The Next Day...

¨Tienes familia en Chile?¨ -Rodrigo ¨Claro, ella tiene una hermana, yo!¨ -Ines

This is my sister Ines at work in the office

Eastern Washington Anyone?

La casa de Armando

Armando explaining more about the significance of the drum symbols to me

Mapuche pride

Armando, Alberto and Jose

The next day, after spending a very comfortable evening in a very comfortable bed at Ines´ I went to Cerro Nielol park and spent the morning hiking around paths through the woods and up to a volcano research center-observatory. The Prof. working there that came out to greet me has a friend teaching at Central Washington University. I didn´t think I would have a conversation about Mt. St. Helen´s that morning, but it was interesting to talk about the countries I have visited with someone who knows so much of the world through volcano studies whereas I am learning more about the world through indigenous issues and human rights.

Trees, flowers and steep hills were abundant in Cerra Nielol along with little lizzards and birds digging at the base of the bushes lining the paths. I could have easily convinced myself I was in a park near Seattle. Cerra Nielol also features some Mapuche carvings, I saw some like them when I was learning more about Mapuche people via google a year ago and was really surprised at how much the faces look like coast salish carvings. Maybe I shouldn't be so surprised by these sorts of things, but they never cease to spark my interest.

I walked back to the office and went with Alberto in his pick-up truck to run some errands, picking up Jose and his daughter and then moving books and furniture to Jose's (Jose's daughter and I spent most this time talking, she had assumed that Alberto was my grandfather). Then Jose and Alberto gave me three books that served as a great addition to the responses they were giving to the questions I had about Mapuche intercultural education, language preservation and legal positionality. A booklet of the laws concerning indigenous people in Chile, a book on intercultural education including bilingual education and my favorite: a book of poetry by school children, which really is the one that is more of my spanish language reading level. I started reading as we drove out towards Carahue which I was told was a city where Mapuche resistance had a long standing history. The Spanish started a city in the same area three times and according to Jose had planned the area to be the capitol of Chile or the main city, but each time the city was destroyed, burned to the ground. This is where Jose was born. The area is mostly agricultural *see above picture* and the wide glossy river Chol Chol was just within view when we pulled over and got out of the truck to visit with Armando.

While Jose first went down to the house to greet Armando, Alberto talked to me outside of the truck as we looked out on the valley. I would have given so much to have been able to better understand what he was telling me. I really couldn't though. Spanish in Chile is beyond difficult to understand, and became even more difficult when what he was saying became very heartfelt and emotional. I did understand that at one point he was talking about not having the professional training that someone else has (Jose?) being a campesino that has had a very different experience as a Mapuche... Earlier in the truck there was what seemed like a very light hearted comparison made by Alberto between himself and Jose. He told me that they were both Mapuche, but he was 'pure'. That you could tell that Jose was not pure because his hair was curly and Mapuche hair is thick and straight. The ways in which Indigenous identity are defined, discussed and interpretted is something that I have only been able to pick up on in bits and pieces in my travels. Language Barrier, what can I say. But this moment really sticks out to me, because it is an example of the ways that we often, even in the smallest and most light hearted ways, challenge eachothers identity, eachothers background. Whether it is based on phenotypical differences, cultural involvement, class, ect. we create "others" within our communities.

