Los Vagabundos

Naomi and Fabian-an Argentinian hippy we met in La Paz- in the ´Comedor Popular´, Copacabana. The jewellery he displays is all his own design.

Bolivia is one of the cheapest countries in Latin America and it´s becoming a hippy haven. Naomi and I met plenty en route so this blog is dedicated to them.

We set out to the Isla del Sol from Copacabana, which looks out over Lake Titicaca.

Our short ´one hour and fifteen minute´ boat ride actually took three.

So we got to know the hippies pretty well. Edgar came from Portugal and was camping out on the beach for an indefinite amount of time. Where he pitched his tent had previously been a rubbish tip but he managed to clear it and restore its natural beauty. Across from him sat another American hippy, Phoenix, who lived beside him and spent the majority of the boat ride plaiting a bracelet from twelve different threads. They invited us to see their boat and some small ´mauri´ fish they had caught the previous day.

Edgar had very little sailing experience and his boat was worse for wear. It turns out that he´d had to gone to Copacabana to fix it. He was struggling with oars, paint and a number of tools so we offered to lend him a hand.

The journey from the quay to his tent took about an hour and provided beautiful views of the lake as we ambled on top of the hills. Edgar got annoyed when a diminutive woman approached us and asked for a donation to the city hall if we wanted to pass from one zone to another. The fact that there could be more than one region in this tiny paradise and, even worse, that you had to pay a toll as a pedestrian was almost as preposterous as Edgar´s reaction. He began ranting about the evil of money and tried to claim he was a local, even though he was effectively homeless and was lisping Spanish in a thick Portuguese accent.

The Inca ruins were very nearby. (We disproved the guidebook which said that the surrounding area was uninhabited and therefore a nightmare to find.) We found a cute mini Inca replica just in front of it, probably made by the farmer´s children.

And here´s the real thing:

As the sun set, we said goodbye to the hippies and tried to find the path back to the beach, where all the hostels were. We´d been offered a space in the hippy tent but declined on temperature and hygiene grounds.

Little kids kept running up to us asking where we would like to stay and eventually we settled on staying with a widow offering 20Bs per night (2 pounds). This is the first time I have talked to the cholitas properly as they are usually quite shy and a little bit afraid of white people. But in the Isla del Sol, they were friendly and helpful; showing us the way without us having to ask and introducing us to some of their livestock. It felt like a real-life nativity play.

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Night at the Museum

Me and Naomi went to Zona del Sur and interviewed a 'famous' Bolivian drummer and bassist. The latter, Alex Turralde, belonged to a Christian rock band, but ironically, it was the drummer who was called 'Christian' Paredes and he described himself as a (non-religious) rebel and a rockstar.  

A few days later, every Museum and embassy in La Paz opened its doors to gringos and locals alike. No one charged an entrance fee (unlike in London, museums aren't usually free here). The idea of 'el noche de los museos' is to allow universal access to Bolivia's rich cultural heritage with no financial qualms. This council initiative proved popular. The streets were teaming with people and there were traditional dances and bands playing in the streets and in museum halls.

(Us outside the square with most of the museums)

We saw a wide variety of masks, devil costumes, musical instruments and paintings of Che Guevara. The most striking Che Guevara picture looked like one face from afar. But up close, you could see that his features were composed of many different people; mostly campesinos looking either desperate or inspired.


The coca museum was small but informative. Coca leaves are the raw ingredient for cocaine but are harmless unprocessed; a fact often forgotten by the international media when they demonize countries that grow the crop. Coca leaves are often used down the mines to stave off hunger or brewed in tea. 

Both coca leaves and aguadiente (strong alcohol) were both used by indigenous people to endure the oppression of colonial rule. According to 'Open Veins of Latin America,' some of those who rejected these means of numbing the pain had such a poor quality of life in the mines, digging for the conquistador's gold, that they committed suicide and sacrificed their children in order to spare them from the horror of a miner´s daily drudgery.

Even the President, Evo Morales agress that coca is a polemic issue and used to be a cocalero. Coca tea is even prescribed to gringos when they first arrive to combat soroche (altitude sickness), because it stimulates the brain to produce more oxygen.

