get us the boat and bring some oars and life jackets, they honest to God took 45 minutes to move the boat about 20 yards. They didn't appear to know how to row very well and their fleet, or singular boat, looks something like a beat up swamp buggy from the 1970s. At least they have Jesus overlooking them in those dapper outfits.
A shot of town from the Naval base. It's way more beautiful and scenic in person. I promise.

A Few Shots of Copa

There are sunsets like this literally every night. It's an incredible thing here, the end of a day. We go from frost and a serious nip in the air in the early morning, to profusely sweating in the shade at about 3 pm. Next is the nightly water color spectacle over the lake and finally a deep chill as soon as the sun finally disappears. Lovely bookends to a day, really.

Locals joke that there are 360 holidays a year in Copa. I seriously don't doubt it. There seems to be occassion to drink and miss school nearly every day. Sometimes this is problematic, sometimes they fill the main square with flower petals in these pretty and ornate designs. Just glad I don't have to get an education here.

A Week Back in Copa

Life here is something like I would imagine living in Tuscany in the 1960s to be. Only there is a giant, epic and unendingly blue lake as the center piece of the whole experience. Everyone knows everyone (who's not a hippie, tourist or unseemly vagabond) the market is a staple of the social sphere, vendors chat with street artists whiling away the hours under a sky that appears to have forgotten what a cloud even is.

There is time to read and write and sit. There is time to chat and enjoy a long meal at midday. Working in the store, and officially taking the lead on it at this point, has already taught me a bit about business and aesthetic. Even if I don't have a blade of interest in retail I still find the bartering and endless interactions with tourists to be totally fulfilling. And Caitlin and I have even figured out how to cook with a little gusto up here. As if things couldn't be going well enough already.

The characters are developing. Dreamy Argentine coke heads who just can't seem to stay away from this place. Young mothers, conservative beyond their years, babys slung in colorful blankets across their backs. Brooding English bar owners, always with a cigarette in his mouth and scowl across his face. Not to mention his short, big nosed Bolivian wife. It's all quite intriguing and potentially the funniest thing of all time.

Long bike rides through eucalyptice forests, with that smell, as the Lake glares at you in the distance, make me realize that Caitlin and I are pretty lucky these days. We could be in an office building in a parking lot in Dallas staring at a screen for 10 hours a day. But no. We have the pleasure and challenge of life in the center of South America at 13,000 feet in the air. Damn.

Jaron

Dragon Slayers

Great Googley Moogley We Did It!
After literally a month of fighting a vicious, uphill battle against the chaotic disorder that is Bolivian bureaucracy, Caitlin and I officially obtained our visas and national identity cards. Some 200 photocopies, 4 lawyers, 2 bloodtests, 63 stamps (each), 6 sets of fingerprints and 4 rounds of mugshots later and we are done with the process. Though we still have to wait until Thursday to pick up our identity cards. Honest to God this was the most difficult task of my life, or at least cost the most trees. Unbelievable. I rather take a ten hour economics exam than deal with that ever ever again. But hey, we got really good at standing in line.

One quick anecdote from the process, as Caitlin and I were getting fingerprinted for the final time yesterday the stoic and rather unfeeling officeworker in her starchy green outfit ordered Caitlin to take out her nosering for the official photo. Somewhat understandable. Then, in a joking manner, I asked her if she thought the nosering was pretty. Flatly, she said no. Then told Caitlin that she would get cancer from the piercing and that she was tired of Americans and their negative influence corrupting and ruining Bolivian purity. Ladies and Gentlemen, Bolivian bureaucracy: wildly inefficient, costly and rude! Makes New Orleans seem like Finland.

