I'm in Bolivia at last; we went via Lake Titicaca, and visited the
floating reed islands of the Uro people... the islands themselves were
just like another world and I'm glad I saw them, but tbh the Uros looked
less than enchanted to see yet another load of gaping gringos pouring
off the boat to wave cameras in their faces... just one of those times
where you really feel like a McTourist I guess. Ick. Still, they gave us
a ride on a reed boat that looked as if it would unravel if you pulled
out a single piece, and that alone was worth the trip... so beautiful
and peaceful after the relentless noise of traffic and motorboats.
We arrived in La Paz, and spent a couple of nights there before leaving
for Cochabamba. La Paz is a lively, enchanting city and I'm looking
forward to going back there on Sat for a few days. We had another
'interesting' 8-hour bus trip to Cochabamba, sitting just in front of a
campesina (what they call the indigenous people) who looked so exactly
like a walnut-veneered Shrek that I was tempted to lift up one of her
plaits to see if she had tubes for ears. She'd only bought a seat for
herself, so her two sticky children had to sit in the aisle, eating
malodorous chicken out of a plastic bag and then using my arm to lift
themselves up and therefore, inadvertently, also as a napkin. Shortly
after we pulled out of La Paz, the younger child started to cry, and
only stopped several hours later in order to be sick. Am starting to
wonder if my road is to be paved with vomit for the entire eight months.
We arrived in Cochabamba to blazing sunshine and the predictable absence
of my parents. Still, I forgave them when I saw my dad's apartment - it
occupies the entire top floor of the centrally-located building, and is
huge and airy, with views over the whole of Cbba. They had also got us
invited along to a campesino celebration of the summer solstice, at some
Inca ruins 150 km from Cbba, by means of their friendship with a group
of young Bolivians who are really involved with the Inca traditions and
really know their stuff. Even getting there was interesting; I was just
eyeing the battered old rustbucket of a taxi we were going in, wondering
if it would last the trip, when I was told that it was taking eight of
us! As Mischka and I wedged ourselves into the front seat, we cheered
ourselves with the thought that should we crash and end up diving in
tandem through the windscreen, its extensive network of cracks should at
least lessen the impact a bit.
The two solstices and two equinoxes are the main celebrations of the
indigenous people here, following the Inca tradition of worshipping the
earth and sun; they have no truck with the ostentatious Catholicism
forced upon most of the continent by the Spaniards. We drove for three
hours, deep into the hills, to a valley where we were to camp for the
night before the solstice rituals the next morning. That night, we
danced with the campesinos under a million bright stars, drinking chicha
brewed in buckets and always spilling the last few drops onto the
ground as an offering to Pachamama, the Earth Mother. The group we were
with had emphasised the need to integrate, not to watch from the
sidelines like tourists but to get properly involved in everything, and
even taught us a few words of greeting in Quechua, as most of the
campesinos speak very little Spanish. This was that holy grail of
travellers, a Genuine Locals' Event, and we were very lucky to be there.
How genuine it was didn't really sink in until we discovered that they
were going to sacrifice a llama as part of the ritual the next day! I
kid you not.
In the event, it actually turned out to be two sheep, even the best-laid
llama procurement plans occasionally going awry, and there was a comedy
moment the next day when one made a desperate break for freedom and was
chased all up the mountain; sadly, it eventually reapppeared, slung
across the shoulders of a grinning campesino. We climbed up to the old
ruins in the darkness, and they spread out the offerings of coca leaves
and other bits over the sacrificial stone, a vast block in the middle of
a field next to the ruins of a great hall. It was light enough to see
now, and after various speeches delivered in an incomprehensible mix of
Spanish and Quechua, the same chubby, grinning guy appeared with a short
and alarmingly blunt-looking knife and started sharpening it on the
stone. I didn't watch the actual slaughter, thankfully, as Mischka told
me that it was a lengthy and vigorous affair. Anyway, they drained a
bowl of blood out of the sheep's throats and cut them open, and as the
first rays of the sun struck the stone, we all raised our arms in its
direction and there was a kind of shouted litany in Quechua. Just then,
the chubby guy, who I was really starting to dislike, started throwing
handfuls of blood and entrails into the crowd! At this point, not caring
if I blew my cover as a tourist, I dropped all pretence of involvement
in favour of frantically dodging flying gore.
Luckily, he soon ran out of blood, and as everyone stood around talking
and enjoying the sun, the atmosphere seemed relaxed enough for Mischka
and I to get our cameras out and start stalking babies. The campesino
children are just so adorable, and happily, rather than resent my
determined pursuit of one fat little angel, his family all insisted I
take pictures of them as well, so everyone was happy. The whole thing
was actually a wonderful experience - the country is actually pretty
segregated in practice and I did feel very privileged to have seen a
ceremony performed by the direct descendants of the Incas themselves.
OK, this Internet place is closing, so more later. I hope you all have a
wonderful Christmas and New Year, and I'll reply individually tomorrow -
it's been such a whirl of relatives and other things since we arrived
it's been difficult to get to a computer. It's really weird having
Christmas here - it hasn't felt like it at all and today we just went to
an Argentinian restaurant and had a fat steak. Last night (Christmas
Eve) we actually went out intending to get online, but fatally, passed
the bar where they do Cuba Libres and Caipirinhas for 5 Bolivianos each
(about 50p). We bumped into the first fellow foreigners we've met here, a
German and a Brazilian, and proceeded to get so drunk with them that we
don't remember getting home and the night concierge at my dad's
apartment appears not to be speaking to us!
B*gger, am really getting chucked out now! loads of love
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