Arto Bichos y cosas de todos dias.

Hey all...sorry it's been so long since my last post. The honeymoon period is over, so although I might not think something is extremely exciting I need to keep updating because in retrospect most of the stuff I've been up to is fairly exciting. Last weekend was kinda hectic because we hosted our last workshop for the Health Promotion Pilot Program (the same program I made the boobs for). I really thought six hours of class in a row was a long day, but these folks sat through at least eight hours, and it is a testament to the skill of all the people that work for Etta Projects that they were able to keep it interesting for the 16 hours of workshop time. I learned more quechua, and can now successfully say Hola, Como Está...y Estoy bien on top of my three other words. I'll be fluent in a couple of weeks. I don't know if I've mentioned this before but Quechua is hard to pronounce as the sounds seem to come from the back of the tongue. On tuesday I made it Santa Cruz, and oh, oh, oh it is so wonderful to see cafés with outdoor seating. Montero has one coffee shop, and other than that it is all Nestle Instant coffee. I digress, Santa Cruz is a great city. After visiting, my friend's friend in the Hospital (despite suffering from HIV he had his appendix burst...normally a quick fix surgery, the bigotry towards HIV/AIDS patients had him wait 24 hours for the surgery!) we visited the walked from the second ring, through Gringo Strip (only saw one gringo :( ) to the first Ring, and the plaza. Grabbed a stella artois in an irish bar called Irish Bar. A travesty they adopted such a noble name, seeing that they didn't even serve guiness...regardless the beer made the trufi ride back quite smooth. Trufis are cars for hire, which function much like buses in that they drive only from station to station. For 1-2 bs. more you can get somewhere twice as fast as a bus. Back in Montero it was back to the grind. For the first time in my life I successfully drew a giant sized character for a presentation board, as well as I discovered the wonderfully disrespectful music of Calle 13. The key to enjoying this music is the assumption that everything someone might say in spanish has the potential to be a sexual innuendo of some sort. For instance one night me and my house buddies went over to their friends house to make mexican food. We were talking about learning the language and I said something about the difference in tongue usage between spanish and english...their friend without a glance said back, " [the only way you'll ever learn is]... a chupar en la lengua." Lengua in spanish means both language as well as tongue, chupar means to suck...so according to a table full of women, the only way I'll ever learn spanish is to start sucking tongue....

Freakin' bichos man. Damn single celled organisms holed up in my stomache...I've taken medicine to kill them but these bastards are stubborn, so I've changed my game plan. I don't care anymore. I need to eat vegetables, the mangos are ripe (we have three trees in our back courtyard), and there is nothing better than dipping coca on the way out to the campo. If I have minor stomache cramps every other time I eat, then so be it because it's too hard being OCD about everything I eat. I'll just take medicine once a week or so to keep them small. If you have any suggestions in defeating an invisible enemy that doesn't require living in a plastic bubble, please send them my way. For you people wondering about precios, here is the low down.. Beer costs a dollar for a pint at the bar or a large bottle, a package of four oreos costs around 20 cents. I can go eat a really decent meal for 3 bucks, make it 7 dollars for a fun night on the town...I went to a used clothing bizarre where I found a ton of old american t-shirts (great freakin' time) and spent about three bucks for four great shirts...even found a purple one with wolves howling to the moon. Woke up today and the smoke from the Caña fields has cleared so hopefully we'll get to enjoy some clean air before the rain and mosquitos take over in a couple of weeks....Cheers!

Toma mas?

If you're ever in the campo and you hear this question, you'll realize that it is less of a question and more of a statement preparing you for more beer to be poured into your glass. On sunday I attended the anniversary party of the tiny village of Paisaje (yes the same one we went to last wednesday for the garden project, as well as one of the towns featured in the garden projects album on the Etta Projects facebook page). Like all parties that I have attended before, where I was not the driver, it is quite customary to have a few drinks before hand. You never want to show up to a party and be that nervous anti-social guy who heads straight for the bar. We sat down at a table with roughly 15 other people and the "toma"ing commenced. I walked up and introduced myself (hadn't met any of these people before) to a group of older gentlemen sitting at one end of the table. I was immediately served. These were some salt of the earth old-timers. I didn't hear the story of their lives, but rather the developing story of their life, and the fear they had towards structural changes that deviated from their way of life. All in all, I was locked in a rather serious conversation for the first 45 minutes of this party with gentlemen whom I'd never met, whose names I do not know, in a language where I can only hope to grasp the meaning of words, and worst of all I was instructed to wear jeans! I hate pants in humid weather. I'm from the pacific northwest, we don't do well in non-temperate climates. But yet, I acclimatized! AFter that first 45 minutes that I saw as my initiation into the group around the table, we partied. Before I'd even turn around my glass was always full, and you can not refuse a "toma mas". The night progressed and the sports court was cleared of dancing people, and soccer playing children, and they had their pageant, La Reina de Paisaje. Such a great time. These young woman would walk around waving and smiling at all the people surrounding the patio and when they would get to the particular area where their family would be seated, their drunken fathers, brothers, cousins, grandfathers, uncles, you name it, would run up and lay their shirt down on the ground so the lady wouldn't get her heels dirty. Amazingly enough, the young woman from our group won, and with much hooplah and felicidades meant that yes "TOMA MAS". And we continued to Toma Mas until I was ushered back to the car. I must say, if you ever have the opportunity to attend a function thrown by a village, where the majority live in mud huts, go. Because most likely they will throw down, and throw down tough.