Thursday night we head back to the sanctity of Copacabana, and I could not be happier. Maybe then there will be some more good pictures to put up.
with great strength
Jaron

Reflection on Santa Cruz

Hello all few of you who may look at this site.
Since life here in Bolivia is, we´ll say, not fast paced
I´ve started writing some political opinion and social commentary pieces. Here is the first one I wrote. It´s about the recent referendum vote in Santa Cruz. After lots of dialogue with lots of folks and some good help from Caitlin, these are the conclusions I´ve come up with.
enjoy

Democracy Through Racism

By Jaron Berliner

Can a racist referendum really be the most democratic step in a nation's history? Such question is being asked around Bolivia following the referendum put forth by the populace of the country's easternmost state, Santa Cruz. A direct attack upon, and also a deep questioning of Evo Morales' leftist government, the vote produced little in terms of results other than to further fracture a country already greatly divided. Santa Cruz, the wealthiest state in the Republic, is indicative of the colonial residue that coats the entire continent. Much like an aged snow before warming, colonialism still lingers on street corners in dirty, brownish heaps.
While this sentiment may appear overwrought, the referendum is, at its core, based on racism. Just as with persons of African descent in Brazil, the United States and throughout Europe, those of indigenous blood are similarly oppressed in Bolivia. Only here they are the majority. Nearly 50% of the populace still exists as subsistence farmers, living day to day on cultivatable crops or in many circumstances forced into begging, making Bolivia the poorest nation on the continent.
However, Santa Cruz is not alone at the forefront of this deep rooted conflict between the wealthier mestizos and the poor indigenous. Three more states, Pando, Beni and Tarija are determined to go forth with their own referendums for autonomy in the following month. But there seems to be no clear consensus on the intended outcome of these votes against Morales' blooming socialism.
Frenzied crowds gathered in plazas screaming vehemently for autonomy while skirmishes between fractured political parties tainted the day of the vote (red state/blue state ain't nothing compared to these primal, stone throwing battles.) Yet, with all this passion and fury, it remains difficult to decipher what autonomy truly means for any of the discontented states. Apart from fiscal selfishness and vague party lines such as, "Today we said to the world that we are autonomous. Viva Santa Cruz,"[1] from Branko Marinkovic, president of the Pro Santa Cruz Committee, there is little idea of what autonomy truly portends.
Though the vote did pass in a sweeping majority, 85.4% to 15.6%, nearly 40% of Santa Cruz's population refrained from voting many at the behest of the national government, who continue to publicly declare the referendum unconstitutional. Thus supporters of Morales interpret the results as far from overwhelming, arguing that the 39% in abstention, in addition to the other 15%, totals more than 50% of the state's populace.
As an impartial viewer to the political theatrics, it feels little more than another act of under-planned pageantry, a group of elites grasping onto the last ledges of power in a rapidly changing country. Santa Cruz is the capitalist oligarchy fighting and flailing against Morales' impending socialist dawn. Even if the national government, for some reason, acquiesced to the results, the chances of Santa Cruz existing as a singular and successful republic are slim to none. Neither the infrastructure nor support exists for a peaceful and successful secession.
One young citizen of Cochabamba, a city vying for its own autonomy, does not support Morales but was able to distance himself from the factionalizing influence of the referendum. He expressed that the vote was not good for Bolivia as a whole, saying that it hurts business, damages tourism and is little more than a lot of "blah blah blah" without a definite result.
This is not to say that all the drama was for naught. These could be the growing pains of a nation openly dealing with a reshaping of its national power structure. Morales is the first indigenous president in South American history, symbolic of a previously disenfranchised people coming to terms with their strength in numbers.
This brings us back to racism. There is little doubt that Morales' public position to attempt a greater equality for all Bolivians (proposed land reform, nationalizing the gas industry and foreign telecommunications company Entel) instigated the referendum for autonomy. Santa Cruz's elite refuse to give up their land and money, creating a vote born of racial distaste and political disagreement. That is not what is important to take away, however. What is truly on display is a developing country converting its political priorities towards a socialist structure, where the discontented broke with a violent, coup-ridden history, and chose to express themselves via a pure form of democracy, the referendum. They did not take up arms against a majority, democratically elected official. Regardless of the referendum's racist backbone, it is democratically birthed, and that is progress.
In this conflict, both sides have chosen democratic means to promote their dissonant political and personal agendas. On the day of the vote, dissenting indigenous activists showed up in the tens of thousands to exercise their civic rights, peacefully waving the Bolivian flag, a deluge of red, yellow and green for unity. Since there is no looming Republic of Santa Cruz, this vote could be little more than the thrashing of the affluent coming to terms with the fact that they are the political minority in a country determined to rectify its unequal past. Either way, it appears this conflict will be settled through peaceful, democratic means. And that is significant for South America's poorest nation.
[1] Los Tiempos. May 4th, 2008. Cochabamba, Bolivia. Referendum Section. Page 4.

