Excerpts from the Peanut Gallery

Here's a saturday story for you entited "We Ate Steak and It Was Fabulous"

A few posts ago I promised stories soon to come. If I recall correctly, the insinuation was that they would be stories about my trip to Argentina. I can tell you without hesitation that was a fabulous adventure full of wonderful stories, such as "The Time Steve eats Three Steaks in the Meal to End All Meals" or a little ditty I like to call "Tango with Dulce de Leche" (That one is more of an ode, put to music it becomes quite romantic). These and other tales that will confirm - heed ye well - that what you've heard about Argentina being the magical land flowing with steak and wine is. all. true.

posted by Kiki @ 10:37 AM 0 Comments

Perhaps this is unkind, but I can't help myself...

Sarah Palin resigned, which, is... ahem, well there is much I could say. However, let's withhold those issues for what hurts most. The real devastation comes when I think about how MUCH I will miss her speech writer. When, alack, will we next hear gems like this one:

“I’m not going to put Alaskans through that. I promised efficiencies and effectiveness. That’s not how I’m wired. I’m not wired to operate under the same old politics as usual.”

Bravo! Ah ha! ... Whaaaaat...?

posted by Kiki @ 7:43 AM 0 Comments

As promised, the Sucre images

posted by Kiki @ 6:09 PM 1 Comments

Because I miss writing papers THIS MUCH.

I miss writing papers apparently, because I was compelled to write this monster this afternoon. It MAY or may not, have something to do with the fact that I was avoiding doing transcripts of last week's interviews, which incidentally is about as exciting as listening to public service announcements on mute. So, for your reading pleasure (or for something only a notch above a muted public service announcement...) I give you my thoughts on Climate Change, Skepticism and Development.

This morning, my old friend Paul Krugman writes in the New York Times about the opposition from Climate Change skeptics in the US Congress. Reminds me of the time that I got the response "What if I don't have kids, what if I don't even like kids??" from a professor when I used the 'protect future generations' line of argument in a paper on Climate Change and Development initiatives. He actually wrote that in the margin. There truly are all sorts of objections out there.

Now, nota bena, I am about as Canadian as they come in my feelings toward Climate Change: yep! We should do something! But – of course – in a calm, peaceful and orderly way. I am skittish of doomsday extremes; I am most comfortable smack in the middle. Let's not get carried away here, oh and while we're at it, allow me to apologize for that over which I have no control (such as, the weather). I am terribly sorry for all the inconvenience caused by melting ice caps both for the economic disadvantages caused by extreme weather patterns in the last few years and also for the personal discomfort you may feel during a particularly hot summer or wicked wind next winter. Mea culpa. Moreover, I know that there are extremes in the responses to tackling climate change, which also don’t sit quite right with me. For example, completely destroying today's opportunities for the poor with burdensome regulation that retards any chance of success in developing countries all in the name of climate change is also not an optimal response. But then, just ignoring it, denying it or dancing around the issue will also be an unlikely method for making it all go away.

This morning, though, I also came across this document on migration caused by climate change from CIESIN. I haven't read more than the synopsis - so a careful disclaimer that I don't actually know the details of it! The introduction is indeed a letter from Debbie Downer (most CC documents are – when I was doing my major lit review on the subject in January I seriously had nightmares from reading the Stern Review and got to the point that I had to change the subject of my readings within an hour before bedtime just so as to be able to sleep. Seriously). However, my intuition is that it is similar to what I am witnessing on a small scale here in Bolivia and what I experienced in Nicaragua. Climate Change predictions always sound so dire: millions displaced by flooding and fires and earthquakes and lack of water. We are not experiencing the disaster that some climate change predictions appear to insinuate. The popular conception of Climate Change warnings would make one think that we are just waiting for a levy to break and 6 billion people will all drown, with a few renegade survivors left to fend off aliens and robots and to perpetuate the human race from a hitherto unknown island off the coast of New Zealand. But that's not how climate change works. And in the very least, I am sure the Kiwis would be very cordial to aliens and not stupid enough to create self-promoting robots that destroy human life. The kiwis always seem very even-keel about these things...

I truly see a need to wrap our minds around this (Climate change, not aliens). Here's the way I see it: One year the rains are a bit more scant that usual. And, if you are a farmer in oh... let's say Bolivia, you think, "well, we're hooped, the crop is gone." (Only it sounds more like "puuuchica! ahi se va la cosecha!" but I digress) But then the next year, or maybe even later in that year (like this one in Bolivia) the rains come when it is normally dry (June, for example) and roads get washed out because they were only dirt and sand to begin with and what is left of the crop that wasn't destroyed by the abnormal monsoon rots on the patio because there is no way to get into the city for two weeks to sell it. That is the climate change I see – some physical effects that are compounded by political and economic factors (i.e. not having quality roads). There is enough environmental and economic discomfort to cause sincere problems of livelihood.

