How's your life today?

To all of you who commented on my last post, thank you for kind words and support. In an earlier post, I wrote about the animal-themed flashlights I brought for children on my adventure. Yesterday I pulled a few toucans and exotic frogs out of my pocket and shared them with these children. I also pulled out my sketch book and have been doing quick portrait sketches. They have to be short, because the children don't sit still very long.

Some of you have written and asked about donations.

I bought some diapers yesterday for the little kids, a pack of 44 Large Huggies cost 90 Bolivianos or about $12.75. The U.S. director of my program posted the following address in case anyone wants to make a contribution in which 100% will go to the orphanage.

http://amizade.org/store/donations.html and clicking "Bolivia's Millennium Cradle House."

I suppose one of the overiding thoughts I have had on the trip is how much fortune my family has had growing up in America. I have been a vociferous critic of many of our policies, an activity which is one of the blessings our citizenry enjoys. Yet, there is so much more support in America for social welfare compared to the underdeveloped world. I know we could do more when comparing us to other developed countries. Nonetheless, as a well-traveled friend and blog follower recently wrote to express perhaps how far we have come and that, once in a while, we should count our blessings."If you're feeling abused, just look around".

My first day at Millenium House

Yesterday I spent my first work session at Millenium House for Amizade here in Cochabamba, Bolivia. The pictures I have posted are the most sanitized I could find. After two and half hours, I was totally spent. There are about 35 children, most of them 3 yrs old and younger. Although staffed by, I think, no more than three young ladies under 20 years old, it is an incredible how much these people are able to accomplish. The city through the federal govenment provides 75 cents a day for only a few children, enough to buy one glass of milk. The rest of the resouces require donations. For those of you who have had or presently have little children, will understand. Supplies are totally inadequate. Each child gets one diaper for the day and one for night. There is only one washing machine for all the clothing. To say the least, I have been in better smelling places, but every attempt is made to keep the children as clean as possible.

I played with a number of the children shown above, swinging them around, making faces and drawing their portraits. In one regard though, I soon learned I had to change my approach. For those that know me,they will not be surprised to learn the first thing I did was to give a boy my cap. He wore it proudly and considered himself Mr Special. Later, when Iwanted to retrieve it, since it was my only one and I've worn it throughout the trip, I was reminded that I best wash it first, since many children have head lice. I go back later today for another shift. It is so gripping. I find myself in a guarded control mode. I have raised children and loved them dearly, but yesterday I had to cope with an atmosphere where there is so much need. I wrote an article weeks ago about the difficulty of genuinely feeling for others. Yesterday my senses went on overload, I acted almost mechanically. I did a lot and acted "as if".

Root, Root, Root for the home team!

On the weekend before the Super Bowl, I never would have imagined spending Sunday afternoon watching a live fusbol match between Cochabamba Westermann and LaPaz Strongest. My host invited me to join her son and friends for what she referred to as a dose of "cultural enrichment" and I must say I wasn't disappointed.

To be frank, Bolivia may be considered perhaps the doormat of South American soccer, since it must share the same continent as perrenial powerhouses, Argentina and Brazil. Yet, that doesn't thwart the citizens love and spirit for the game.

Having been an avid sports fan my whole life and, having attended many an event, it was fascinating to feel the pulse in this stadium. Even though I grew up before soccer became popular in the U.S., so my knowledge of the game is regretably minimal, I watched as every fan identified personally with the action. Choosing sections and seats in the stands depended on how intensely you felt like rooting.

It is not my desire to measure sportsmanship nor weigh in on the merits of the game, all I wish to express is, that I was struck by a genuine intense collective feeling among the fans stronger than I have witnessed at any college or pro game. To understand the meaning and importance of this activity requires growing up in the culture and, in truth, might take years to grasp. These generally soft-spoken, quiet people came alive during the game. They bought food and souvenirs in prodigious amounts and commented vociferously about the quality of the play and officiating.

Then, after the game ended, and the crowd exited the stadium and walked to their cars or buses, even though the local team had won, the stillness I have so acutely sensed since I arrived in Bolivia, suddenly returned. For me it had been an exceptional day on my Amizade adventure, and as far as I was concerned, one worth shouting about!

Thinking of you.

My last posts have illicited a number of thoughtful, sensitive, comments. I offer flowers from Bolivia to all of you who have been following this blog and, especially to those who have been willing to share their opinions. I wish you all the best today in your endeavor to find your way through this complicated life.

I am no botanist, but I am told that the flowers in the last picture are called carnivale.

They start blossoming in late January and usher in the holiday by that name, which is so important in this part of the world.

The top two photos were shot on an island in the middle of Lake Titicaca on my second day here. Diverse ecosystems abound, varying from almost barren deserts to lush tropical rainforests, consequently the markets are filled with an abundant variety of fruits, vegetables and exotic plants.

Seeing this beauty and sharing it in words and picture with you is a key component of my pleasure on this adventure.

Here's Looking at You!

Yesterday I had a tour of Cochabamba, Bolivia's most famous landmark, the statue of Christ of Peace, Cristo de la Concordia, which is predominantly placed on San Pedro hill near the center of the city. It is the largest representation of Christ in the world, standing at 132.7 feet tall and exceeds the height of a similar famous statue on Corcavado Mountain in Rio de Janeiro by 2.7 feet. Allegedly, it's height of 33 meters was intentional to represent Christ's age at the cruxification.