Brothers?

Obviously my parents have a deep, dark secret they´ve never revealed. He and I look startlingly similar. No?
Once our monkey friend noticed the bunny ears I jokingly put behind his head, he commenced feces throwing and summarily beat me to a living pulp.
Caitlin cheating on Jaron. But seriously, spider monkeys are incredible. So relaxed. So concerned with their upkeep. So comfortable in the laps of pretty women.
Though the town of Villa Tunari was not particularly scenic, the view from high up in the jungle hills was certainly stunning. If you look close, you´ll notice that I´m an artist by utilizing the color focus feature. Watch yourself Anne Geddes, I´m on your tail.

Bug bitten, but alive

Just got back from a few days in the Amazon, Villa Tunari to be exact, and it went more or less swimmingly. Villa was a remarkably ugly town, considering the surroundings, and offered little in terms of diversions. We did, however, visit the Inti Wara Yassi animal refuge. It is a shelter for abused and previously domesticated wild animals (the main culprits being hotels and the circus...not to mention the exceedingly nasty black market that exists for tropical animals) and it was a totally incredible slice of jungle. The animals, who are eerily not afraid of humans, will literally hop in your lap. Case in point the monkeys that cooly walked up to Caitlin and I, climbed up our legs and made themsevles quite comfortable on our shoulders. I, for one, have never had a monkey within twenty feet of me, let alone sitting on my neck. They were so responsive, interactive and personable. One of the monkeys in an attempt to break into the nearby parrot cage, which had loads of food, used a leaf in mimicry of a key in his failed robbery. I wish desperately I had footage of this. I would just run it on loop and force as many intelligent design, right wing Christian fanatics to watch it as possible. The way those creatures interact with us and each other is not a whole lot different than a 14 year old boy early in the morning. I´m convinced .
There are pictures of the monkey adventures. They will be up soon. For now, we wait until our visas are ready on Thursday. Tomorrow is the Santa Cruz referendum for autonomy. Twill be really interesting to see how the country responds. Violence, indifference, chaos, a giant love-in? we shall see.
Until then
Jaron

Pictures pictures pictures

A shot from the soccer match Caitlin and I attended. Sadly, my new adopted team The Strongest proved to be the Mediocrest and lost 2-1 to the hated Wilstermann Aviators. The crowd was into it and the stadium had some great mountain views, which made up for the lack of, we´ll say, ability on the pitch. All in all quite fun. Oh, and The Strongest will get their revenge yet.
These buses are everywhere in Bolivia. They are the public buses. Obviously the totally put all american public transport to shame. Just look.
Llama fetuses! Direct from the womb of our favorite spitting creature. But in all seriousness these are sold at nearly every market here to be used as a good luck charm for new buildings. All the hocus pocus aside, they are pretty frightening and even a little sad. Especially the furry ones (not pictured here.)