In both Nicaragua and Bolivia I have witnessed what it means to be dependent on rains that are by no means a farmer's friend. When those rains become less and less dependable, as they seem to have been in the last decade, then it is harder and harder for those who have less make a go of it with what they have. Just because Climate Change is not going to melt our skin off in a bath of acid rain tomorrow, doesn’t mean that Climate Change is a hoax. We are noting that the environment and the economy are rarely in sync these days. (Of course, the economy is not in sync with much). And granted, humans have always been at the mercy of nature when it comes to food production. But the scale of the amount of people who are at the mercy of it now does make our era peculiar.

In light of that, I make a case for paying attention to these sorts of documents – read them carefully and critically. Moreover, I think we need to put aside our dislike for children and children's children and take ourselves calmly, peacefully and with intelligence to a place where we are willing to steward the earth rather than squeezing out the last drops since our time is short (‘we all have to die someday’) and it might not last (‘we'll create technology in the next few years to replace it anyways’).

Moreover, I am compelled to remember that just because it does not affect me visibly (I can go buy my food easily from Safeway if the IGA market runs out!), this is not the case the world over. First, the chance of birth – that is, being born in a country and to a socio-economic circumstance that leads me out of subsistence living – does not excuse me from the dues I must pay to a global public good (the environment), which incidentally are far more valuable to those with another circumstance of birth.

Secondly, many people make do on much less nutritional variety, say nothing of material goods, than what I do. If there is a particularly nasty winter in Vancouver as we had this year, I am inconvenienced, but my livelihood is not jeopardized. I did not move to Bolivia from Vancouver in search of income. I know though that many Bolivians may move to Argentina or Spain because they can't afford to stay here any more. True, there are many factors involved there - not just poor crops. Urban and rural people are moving. Nevertheless, there is a collusion of so many factors, to which I often contribute blissfully unaware. And it is this contribution of mine which behoves me to examine my lifestyle and how I can take part in a larger picture of curbing the excess of western environmental and economic damage. What is going on when I drive to the store in my 4runner and purchase subsidized or undervalued food products and which have been produced using damaging environmental practices because of the grandiose scale of production – soy interestingly enough is one of the most environmentally damaging crops here in Bolivia because the industrialization of slash-and-burn production. (Now all the vegetarians feel bad – sorry bout that guys).

So hear what I am saying, please. I am NOT saying we should stop eating soy – or bread or bananas and for heaven’s sake not drink coffee! I am NOT saying we should stop driving all cars. I am NOT saying we should never go to the supermarket, and all revert to growing veggies and become hunter-gatherers. Nor am I advocating wallowing in our collective guilt.

I am advocating though a bit of a sackcloth-and-ashes moment for the western world. Back in the day, the Biblical day that is, people would wear sackcloth and put ashes on their head as a public sign of mourning, remorse and a changing of the ways. I think we too do right to come out with public signs of remorse for the extremes of carelessness we have for those more vulnerable to precarious climates, both economic and physical. Moreover, it is late, but better than never to take some time to "sit in the ashes:" examine the damage as it truly is, with vigorous science – both physical and social – and ponder where to go from here so that we do the best we can by our neighbour and ourselves with the resources we have.

posted by Kiki @ 5:55 PM 1 Comments

Stories soon to come

posted by Kiki @ 1:54 PM 2 Comments

The Novelty Wears Off

There is a moment that comes when one is in a foreign setting where the novelty wears off. You get tired and frustrated. And it might just be PMS, but for whatever reason, on that day, you just can't handle things. I am sure I had these moments in Nicaragua, but I was badgered by the strict rule of "thou shalt not make any cultural judgements until you have been here six months" and so learned to accept things enough that now those moments have been fairly well erased. Heck, I've even had them in Vancouver, but its Vancouver - like a silly goose of a girl: you want to smack her, but she is so naive and ditzy and pretty that you can't help but dote on her.

posted by Kiki @ 7:26 AM 1 Comments

I'll put a fresh pot on.

Those of you who are familiar with my writings will wish to apply the British narration track for the first paragraph. Also, it is recommended that you read this with at least a 'coffee-themed' beverage.