(Above: Des tries the flourescent-looking concoction advertised as coca beer)

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The next day was the champions´ leage final: Bayern Munich vs Chelsea. We watched it in 'senses' bar and had to pick a team on entrance. Luckily, I picked Chelsea and won some free beers on the house!

But I didn't really deserve them because we weren't in the bar for more than an hour and missed a big chunk of the game. Instead, me, Toni and Naomi got bored and hungry so we went in search of something cheap to eat. We found a churreria and were presented with a huge plate of cold corn saturated with water, over-fried chicken and tuño (rehydrated potato).

Food looked up the next day though. Danny made us a feast; including chorizo, beef, kebabs, salad and some Bolivian cheezy rice. Harry prepared some brouchettes to help out and we processed behind Des, who was carrying them in foil.

I got chatting to a few of Danny´s friends who invited me to a 'guitarrada' this weekend (classical guitar jam). I also met Maddy for the first time: an NGO worker who used to work for Bolivian express. Here is a picture of her with Felipe, her Chilean boyfriend.

As night fell, the temperature dropped so we hurried home. Getting around in Bolivia is always somewhat precarious because although everything is one way, there is a high drink-drive rate and people tend to speed up if they see a pedestrian rather than slow down. Luckily, help is often at hand in the guise of zebras (homeless people who act as lollipop ladies to enable you to cross the road safely).

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Jamming with Des

I´ve learnt a lot from my flatmates as well as the Bolivians I´ve met. I asked Des to give me an African playlist because his music taste is second to none. We were talking about accessories the other day and Naomi said Harry wore his girls like accessories. Des broke the awkward silence with a killer quote: "I sometimes wear my awesomeness like a cloak". I´ll let you judge for yourselves!

1.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4XPl6Pb8K4I
Pot Belly by Freshly Ground.
2.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hiQ0uyqySBg
Mannenburg by Abdullah Ibrahim
3. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eQqy43TT85Y
These Streets by Mi Casa
4. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GeecXiqNzWA
Weeping by Bright Blue
5.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t9y0qLsbWPY
Mozambique by Jimmy Dludlu (learn to pronounce his last name, it´s triiicky!)
6. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDMBB3lAMPE
Oskido by Jezebel
7. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9jIhNOrVG58
Fire on the Mountain by Asa

And yes, that is a Bob Marley poncho!
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All That Jazz...

This week has been very up and down; which is fitting for an undulating city like La Paz. I´ll start with the less-than-stellar moments of my trip so that I can end on a high.

In my previous blog, I told you that my guitar playing went down alright. This was true (at least I hope so) until I knocked over Jules’ guitar whilst running to take a photo! Not my best first impression. I´ve included the before shot of our ´familia´ photo at Sharoll´s request. (see previous entry for the after one)

Now I´ve shared one of my (many) moments of shame, it´s time to embarrass someone else. Des has been hilarious this week. He sat down on a beanbag overenthusiastically and now there are little polystyrene balls everywhere.

And I mean everywhere:

Not a good week for Harry and Rodrigo either, who both got food poisoning. Harry got it worse and it we could hear him moaning in pain from the living room. Carro made him coca tea but there wasn´t much else we could do to help him. So we waited for it to pass.

Here´s a picture of (a recovered) Harry and Naomi with their treasured coca tea:

I made a deal with Des that if I found his glasses, he´d make me coca tea for a week. Not that he needed them. I quote (to be read in a South African accent): “it´s OK if I can´t see the film. I´ve seen it before. I´ll just paint it in my mind.”


Having cleared up the flat (including all the polystyrene balls), we managed to secure front-row seats at Thelonius jazz bar. Thanks to world-class training from ´casas culturales´ (conservatoires which give bursaries), the quality was superb. Next, was an after-party at Sharoll´s friend´s flat. The altitude made me sick and I fainted on-route from lack of oxygen. I was tempted to go home but I´m so glad I didn´t. The flat was beautifully furnished, teaming with people and had a gorgeous view of the whole city, illuminated against a pitch black sky.

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Api Happy

We all woke up late. The cats broke into our room at 2 in the morning, mewing and malting. We removed them and went straight back to bed, thinking we´d get another 5 hours sleep. 7 hours later, it was time for our first language lesson and we had less than 5 minutes to get ready and arrive. They made us take a test straight away and I felt like I was back in school again.