Some food pictures

This is most likely me after a full year in Bolivia. Mind you, this is 9 AM on a Monday. Dig the sandals though.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I introduce you to chicha. A fermented corn alcohol (originally done through mastication and saliva) that tastes something like sweet corn beer. It´s potent and fairly delicious. Certainly the national drink of the country and something that Cochabambinos take quite seriously.
Chicharron. It´s pig, grease and potato. Surprisingly delicious but outrageously umm...the presentation isn´t the best.
These are chicken heads sold in La Cancha, Cochabamba´s seriously oversized market. The market itself is a good 50*20 in city blocks. There you can find any good imaginable from toothpaste to cakes to monkeys to cow snout. Oh and it´s packed with people at all times. Not to mention the constant blaring of car horns and yells from various venders. It´s something like I would imagine the entire country of Bangladesh to be like.
Caitlin sipping Chicha from the communal bowl. Helped wash down the pig intestines.

A Boatload of Photos on the Way...

This is me, duh, in front of some big, glowy church in the main square of Cochabamba. I swear I was looking at something important off in the distance, and not just trying to appear suave.
Caitlin, in the very same square as above. She looks better than I do. There is an incredible wealth of greenery and parks in this city. It´s totally incredible. You can hardly walk three blocks without stumbling across some benches, sunshine and a fountain.
A view of the city on our way up a giant hill where we would encounter the world´s largest Jesus statue. Shazaam Rio! Still looks like L.A.
At the top of the hill. The amazing thing is that we still get wildly winded every time we are forced to exert oursevles. Will we ever truly acclamate?
Me and Susan, Rommy´s sister, at the Chicharron place. Chicharron is sliced up pig parts, greased up nicely and slopped on a plate. There are pictures of that to come.

Love at first sight

Caitlin better take cover, because I have a new love in my life and her name be Churrasco. Last night a mess of us went out for the succulent and tender meal. It is no more than perfectly grilled hunks of meat. We entered a simple and smokey room, replete with plastic furniture and surly, big bellied servers. The options are only beef, prepared essentially two ways (though they looked vaguely the same to me.) Caitlin and I split the churleton, which is three, i´d say, 25 oz. steaks, served on a wooden board, with a couple french fries, mustard and no more. Oh, and it cost 5 dollars. This meal would be easily in the $50 range in the U.S. served in some uptight steakhouse with cloth napkins. Not in Bolivia, it´s all business here. If I close my eyes, I can still taste the goodness. Vegans beware, this place is not for the faint of heart. The meat is ominpresent and no frills. It´s something like Texan heaven.

In other news, the fair maiden and I will be attending a soccer match tomorrow between the local team, Wilstermann, who sport a Nazi Airplane as their logo, and my adopted club, The Strongest. Obviously, in the match between strength and faux-nazism the team with the best uniforms will prevail. I like the black and gold.

In other other news (probably of more interest than meat and futbol, though I don´t know to whom) on May 4 the Santa Cruz region of Bolivia is voting on a referendum for autonomy. They are trying to become a unique and self sufficient state in much the same vein as Cataluyna and Quebec. Of course, their reasoning is the relative wealth of the state and a reticence to sharing said wealth with the other, poorer states, as is the plan of president Evo Morales. There are rumors of coups, conspiracy and the like being bandied about in the papers. Caitlin and I will be traveling through the Amazon and potentially Santa Cruz at that time. Depending on how adventurous we are feeling it could be a prety interesting experience. Of course, all of this relies on the notion that we will have removed ourselves from the nasty and sticky grips of bureaucracy by then. Here´s to hoping.

Jaron

Photos without people

A shot of the forever blue skies in Copacabana and the Norman inspired church in the main square.
Though this park looks lush and massive, it is really no more than fifty yards. But is a pleasant spot for relaxing in Plaza 6 de Agosto across from the church. And there are almost always ice cream men walking by honking his horn.
Just a shot from right outside the store of the lake. Sometimes the sky is orange at this time of evening. I never seem to have my camera when this occurs.
A shot from Rommy´s house of Cochabamba. This could be L.A. right? Right?

¡Pictures Galore!

The view from the hill above our lodgings in Copa.