Scene I: the South American Wild.
Supplies are down and although the sun is glintening in the early morning, a Surazo - the cold south wind from the Argentine plains - threatens on the horizon. Its been days since the Brazilian contingent sent the necessary provisions. An early morning foray out into no man's land proves fruitless and the canteen is still empty. Yet our intrepid explorer does not lose hope or her spirit. Back at the camp, she rigs a contraption of ingenuity and wit to bring forth the elixir of life that will steel the resolve of her and her companions: coffee. It is a triumph of will over circumstance- and no little matter of joy. Though the situation was indeed a close call, they will now be able to forge ahead with renewed vigour and strength of heart.

End scene.

Scene II: in Hotel Flamingo, where the girls live. It is night.
Marge: I have sad news.
Kiki: coffee filters are out?
Glum nods all around. The lights go out and it is very black indeed.

Scene III: Also in Hotel Flamingo, morning.
Kiki enters kitchen, surveys the bottom shelf. She finds a seive, picks it out and scrutinizes its mesh. A nod of resolve and she puts water on to boil and pulls out a roll of paper towel.
Lights fade.
Beat.
Lights back on. Kiki is clearly proud and tickled by her contraption now sitting in the sink. She pours a cup of coffee and goes to sit at the kitchen table. She opens her laptop.
Enter Adreana.
Kiki: I have finally gotten inspired!
Adreana: (absent-mindedly) Great. Is that cuz you had coffee?
Kiki: heck yes!
(pause) Adreana: Inspired to do what?
Kiki: blog, post a facebook status... Live.

End scene.

Playwright's Notes:

Now, dear and faithful friends, allow me to explain much of what may have become a point of befuddlement (yes, befuddlement). I think some of you may have surmised that I have a bit of a fanatic love of coffee. Years ago... oh so many years ago in my short life, I explained to someone why I think the coffee industry is worthy of my dedication. You see, there are many reasons. First, coffee is that dark, brooding, strong warm arm around you when you are first yanked unceremoniously from the warmth and comfort of your eiderdown into the cold and harsh first light of day. Everything is garish and cold. Even light is cold. Yet with a hot shower and an even more-so hot cup of Joe (no plumber here), you feel the strength, the resolve, the courage of the dark friend. Joe has seen much, who has been roasted and ground down by life, just like you. Now he consoles like only one who has been scorched and survived can. When your mother has already been awake for three hours and had time to console her own terror of morning, relish the sweet quietness of early morning and then bake muffins, once again proving what an over-achiever she is in the household department, and you just need an ally, a friend to look you in the eye and communicat - without words - that it will be ok.. in an hour you will be like her, made new and ready to talk. And that she will understand - one day - why you didn't respond to any of her questions. The universal mediator, friend, confidente.

But its more than just a morning addiction, a moment of panic in the midst of disorientation. Yes friends, my love is not the type of the needy and the insecure that calls to her friend only when wanting something. Coffee passes the afternoons away too: sitting with a mutual friend in a cozy spot, watching the rain drip by; by the big storefront window with a newspaper catching up on the reports on stocks, stats and gossip; or by idly staring with you out onto the gentle point grey street from the velvet chair, watching the shopkeeper from three doors down hurry off on her lunch, the pub-owner unlocking the front door, getting ready for the evening's pints, the neighbourhood vagabond who sweeps the sidewalk leaves through fall, pushes pff the snow in the winter and sits under the cherry blossoms in spring and summer.

How many of those conversations have you had over coffee? A wise man named Jim Badke used to talk about 'the third object' in relationships. When I was working at Qwanoes he used to tell his eager little counsellors in training that sometimes what you need is a third object to get conversations moving. Campers were between the ages of 8-18 as the teenagers they are, aren't always forthcoming with chit-chat and verbosity (unlike someone you may know...). And sometimes staring face-to-face to a person and gabbing might not be the first thing on their to-do list, especially if the conversation may have any importance at all. A third object, like a bag of chips or a car dashboard on which to fix the gaze... at least until we are all settled, can make words come a bit more easily. Coffee is the consummate third object. It disarms us all with it's crooked grin - a bitter taste that makes you wonder why on earth you like it. Ironic isn't it? Its not the handsomest, but its winsome because it doesn't pretend to be as sweet as a cola and as smarmy as an iced tea. (Not that they don't have their moments to shine either- indeed they do). But coffee has a bit of an edge - it has wit to put us all at ease and then a straight gaze for when we are ready to divulge whatever is on our hearts. And if nothing else, when we don't want to look in an eye, we can look in a never-empty cup.