Naomi and Toni told me to hurry up with my essay because we were all starving so we went to El Prado and wolfed down some quesadillas. We were in a rush, but we were distracted by the student protest outside the main square. The police were lined up with shields and guns and were firing tear gas. Later on TV in the cafe, we heard that a journalist had been killed during the strike. No pictures I´m afraid; it wasn´t worth it.

We had a bit of time to waste before proofreading so we went in search of ´Api´, the notorious sweet drink made with ground corn. It was cheap, sweet and filling. Naomi had api mixto

 (half yellow, half purple with a hint of lemon) and I had api morado (purple). We were too full to eat much at the Thai restaurant later, which was a good job because some of our flatmates got salmonella from the meat there.

On the way back from the restaurant, half the sole came off my pumps. I would spend the next two days searching for a replacement only to conclude that as a tall (compared to Bolivians) Westerner with proportionately large feet, I wasn´t going to be able to replace them here.
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Bienvenido a Bolivia

I arrived in Bolivia an hour late. My suitcase was stripped and searched, even though I hadn´t set off the alarm. Then, the police didn´t believe that my passport photo was me. I had to argue with them for five minutes in my angriest Spanish before they gave it back. I think they wanted a bribe but I hadn´t got any Bolvianos yet so there was no way I´d let them bully me.

As usual, I got chatting to my fellow passangers on the plane to alleviate the boredom of the journey. I took an immigration form for the guy sitting next to me when he was sleeping and lent him a pen. So when he woke up, he was very friendly to me and taught me a load of useless vocab like papada (a roll of flab on your cheek) and chaman (a mountain guide.) He was a tennis trainer (now retired) and knew a lot of musicians. He gave me his email and offered to introduce me to his friends who run a ´casa folklorica´ (free classical guitar workshops). These are apparently better than expensive conservetoires.

My guidebook had warned me about altitude sickness and another passanger from Santa Cruz told me her horror stories about being in bed and vomiting for a week in reaction to La Paz. Fortunately, all I got was a slight headache and I was able to walk and go uphill fine without becoming breathless.

My flatmates introduced themselves and took me to the witches´market, which sells anything from scarves to charangos (similar to guitars) to llama foetuses.

It was a magical place full of colour and old retired people dancing in the street to a battered radio. I bought a purple scarf and bag and the women were delighted to talk to us and sell us their wares. Others glared at the gringos indifferently.

The witches´market is quite high and we hadn´t acclimatized so we took a break in a Lebanese cafe where Des bought a shisha pipe. Me and Naomi stuck to lemonade, which cost about 10p each and was freshly squeezed.

Back at the flat, Harry decided to cook a meal for ten people. This was ambitious considering that he´d never used some of the ingredients he bought at the market before (some green vegetables that looked like peppers but weren´t) and baring in mind how weak our oven was. Everyone was in the kitchen stirring something or stuffing peppers or grinding cinnamon with the back of a knife for desert (Des) and five hours later, the banquet was prepared.

Silence ensued. The food was good and we were too hungry and impatient to concentrate on anything else. After dinner, Joules (a French tour guide who works nearby) got out his guitar and played a few songs in French. Rodrigo followed this with an upbeat Spanish tune. Danny changed the atmosphere completely by playing some really haunting and romantic tunes and his voice was rough but melodious.

Suddenly, Helena remembered I played guitar. This was a difficult act to follow but I played them Romance Antonio followed by Malagueña behind the back of my head. Which went down well, thankfully. I wanted to remember the night and took a photo of all of my Bolivian ´familia´.

(Back row: Toni, Harry, Joules, me. Front row: Des, Naomi, Sharroll, Carro, Danny, Rodrigo, Helena)

A little red wine goes a long way with altitude and I soon felt sleepy. I said my goodnights and Des told me he was disappòinted "Ellie, how can you go to bed so early? The night is but a foetus!" 

Tchê tcherere tchê tchê!!!

My 7am wake-up call in Buenos Aires came from someone else's blackberry messenger. I attempted to find it for a good five minutes before remembering it wasn't mine because my blackberry was back in England! 