Moving on, we went down to the house to meet Armando and sat down at the table in his mostly unfurnished home. Hanging from the walls were dried bull kelp, corn (chocle), and a number of tools and instruments along with photos of him with several politicians at different gatherings. Armando was such a character, somehow I could understand him better, he had a much slower meter (possibly for dramatic emphasis) to his speech. Our greeting began with some joking, but became more serious when Alberto made an introduction for me, the story of why I was there with them. He explained how I had just been trying to go to an internet cafe when I stopped in and met him and his secretary, and that he felt that he needed to help me, that now he feels I am like a daughter to him and that he wanted to make sure I could learn more about what I came here to learn about. It was now time for me to give my talk, so a direct translation of what I said next would be: I am here because I think it is very important for indigenous people to know more about other indigenous people in the world, because we have different histories, but they are also the same, the same things, problems with the government, with rights, and also similar philosophies. That was about as good as I could get in explaining my purpose for showing up at Armando's. What followed was a heated discussion of water rights and land rights between the three men at the table. It started slowly, with the intention of explaining previous laws and ridiculous offenses made by the government, but then as the three men were swept into conversation I could no longer understand the words. Instead I saw the emotion, the fury, the loss, the impact of this topic on these three men that have been fighting for self-governance, rights and cultural preservation. When I had the opportunity, I asked a question about the Kultrun, the drum that I had seen so often associated with Mapuche culture. Armando's eyes brightened at this question. He went back into another room and brought out two drums. Carefully, he explained meanings of symbols and the different ways in which the Kultrun is used by Mache's. Jose and Alberto began pointing out other articles in the room, some of which seemed to be types of cultural property that they hadn't seen in a very long time. They taught me the names of these things and had me guess what they were for before explaining them to me. Meanwhile, Armando again went to a back room and returned with a big chest. He openned it and pulled out the regalia that he was wearing in the photos. The real surprise was that underneath these in the bottom of the chest was the full woman's regalia which my three "dad's" then helped me put on over my clothes, Alberto looked very proud when the outfit was complete.

Before leaving we talked about how good it would be for me to come back when I can speak more Spanish and understand Chilean. Alberto picked some berries for me from a boldo tree/bush while I said goodbye to Armando. The berries were very sweet despite being completely green. Alberto, Jose and I got back into the truck and went to see the town of Carahue. On the city sign it calls Carahue the city with three levels/floors, no mention of the city being destroyed three times. The river Chol Chol is runs wide and calm along this city, we didn't spend much time here though. On the drive back I realized just how much this place was like home. Like a drive home from Spokane with some uncles, is what I thought.

After dropping off Jose, Alberto and I went to his son's home to meet his family and have one of those late meals that Chile is known for. Alberto's son Luis works for the government in agricultural partnerships with Japan, so he told me a bit about his travels to Japan. Luis has clearly had a very different life than his father, something that Alberto pointed out was the result of the much more limited access to education and the higher levels of discrimation in his lifetime. I told him that my father could say the same for the differences between his school experiences and my own, and after telling them about the ways in which racism has impacted education for Native Americans Luis said (in English) "But there is supposed to always be freedom in your country, the American Dream"

"Si, La Sueno Americana, pero solo para los Blancos" I said. Alberto understood.

I went back to Ines' that night simply amazed at the odds of getting to see Chile in this way.

The last stretch of my time in South America

One thing I forgot to mention that I learned from Ida... A quicker pace of travel! So when I landed in Santiago Chile my first stop was to the bus terminal to buy a ticket for a night bus to Temuco. Santiago is another huge city that I am excited to explore, but for now I would much rather make sure I get to see places further south and save Santiago and the coast near Santiago for last. I only have two weeks here in Chile before I fly to Aotearoa (Maori for New Zealand).



I bought my bus ticket and spent a few moments dazed by the hefty price, along with the prices on the signs for snacks and food that are three to five times the cost of things in Bolivia. I had 4 or so hours before my bus ride and I decide to walk around near the station. I made a lap around the block passing many people that were all dressed up to go to the giant church near the terminal. My trip around the block brought be back past this church, only this time the music peaked my interest. I stood in one of the many doorways for a little while before sitting down. This was most definately the largest congregation I have ever seen. My home church of Saint Anne´s Episcopal is proud to have a congregation larger than twelve on any given Sunday, and although I have seen many gathered at bigger churches in Spokane and Seattle, I have never seen anything like this one in Santiago. Several times on my trip so far I have visited churches, sometimes just to see the elaborate decorations inside, but mostly to have a peaceful place for me to sit and write and gather my thoughts. With all of my things in tow, my big backpack, small back pack and handfuls of other things (journal, sweater, jacket--the latter two items completely pointless in Chile´s summer heat) the church was a wonderful place to tuck everything under a pew and write in my journal. I listened to the music and soon realized that the speaker being introduced was not from Chile, he was from some Southern State and a representative of some kind of international pentacostal organization. There were two men actually and both of them spoke in English while a translator tried to keep up. It was kind of bizzare to be listening to English, and to be listening to pentacostal church messages. When the music started up again and I must have looked helpless because the young woman in front of me gave a copy of the music and the guy next to me pointed out where they were in the song. It was a little thing, but as they continued to help me along during the service I felt very taken care of. At the end of the service she gave me the program booklet as a souvenier and I left the church feeling really relaxed and calm, something a bit uncommon when setting out on a city you don´t know.