If you look carefully, the body contains "stigmata" , which serve as windows for those that want to crawl up the windy internal staircase. The second photo shows a view of the city taken from one of the portals. It felt ironic and humorous to be a "living" Jew inside that massive structure.. The building just below the monument is the top of the tram which provides access to the statue. The starting point is not in view and almost a 1/4 mile straight down. It is my understanding that it was completed in 1988 too correspond with the visit of Pope John Paul II to this town. It was built with donations from prominent local people, corporations, and politicians and may have been intended to compete with the Mormon community here that built an extremely large temple. Regardless, its presence is helpful, as I wander the streets, as an orientation point to find the way to my temporary home.

On the Road Again

I am sitting this morning in my new quarters in Cochabamba, after yesterday's long tiring bus ride from LaPaz. I believe the distance may not be that much further than Portland to Bend about 200 miles, but the ride took over eight hours. There was the snarling traffic in the adjacent community of El Alto. Honking collectivos crammed with riders, overloaded trucks and other buses belching out diesel exhaust were gridlocked by intersections supervised by overtaxed, but relaxed, traffic police. The bus wedged its way down a narrow street and stopped at a makeshift second bus station, where more passengers loaded until the bus was completely full. I had expected the bus to be like those I had seen in India, crammed to the roof, but this was actually quite a surprise. It was a comfortable double-decker, with each person having an assigned seat that reclined, and enjoying ample leg room. My red roller carry-on was stowed in the belly of the bus, but I brought my backpack on board,which I stowed under my feet, because I didn't want to be separated from my laptop. The bus had left the main terminal by 8:40 and, by 9:30, it hadn't really made it out of the city limits. Finally heading East, it passed the airport, an industrial area, more housing developments and made it to the open road.

What I had noticed also in Brazil, but especially here in Bolivia, was the vast number of uncompleted projects. Living units stood cold and incomplete, some lacking walls, roofs, windows. rebar sticking up from foundations, like iron weeds. Some units were complete but empty, and covered already with grime. Others were inhabited, but clearly lacking power or any amenities. It was explained to me that the problem with every work project is sustainability. People start with a little money from government grants or donations or loans. It is used up and then there is nothing left to complete the project. It takes years sometimes just to build a little house.

Yet, most of all, along the narrow rutted, but paved highway, I saw dirt, poor people and garbage. I had a somewhat detached feeling about the poor people and dirt. It was the garbage that effected me. I wondered whether my discomfort was a result of my German-American sense of order. The roadway, drainage ditches, creek bottoms, alleys, and empty lots were scattered with large quantities of refuse, especially plastic bottles and bags, paper products,rusting metal and broken building materials. I am sure I will be seeing the same in Africa, probably even worse. I dreaded the thought. I had seen such environmental affrontery already in India but, for some reason on this ride, I was more bothered by it. I guess it disturbed the scenic aspect of the trip. Seeing poor people in colorful clothing in front of quaint mud structures relaxing, or tending animals, or weaving blankets can look anachronistically idyllic. Yet the garbage upset the picture and negatively effected sympathetic thoughts toward the otherwise sad human condition. Instead, I was annoyed by the refuse. It was disgusting, especially when watching people picking through it or dogs and other animals rumaging amidst it. I remembered that there was no Thursday trash service and this ever-present garbage mess was minimal, when compared to the fact most the people have neither indoor plumbing nor clean water. The outhouses in the back, if there are any, are shared by many and the constant issue of people looking for clean water to drink or to bathe is a chore beyond my understanding. I take interesting pictures, but there is really nothing romantic about poverty.

As I was considering these thoughts, the bus window in front of me slid open and a portly man, who has been incessantly and loudly talking on his cellphone, pitched an empty plastic green Sprite bottle out the window. I heard it rap on the pavemment and, in spite of the millions of pieces of trash it joined, I found myself saying audibly, "You asshole." He neither heard me nor probably would have understood me. I discussed these thoughts with the site director, Jean Carla here in Cochabamba. She understood more personally and certainly even deeper than I the complex issues facing her country.

On Monday, I will be putting my first hours at the orphange and will post pictures of my experience next week. I'd love to share the rest of the bus ride before then. Just imagine a big bus on a truck-filled, narrow, windy boulder-strewn road taking 3 1/2hrs to go 60 miles crossing over a 13,ooo foot Andes pass. Must I say more!

At Peace in La Paz

The day before yesterday, I sqeezed into a collectivo minivan with 18 other people, luggage on top, and made way to La Paz. I was dropped off on a side street somewhere on the hill seen in the last photo and flagged down a taxi. In my pitiful broken Spanish I asked the driver to take me to my hotel which I assumed was nearby. We were at a level even with this last picture's vantage point and it was only half way. Truthfully I had never been on such a ride. Like a car on an insane roller coaster, the cab rocketed down windy narrow cobblestone streets until we hit the bottom as seen in the third picture. The topography of 11,000 foot La Paz looks like a tiara, a valley, filled with buildings, surrounded by the steepest hillsides covered with houses and towered over and visible on a clear day by snow-covered 19,000 foot Mt. Illimani.

I found the streets noisy and crowded and to give you a sense of the divirgent growing population, I chose to share with you the not particulary interesting the second photo snapped in front of the Iglesia de San Francisco. The top picture of two older women was taken to the left of the second picture. You probably wonder about the hat worn by the lady on the left It is called a bombin and became popular in Bolivia in the 1920's. I have seen them worn predominently by middle aged and older women. It may be in vogue now and considered stylish, but have no idea how to ask or whether I should ask, and then again, I doubt that I would be able to understand the answer.

Tomorrow early, I leave for Cochabamba and begin my work at the orphanage. It is a seven hour bus ride and, let me assure you, its not Greyhound nor will I be the only person on the bus! I know I 'll be staying in a room in a house belonging to the director's mother. I doubt that I'll have the internet. This probably means that I'll be reaching you through an internet cafe that will hopefully allow me to upload photos. I still have so much I'd love to share.