After this rude awakening, I treated myself to an indulgent breakfast of coffee and medialunas (mini croissants, but very different to the kind you buy in supermarkets because they are so fresh) and headed off to the ecological park.

I passed about ten rodents (the size of rabbits but with tiny ears) and I still have no idea what they are called! Let me know if you find out. I´ve found a picture of them on facebook, which I´ve included below.
http://www.facebook.com/PEUR4

I went jogging for about an hour and was racing with a University student for the last 1500m (I won xD). Then, it was back to Chacabuco (San Telmo) for lunch with Olivia (a student from New Zealand) and a shower. I had been told that Argentina is a country for meat eaters (as the stereotype goes, all they offer are the 3 Ps: Pasta, Pizza and Parrilla.) So I ordered the chimichurri beef and was pretty shocked to receive a slab of meat half as big as my head. It was very succulent and I did quite well and ate most of it, which was quite uncharacteristic, considering that I have only started eating meat again fairly recently (by which I mean within the last year or two after a 5-year stint as a vegetarian).

Dinner was with Matt and Paula, whose crazy canine, Manu, kept yapping and licking everyone´s feet. She´d rescued him off the street one day and her flatmates seemed wary of him.

 Paula is from Columbia and is doing a baking course here so she brings home fresh produce every Friday to the delight of her hungry flatmates. You´d expect her to be a bit tubby but she looks really healthy and has beautiful tanned skin and long wavy hair. She showed me her five tattoos, including an apple on her left shoulder, a tree stretching across her whole back and a woman in heels hitching up her red skirt on the back of her leg. I usually think tattoos are quite tacky and I´ve never thought of getting one myself. But Paula made them look beautiful, probably because her skin was so honeyed which meant the colours came out really well. She was practically a walking work of art. 

 Night fell and me and Alex had a long catch up. Then it was time to get ready. We left for the club quite early by Argentinian standards. Most nightclubs start at 2 but we went to the club that fits in with office hours and starts at 12 (stupidly early by local standards). Matt, Paula and Olivia had been out the night before and wanted to catch up on sleep so only 3 of us hit the road and all of us were from Oxford: me, Alex and a ex-Saint Paul's girl called Katy. The 2 of them clearly had moves and I felt really self-conscious next to them. But it was still a fun night and I really enjoyed the music, especially the catchy Brazilian Gustavo Lima song "Tchê tcherelere Tchê Tchê.." 

Another thing that made me feel self-conscious was the outrageous way Argentinian men were behaving. Katy and I got a fair bit of attention because we have light-coloured hair (judging by local standards). When we walked out, several people literally grabbed me by the back of my dress and pulled me towards them so I held on tight to Alex´s hand and managed to escape. Even old men are disrespectful and will call out "piropos" to you on the street. Cringey cringey chat-up lines seem to be acceptable such as "¿Crees en el amor a primera vista o tengo que volver a pasar delante tuyo?" (Do you believe in love at first sight or do I have to pass by again?) 

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The next day, I walked to Recoleta. It didn´t look very far away on the map, but it took me a good five or six hours to arrive. On the way, I stopped off at El Plaza de Mayo. Or rather, the protest stopped me. I was both worried and exhilarated by the demonstration where gunshots fired high into the air made me jump and the beat of several massive drums seemed to hark back to tribal warfare. There were several people taking photos and I jumped on the bandwaggon. Two cheeky blokes caught me taking a photo of them and seemed absolutely chuffed, probably because they thought I was a journalist and they were going to be famous. They were beaming from ear to ear, which kind of spoilt the aggressive vibe. 

When I got back, I found out that protesting for a higher salary wasn´t a one-off event but more like an ongoing Argentinian passtime. When I arrived at Recoleta cemetry, the graves reminded me of a scene from a Jacobian play. Everything is bourgeois and sinister; and there is an aura of death and magnificence. Only a couple of people turned up to the tour in Spanish and my guide, Alicia, who thought I was Irish*, proudly showed me the graves of many revered Irish nobles, along with more mainstream figures like Evita Peron. There were flowers everywhere and men contracted by the families to clean each monument and, in some cases, take care of the stained glass in the interior. Every space is filled in the cemetery so you can only be buried here if the family of the deceased has not cleaned or visited their grave in fifty years. In this case, the plot once again belongs to the state and can be re-sold for an extortionate profit.