Sounds like another cup that I know of...

Allow me to try and wrap this all up and bring it back with us to Bolivia. I am, as many of you know, working with coffee farmers for my research here. As my roommate Courtney said when I told her "that's great! ... Am I supposed to be surprised?" Yet there was a race on, that some of you may not know of - between the coffee project and a few other ones working with farmers that were growing all sorts of different crops. I thought about them for a while, because I had been reminded that "the coffee-thing has been done" - and it really has. How many of us would love to just pack up and move to the beach and open up a little neighbourhood coffeehouse and pass away our days like that? How much literature have you read on fair trade coffee? How ubiquitous is this product???

Exactly. By circumstance (divinely-directed, I believe) I was led to pick the coffee project over rice, fish, or forestry. But the fact that there is so much on it, and it has become almost blasé does not dissuade me. It is, I have read, the second most highly traded commodity. Many of us drink it multiple times a day. But like so many of our foodstuffs, we really have no idea - nor do we often care- where it comes from. Far away, that's all we know.

I have been reading a bit from a guy named Michael Woolcock, who happens to be among other things: a World Bank senior social scientist, a Harvard professor, a political economist and a theologian. He is also my new friend. He was explaining in our latest conversation (entitled "Getting the Social Relations Right: Towards an Integrated Theology and Theory of Development" published in Globalization and the Good, Heslam, P. ed) that the problem with the way we look at 'development' in many circles is that it is often framed by a Justice discourse, and not a Glory discourse. We talk about "Social Justice" and "Fair Trade" and we usually do it with a fair bit of fire and brimstone and contempt in our language - we want the world to be a better place and we are frustrated that it is not. We are mad that farmers in Bolivia earn less than oh, say a grad student working as research assitant part-time in Canada (gulp! that sounds strangely familiar). And we are annoyed that Globalization has made it possible for us to see this easily, without providing an equally easy auto-switch to make it all not be so.

But Glory. That's something different than just an appeal to being fair (as Michael pointed out, "even in a 'fair' world we can all live Hobbesian lives that are poor, nasty, brutish and short"). I am still wrapping my head around what Glory really means in 21st century life. In my experience, it is either: a distant Biblical term to be given to and yet already completely owned by God; or it is what soccer and hockey players get when the goal siren sounds. But they can't be the same thing. A short burst of adrenalin coming from a matter of chance and mere human skill working in varying combinations cannot possibly be the same thing that is embodied in the fingertips of the one who spoke time into being and then within seconds (or rather, outside of them stretching years and eons into his morning and evening) created the most specatular and baffling spread.

Breath.

Coffee? Yes, I am getting there. The point of a Glory discourse of development is that it is about having right relationships - to God, to one another, and to creation. It's about running so hard that your lungs are about to burst and kicking that ball straight to the upper corner, evading the goalie who wants to thwart you and your teammates - even those who are from the other half of the world- at every shot that earns you livelihood not just a trophy. Its about speaking life into a moment and working to create a baffling spread. Its about watching in wonder as a pretty, unpretentious little white flower buds and a few weeks later a cherry appears that gives you a nice view, one that crosses your mind when months later you are back in Vancouver, watching the rain drip outside and sitting across from an old friend on the slightly musty couches in Bean Around the World, getting ready to share the heart. Its about knowing the man who cared for the beans and knowing the agronomist who came by one day to check the plants and sit and chat for a while - also over coffee, although at that point it was still a just a white flower. Its about knowing that that relationship is good, like creation, like the one in front of you now.

Whew. I think that's about all I have for now. Thanks for sticking it out with me through this muddle. Can I top you up?

posted by Kiki @ 6:39 AM 3 Comments

well to bring you all up to speed here, I spent my first two weeks in Santa Cruz between Yapacani and Semaipata. I can't even begin to get into descriptions right now, other than Yapacani is the village version of Managua and Semaipata is Matagalpa. For my non-Nica readers, it is Surrey versus Whistler. Luckily for Yapacani, its not more than a four block stretch of highway and then the lush rolling sticky countryside, spattered with rivers, coconut and mango trees resumes. Up behind it are the similar hills to what is found in Colombia's coffee-growing region. Semaipata is a sleepy town that, after a week in the area, connotes eco-tourism and rest. Also, I was warned to watch out for the dirty hippies. After 15 hours in Semaipata, the dirty hippy count was indeed at 22. They aren't so bad, seeing as they seem to pass relatively quickly. They are always walking, strolling in their hemp pants and beaded whatnots. Semaipata is more characterized by the three old men that come out every night and sit on the bench across from the main square. More often than not, its the trees - not the birds - that mark a scene. Semaipata, as with the hills behind Yapacani, is known for its ability to produce some decent coffee.