That being said, I feel my days of toma mas are coming to and end here in bolivia. I've acclimatized and it's not longer so, hot hot hot. I've started excercising to work off the milonaiza (fried chicken/steak), the pique macho (cooked steak with peppers and chorizo served on a bed of french fries), the salteñas (chicken or carne picante with potato and vegetables baked inside a slightly sweet crust) or any of the other incredibly fattening foods that have the oh so wonderful MSG. And for all of you wondering, the three mile run in 95 degree weather is a pain in the ass (actually the quads because there are no hills in this part of the country). Work is steady, and my spanish is improving...who could ask for anything more.

Mi Equipo

Part 1: It was a great week. I kicked that little bastard out of my system and I went to the campo on wednesday! Great Time! we visited three pueblos for Marco's Garden project. The first village was paisaje. To get to this village we drove on a highway for quite sometime outside of Minero until Katie suddenly pulled off the road onto a dirt road. I bounced around in the back of the camioneta with big grin on my face for what seemed like forever. This village was an oasis amongst endless fields of caña and whether it was the time of day, the people I met or simply the village itself, this place was beautiful. Beauty in simplicity. All the children rushed up to greet us eager to show the progress of their tomato, lettuce, carrots, and cebollo garden. Right away Marco started helping them with the insecticides and Katie and I went off to meet with her friends. So friendly. Again I cursed my lack of ability to speak spanish. Mierda. Everyone seemed so friendly and luckily I'm going back on Sunday for their annual party. More on this next time. The next stop was less of a community/village, and more of a huge school. Sadly there garden was almost gone because this last weekend they had harvested the majority of it and luckily made a rather sound profit to return to the Garden next year or rather next week (Marco told me that Bolivia is the only country that has two growing cycles of the same crop). The final Stop on this tour was my favorite because we actually were able to work. Alongside students and teachers I was able to help plow, form, seed and water a whole new section of their garden. So much fun. AGain I didn't really speak spanish, but luckily by working and my lack of caution for sunburn I felt somewhat less lingually isolated.

Part 2: Thursday was another day in the office with some added trips to the mercado para galletas and a llave. The cookies were needed for the next day's activities and the llave, one of those cross shaped tire irons, was needed because we blew a tire the previous day and didn't have the right tools in the back of the truck. So thursday was my first trip to the market, and pike place ain't got shit on this market. There are tons and tons of booths, selling everything from cellphones and clothes to furniture and coca. Amazing. I was at the market in the first place to look for shelves for this unorganized storage room that has become one of my pet projects. I got horribly lost somewhere around the military surplus store and decided that I would retreat and regroup formation for a second assault. On my way out I saw this tire iron and bought it. Now, the market it quite some distance from where I live. To get there I took a moto, but I didn't want to pay to take a moto back because I knew generally where I was (?). I got home, never had to turn around but only on shear luck and excellent navigation skills ingrained from months of stumbling around winding spanish streets. But th emost hilarious part of this whole adventure was the image of a gringo walking the streets of montero, a puzzled look upon his face, and a tire iron in his right hand.I wish I could have had a picture, because the looks I received from everyone I passed was freakin' priceless. In a city of 100,000 with maybe eight gringos at anyone time, the sight of me must have made them go back to the story books and rewrite the tale of llorona.