On my way home, I took my first colectivo (bus), which was a bit of a mission because there are no marked bus stops and it’s more crowded than the London Underground. Except that instead of swiping an Oyster card, I had no idea how to pay. Luckily, I befriended a girl by the side of the road, who showed me how to pay for my ticket and managed to persuade the driver to go on a detour and drop me right outside the flat! At 1.25 pesos, this ride was a steal! I will definitely be getting the bus again (If I can find it...)
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*I didn't want to publicize the fact that I was English because of the Falklands dispute. The graffitti made it pretty clear we weren't welcome

  

La Llegada

12pm Madrid Airport

I just had a very surreal flight from Heathrow sitting next to the head of a solar CEO from New York. We got chatting and he told me all about his business travels in India and China. I asked him if he felt intimidated by the Chinese work ethic and he agreed that the work/life balance was pretty lopsided there. He told me Chinese kids were so obedient they practically worshipped their parents. How to make them proud? Hard work and success.

Considering the constant pressure to perform, you would expect people to crack. Instead, the American boss was astounded by how peaceful Shanghai seemed, telling me he would be comfortable walking down the street at 4am without fear of being mugged or shot. Apparently this is not the case in New York.

But this peace is tainted by a cut-throat competitiveness. As the Chinese adapt to capitalism and its ideals of money and status, they are more and more attracted by Western ´luxuries´ such as Mercedes and McDonalds. I asked him if the West has corrupted China. "Oh yes. The middle classes are getting chubbier, more ambitious and, at least in material terms, more Western."

Other interesting passengers were the gaucho snoring noisily behind me and I ten·year old I nicknamed ´Justino el Latino´. Justino´s sister kept taking photos of him posing and pouting in his bright red bowler hat. Watch up Bieber, you have an Argentinian rival!

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3pm Somewhere in the Middle of the Atlantic Ocean

There was no one setting next to me on my second flight. I sprawled over two seats and got some sleep. But  just as I dozed off, dinner was served. It was about 1.30am (English time) and I felt totally disorientated. Not knowing when the next meal was going to arrive, I forced down some stodgy gnocchi and tried to get back to sleep. Five minutes later, the air hostess woke me up again to offer me some coffee. And for once in my life, I turned down a cuppa!

After a shaky night´s sleep, breakfast was served at 6am. It came in an icky yellow box including a yoghurt, a lemon tart, a pork and cheese chuleta and some pineapple juice. This odd selection was again followed by some coffee. This time, I accepted. Clearly a mistake. It was so gloopy that the powdered milk barely dissolved and floated around on top no matter how much I stirred.
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11am Buenos Aires

Finally, four hours behind schedule, I arrive at Onehouse hostel. There were several reasons why I was so late. Firstly, I had to queue for hours to get through aduanas (customs) which was really unpleasant because I was travelling in my ski jacket on to save space in my suitcase (It´s going to be Winter when I reach La Paz)  and yet the heating was on full-blast.

The next major delay was wading through the rabble of unauthorized taxi drivers trying to offer me their services. Eventually, I found an EZE approved cab and set off to San Telmo. My driver, Daniel, was amiable and chatty. He showed me a picture of his daughters and asked me how old I was. "¿19? Pero eres niñita. como mi hija. ¿Pero qué dicen sus padres ahora que estás tan lejos?" (But you´re so young, like my daughter. What do your parents say about you being so far away from home?) He mimed doing a turn in the road and taking me back to the airport, which was patronizing but funny.

I´d read about untrustworthy taxistas who drive off with your luggage or try to scam you with fake money. So despite his friendliness, I was quite nervous when I got out of the taxi. I was so worried that I almost robbed HIM by saying goodbye before I had paid! Obviously, he prompted me to pay the cobra (bill) and charged a steep 198 pesos. Despite the fact he over-charged me, I let him keep the extra 2 pesos change as Tomás ushered me into his hostel and treated me to a glass of maté.

Soon afterwards, Alex arrived. He give me a big hug and a kiss on both cheeks. It felt a bit self-conscious because I´d been travelling for 24 hours straight and hadn´t had a chance to change my clothes yet. But whatever, it was SO good to see him.

I then had the most welcome shower of my entire life.