Handy, seeing as there is an organization that does value-chain development with coffee farmers and a Canadian girl working with them, looking for a project to analyze for her master's degree final project. Also handily enough, that girl has a true, deep and abiding passion for coffee. And farmers.

So this is it, I am a bonafide researcher apparently. I feel like I need one of those vests - you knwo the ones with superfluous amounts of pockets that journalists, anthropologists, photographers and fishermen all seem use with equal panache. I, like people who get to wear vests, am intrepid. Just last week I ate curry from an Irish pub with an American in South America. But before you get an idea about my ego - not that I don't have my issues to work with as we all do - let me note that the more I see, the more I feel like the third shoulder blade pocket: superfluous.

I have had just a week to watch some of the 80 characters that make up the personel from the NGO and they all seem to know what they are doing. For instance, day two in Semaipata, I sat sleepily at breakfast, contemplating my fresh homemade jam and coffee and looking over a beautiful spread of hills and breaking dawn, while my three compadres talked ph levels and nitrates for a soil report they had just gotten back. And who says reading the news with breakfast is dead?

Earlier, I had sat in on a 6 hour agronomists meeting - I was the only non-bolivian, and again, one of two women, and did my best to follow the organizational structuring for an extension of the project being discussed in Spanish with a few quechua quips and jokes thrown in. These people are tight. They know their stuff about coffee.

I know that I prefer a medium-dark roast and that it is best for the Lord's green earth and my tastebuds if it is grown under shade. This will be a tasty ride.

posted by Kiki @ 5:52 PM 1 Comments

Vista de La Paz

posted by Kiki @ 11:54 AM 3 Comments

Life at 3700 metres (12,000 ft)

As promised, I have the much anticipated second installment of "I'm in Freaking Bolivia!" Now, just to bring you up to speed, we (as in, the royal 'we') have spent about three and a half days in La Paz, situated at 3660 m above seal level. It definitely felt like a week. Then we have journeyed up (in yet another plane) to go back down (much more down) to Santa Cruz, (416m above sea level). Now, much has happened in the Santa Cruz region - including, but not limited to, drinking honey shots with an Inter-American Development Bank (IBD) official, the consumption of more than 3 kilos of steak by one small party in about 40 minutes and the senseless and wonton killing of three large bugs in one day. However, I promised you La Paz and so La Paz you will have and we will tell Santa Cruz to simmer down for the time being.

I think the best plan of action, so as not to let you fall too far behind, is to organize a laundry list of highlights from my whirlwind tour of the city (because after two weeks, today is the first time that I've had the opportunity to do laundry, so its the theme of the day). Let's try to do this in an orderly fashion, shall we? So, I give you an abridged glossary of La Paz aspects, items and events.

1. Asociacion de Instituciones de Promocion y Educacion - this is one of the organizations involved in SFU's project with the Universidad Andina Simon Bolivar. It is a network of NGOs in Bolivia and the project (a certification in development for practitioners) is offered to its member organizations and their staff. I went and met with the director and the liason between the university on Friday and we started off talking about traffic in Managua versus Santa Cruz and then before I knew it we were discussing philosophy of development. Was I stoked?? You betcha. Good people there.

2. Economists - I was invited to go to a extra-cirricular lecture at the Universidad Nuestra Senora de La Paz. Now, normally at a Canadian institution such as oooh, let's say, Simon Fraser University, you have one of these lectures regularly during the evenings and a handful (maybe 30-40) dedicated and eager young minds (read: 'undergrads and their even keener graduate counterparts') will come out to hear a speaker flown in from probably New York (one of those REAL universities with the Ivy and stuff!). It is almost entirely students, with the sponsoring profs showing up and a few community members (read: 'retirees'). This lecture was a little different in terms of its demographic. In file about 15 or so middle-aged economists. Most wearing snazzy suits. Different demographic indeed. I was the only woman for the first 3/4ths of the event - oh wait, one of the speakers brought their wife, so I was one of two women. I was also the only person under hm, let's say 35 (and that might be generous). There was a young guy there my age, sitting behind me at first, but about 20 minutes in, I looked back and he must have "excused himself to the men's room." I am unsure if I was an item of interest for my demographic or the fact that I was Canadian (and the matieral being presented, I was informed, was of Canadian origin). Ah well, I should be used to the fact that as a redhead, I really stand out anywhere but Scotland.

