The Festival of Fruit and Bolivian Street Culture, Cochabambina Style...

Independencia Valley, first municipality independent from Spanish rule

The past few weeks have been filled with flowers, long black braids, a delicious fruit called the chirimoya and lots of mixed feelings, among other things. Because I've been able to settle in with the Lopez family, do work such as translating documents and coming up with fundraiser ideas at Mosoj Yan during the week, go salsa dancing, take interesting weekend trips and also have a daily workout routine at a local gym, I feel like my life finally has some kind of reliable rhythm lately. And I like it. I also like Cochabamba, a medium-to-petite sized-city (the third largest in Bolivia) with lots of interesting things going on, a laid-back feel, southern California weather and perpetual flowers everywhere. Of course, there are some aspects I'm not so fond of as well.

I drank corn/beer alcohol called "chicha" with the best of them...and spilled a little on the ground to tribute "Pachamama" or mother earth in Quechua, which is the local custom.

It was nice to spend some time singing around the fire and visiting the fruit tree orchard with the local volunteers. They are with a "sustainable tourism group"and made us feel very welcome.

You might think that, by this time, I might have gotten pretty comfortable with southern south American culture, or at least gotten used to it. But, the truth is that I'm not sure I ever would...at least not the more populated places I've been living in and traveling to (El Chalten and El Bolson excluded). Perhaps a good way to describe it might be...living under a gaze. Now, normally I enjoy a healthy dose of attention, all because I enjoy artful attire, inventive ways of dress, public expression, community art and all that good stuff that encourages respectful openness in community a whole lot. I'd even say it's part of who I am. But that's also why it's been a bit hard living within a culture which is perhaps less-used to it, inclusive, or accepting, and the fact that I'm just not accustomed to the level of staring that goes on here...nor I am willing to be someone I don't like in order to try to fade into the background and avoid judgement...even though I doubt it would be very effective. Sexism is certainly a pervasive characteristic of this culture, which is of course one of the main reasons I wanted to work with an organization aimed at empowering and educating girls living on the streets here. There are many inequities among their statuses and those of even men living on the streets with them...the cards are stacked pretty highly against them.
For many reasons, though, I do find myself frustrated (when I'm not running around town and cutting a rug or speaking with interesting people, that is) with the restrictiveness of this culture. The cultural climate is in reality very conservative, especially here in Bolivia, as it turns out. Sometimes it's hard on me, and I go a little bit nutty with all of the staring, just knowing that, around every corner and across every street, the men gathered talking (yes, sometimes hooting or using degrading language) are directing their attention at me. Sometimes I go nutty and I have a hard time getting a handle on my own self-confidence in a climate like that or centering myself, and I need to sit for a while with a pen and some paper (and maybe a glass of wine) and contemplate the reasons I came here, my goals, what I want out of this experience eventually, and the things I trust are true despite that current circumstances might lead me to forget them. Things like, for instance, my conviction that it's okay to be who you are no matter what, as long as you are honest, well-intentioned, and (especially) full of exuberance for what you're doing. That it's more than okay to be different; it's great. Diversity enriches life for everyone.

On the eve of the festival of the chirimoya, local elders invited us to witness their earth tribute ritual and take part, which involved chewing copious amounts of coca leaves (very popular in Bolivia, give off a "buzz" a little like caffeine), drink chicha (spilling some on the ground around the fire), and hugging everyone.

Sometimes I think my move out west to Portland made it easy to forget how frustrating the fight can be to retain these ideals and live by them in places where people are less open-minded. So it's good to be here again, experiencing the struggle, that is, in order to remind myself that there is still so far to go in the fight for social acceptance and justice.

With that said, I have been having a fabulous time working with warm and hospitable people as well as traveling to the countryside to take part in local holidays and festivals.

It is true that the tiny town of Independencia, where I traveled last weekend for a few days, has a high-percentage indigenous population and that among that population it was obvious that poverty and alcoholism are prevalent. At the same time, the town was also beautiful, as were the smiling faces in traditional dress, singing and dancing to celebrate the harvest of huge fruits called chirimoya that are delicious and abundant in the region. I can't imagine anything else quite like it. I plan to stay here, travel, work, and continue Spanish studies until mid-to-late June, when I'll plan my return trip to Buenos Aires and the United States. I know there are a lot of mixed feelings I will have, am already having, about returning. It will be difficult from here on out, I know, the aspect of remaining in either place and not the other. Something always seems missing somehow...but there must be a way to reconcile that, or at least turn it into something positive like an interest in globalism and cultural awareness...I'll let you know when I decide.

All night salsa and Bolivian dance as we kick off the Festival of the Chirimoya!

...For the time being, I'm supposing, I'm just going to have to continue to go along for the ride.