Friday, was by far the best day of the week. Because not only did I get to go out into the campo and see a new town, meet new people, etc, etc...I was able to go to the commedore, Las pampas, and play soccer with a group of boys. So much fun. The field we played on was a pasture mowed down by the animals kept inside the barbwire fence we had to cross, with two goals on each end. There was no sideline, no eighteen, no endline, no five, in fact the only way we knew, and by we I mean the boys, where the middle of the field was, was because of the imprint of years of kickoffs. So much fun. It was marco on one team and me on the other, and they really didn't look happy to have me on their team. Until I was bustin' out plays right and left. Watching the world cup really paid off, as I am a regular christiano rinaldo against a group of nine year olds. My best player was this little tyke of probably six. He was a freak show. Didn't have any fear. I lost count of the times that he threw himself at marco, a man twice his size, and actually won the ball. My team won, by a lot. And for the last two points we needed to hold onto to win, we played against a team that had two adults. There will be a rematch coming up...guaranteed, and I can't wait to hold onto our title. AFter the game, parched because I couldn't find bottled water, all the boys taught me the names of all the plants that they are growing in their garden. One kid tried to trick me into eating an ahji (?), which is an incredibly hot pepper. Luckily I knew that something that red should only be eaten with a bunch of water and tums. All in all it was a great, great day.

Ocupado, Ocupado...

For all of those wondering, the amazing food continued...yeah, I installed my finger board on saturday to start my rigorous excercise regime. But that was not where I wanted to take this post, my weekend was ocupado ocupado. I was hoping to catchup on some sleep but like the question I posed to my friends, When do Bolivians sleep?

Friday was another great day at the workshop. If you "liked" the Etta Projects/ Proyectos page on facebook, there is a new update thanks to everyone's favorite intern including pictures and more specific information. While thursday ended my rigorous training in how to color, friday was my training day on the infinite amount of information the internet has for NGO's, especially the NGO's that target water source development. But to leave the topic of my work, my favorite find on friday was two books. The first pertained to my work, the second, well...No hay un Medico, written by a doctor, is a practical guide to health and medicine in rural areas where their is no doctor. I read like half the book on friday alone, genius. But the best and my most practical find was a giant picture book titled, Your First Thousand Words. All the little three year olds running around thought I brought out the book for them, so while my boss's daughter was counting all the niños I was asking questions about words to the same person giving her praise. So that's the story folks. I have a three year old spanish speakers interest in libros...friday night was going to be my first spanish lesson too. A friend of a friend is a spanish teacher and told me about a student of his that wished to learn english and in exchange for an hour or two hours of english speaking would gladly reciprocate in spanish. But when the time came closer, the guy ended up feeling ill and so rather than drive to Portachuelo, we merely went to the Karaoke bar. Not a two hour conversation, but still a fun time. The night being young I headed back to the office and found two of my housemates playing this great bolivian dice game. Wish I could remember how to say it, so I could try and spell it, it's just that every time someone said the name, it was so close to the word general in spanish that my mind latched onto the one thing it knew and not the thing it could learn. Several Cuba Libre's later, the cluck struck three and I realized I had to be up at nine.

6 hours later...
My friend Bismarck requested that I meet him at a gas station at the south of town. After hailing a motorcycle taxi, they're everywhere, we quickly sped off to meet my amigo. The plan was that we were going to go see a river southwest of Warnes at the place where his friend owns/operates a whole bunch of sand/gravel/large rock separators that suck everything out of the river. But first, and I really have no freakin' idea why, we drove all the way past the turnoff, which seemed to be around the halfway point between Montero and Santa Cruz, to santa cruz and back. We stopped once, which I thought was because the driver needed to ask for directions. (?) However, if you've ever 4x4'd across a flowing river you'll know the exhilaration I'm talking about. I normally like to take all new situations with a fairly stoic grin on my face, but this river had me smiling so freakin' quick and the machinery was quite interesting as well. But after what seemed like multiple trips to Santa Cruz and lunch and everything, they dropped me off at my house, and it was already time for bed.

Race Day
I attended the last race, in a series of races that happen all over bolivia, and it was pretty cool. Rally has really got to be the best kind of autoracing. Fast cars, horrible terrain, good company, and cerveza. I met many many people. We were at the main bbq where many of Bismarcks friends were and the log I happened to be sitting on created the perfect funnel for everyone joining the group, so me and the five other guys sitting on the log literally shook hands with everyone who walked up. I felt like a freakin' mafia boss on the day of my daughters wedding. Nice Nice people. afterwards, we went into Santa Cruz to get a close up look at all the race cars. Many many people turned out for this race, and when I was going into it I figured it was just a sunday thing to do, not an event marked on calendars many months beforehand. I hope you have had time to check out some of my pictuers on FB. But this was my busy busy weekend. So much so, that although I was sick saturday morning I didn't have time to be sick until monday, l(ike many people right?). So actually I write to you feeling rather sluggish from the little bit of revenge that waterborn assholes have assaulted my stomach with. But like all things in life, sleep a little more, drink gatorade and everything will turn out alright.