3. Insulation - I know, I know, "no cultural judgments until I'm here 6 months" But allow me just one observation then: you think they'd have figured out insulation by now. It gets to about -1 at night, what with the altitude, and yet houses are just brick and stucco. On the bright side, there are plenty of trendy llama-hair legwarmers to be had. I acquired my own pair within the first 15 hrs of being there (and yes Susan, one for you too).

4. Mascots - also known by the long name of "Holy Chocolatey Inside and Hard Candy Shell Outside Batman!" I was sitting in Cafe Alexander, a trendy little place for which I particularly recommend the Quesadillas de Pollo, in Sopocachi (a trendy little barrio of La Paz), looking across at the Plaza Albaroa on the other side of the street, when what do I see, but all colours of M&Ms wandering through traffic trying to meet up with their logo-bedecked SUV. Yes, walking, talking M&Ms. Or at least, people dressed as M&Ms.
A little while later I look up and the M&Ms have vanished but in their stead are Superman, Wonderwoman, Batman, Batgirl and a man dressed as... a tree? SuperTree? Maybe an Ent? I don't really know but he's wearing an entire branch.
A few moments later and half way into my Quesadilla and coca tea, the superteam has vanished, ostensibly to the same meeting as the M&Ms. But what's that I see? Bam Bam!! It's BAM BAM!! I can now die content.
Wait- I spoke too soon! The entire Flinstone gang just rolled up in ... a car with a roadrunner on top...? A Duck? Maybe it belongs to the tree man, but its not entirely clear what cartoon it references. At any rate, they all fit into the equivalent of a Honda civic, Bam Bam's club to boot. What a day!
SWEET MOTHER, its Zorro and his trust horde of Bees!! (Best not to ask). Can this get any better?? The Plaza Albaroa, ladies and gentleman, where all kind of mascot may be spied by the careful mascot watcher.

5. Nomenclature - I really love the way they name things in Latin American countries. Maybe this is a silly point, because the Spanish language reverses the order of most things, so things are essentially "Supermarket Safeway" as opposed to "Safeway Supermarket." That's fine enough, but combine the names with the punctuation and you have to admit, for an english speaker it just tickles me pink: Reposteria "Nicole" and Fotocopias Snoopy are my too favourite so far (Reposteria = Bakery, cake shop). The quotation marks were included on the sign.

6. Mating Rituals - after the Lecture described in #2, I was milling around schmoozing with the best of them, when I was suddenly asked by one man (bald, 5'7, 50+) for my name and number in Santa Cruz. He quickly proceeds to tell me that since I was moving to Santa Cruz, he has a son there - soltero, single -muy importante - who would be happy to help show me around or really do anything I needed and was given his number and address quickly after. Now, I think its pretty well known that I don't generally know if a guy is making a pass at me unless it hits me in the face, but I caught on pretty quickly to this guy's ruse. So apparently I already have a date with the son of an economist whom I know nothing about. The thing is, when anyone figures out you are single in a foreign country, the immediate response is that you came here for the sole purpose of selecting one of their top-choice eligible young men:
Bolivian: "And Kiki, where did you leave your boyfriend?"
Kiki: "I don't know, I must have misplaced him somewhere!"
Bolivian: WINK "Ah! So you don't have one!? YOU MUST GET A BOLIVIANO!"
Obviously. What else would I do there in three months?

... on the other hand, I feel like pointing out that if I haven't gotten one after a few years in Canada, you think three months here is going to be super effective? Just asking...

7. Traffic Zebras - Perhaps the highlight, so let's end on this short note. In downtown La Paz, there are men dressed as Zebras (more mascots, this seems to be a theme). They stand on the side of narrow major boulevards and direct traffic. I KID YOU NOT. They tell people to slow down, merge nicely and wave at children in backseats. The more I think of it, I think it to be quite the slick trick. I mean, wouldn't you slow down for a Zebra in the middle of the road?

Overall, I quite enjoyed La Paz, even more than anticipated! I have to thank a few folks for their kind hospitality (Rachael - and Jessi for introducing us, and the Molinedo family). The city was something completely different than what I was expecting. I am not too sure where to go with its description, clearly it's not all mascots and marriage proposals. There were lots of tall buildings, even taller rock formations... and tallest of all, Illimani and the Andes. Hot sun and frigid shade, some very trendy people with some very traditional. Tree men and Economists. Some contrasts indeed.

posted by Kiki @ 9:21 AM 3 Comments