I found the bus terminal that I was supposed to be at (different than where I bought the ticket), found my bus and boarded early. There weren´t many passengers so I got two seats to myself. To my great annoyance there was a young guy in the seats in front of me that would not stop turning around and staring at me. I was continually positioning the book I was reading to block his face, but he moved his seat down so he could stare at me even more obviously. I am so sick of creeps. The bright side was with such an annoying guy in front of me and hardly anyone else around I felt free to slip off my shoes and unleash the stink of my dirty feet and socks. ¨How do like that mister?¨ I was thinking.

I got some sleep on the bus, not much though, so when we pulled into Temuco I decided to just find a bench to sleep on at the station. It was around 6 am and nothing would be open until 10 or so anyway. I woke up about 3 hours later to a woman (a mapuche woman to be exact) nearly sitting on my head. I put on my pack and asked the same family which way I needed to head to get to town and started walking. As I walked I realized what a large urban city I was entering and really just wanted to go and talk to the ladies that had nearly sat on me. I spotted some other backpackers and asked them about a hostel, I already new that backpacker accomodations here would be sparse. I got a suggestion from them, but decided to first use the internet, look up a couple more places and let my parent know I had made it to Chile. I found another hostel name and address, but wanted to check out the center before needing to take a colectivo to get to the address.

I was feeling a bit strange about being in Temuco. I planned to come here because when I looked up info on Mapuche organizations way back in time most of the offices were here. As I walked I thought about what a strange thing to lead me here, I questioned myself a bit about what I thought I had to gain or give by coming for the purpose of learning more about Mapuche people, their struggle and their lives. During my entire journey I have been contemplating and genuinely experiencing forms of Indigenous Solidarity, but with the language barrier it has really been difficult to understand what people are telling me and to feel understood. I realized that although I came here because of my interest in the land and water rights that are constantly being challenged by the government and idiots from the US and Europe... maybe I would just end up wandering through markets where ¨Mapuche¨ souveniers are sold and then going to a beach. I especially felt this way because I didn´t know how I would go about learning more. I honestly did the following: I didn´t see many other people after the bus terminal that were in obvious Mapuche dress, so when I saw an old Mapuche woman walking ahead of me in the street I walked faster to catch up with her and asked if there were offices of Mapuche organizations nearby. What would I think or do if someone did the same???!!! It wasn´t an inherently rude question, but it was a very uncomfortable thing to do. Part of me felt like I was now just the same as some of the crazy white people that have approached me and asked questions that seemed totally ridiculous at the time... She told me that there was an office right in front of us, on the other side of the street. I thought, great she is just trying to get me to go away, before I spotted the office. It is an office run by the government of Chile though, with a focus on Indigenous rights, but not really what I was hoping to find. I looked around a little with my giant bag on my back and decided maybe I would return later. This was not the type of office I hoped to find and again I was feeling like A) I had just violated an old womans space by asking the kind of question that I myself don´t really enjoy getting from outsiders B) I may just need to move on and forget about the solidarity component...

As usual, fate had a rather different idea.

I did wander through a market, two actually. There is a permanent mostly touristic market and right now there are a lot of vendors and musicians in the center because it is (like practically everwhere I have gone!) the foundation days of this city. I looked around and sat down to write for a while before buying nectarines for lunch (all other food is too expensive) and deciding to use the internet one more time at a cheaper place I had spotted during my walk. I climbed the stairs of the building, but the internet place was closed. I was sitting outside of the door eating my nectarine when I noticed that the office next to me said something like ¨Associacion Nacional Mapuche Democracia y Justicia.¨

At this point I thought. Okay. I wake up this morning to a Mapuche woman nearly sitting on my head, I followed someone down the street to find myself right outside the local office of the sector of the government that deals with Indigenous rights, now I am sitting right outside of another Mapuche office, is this the world-life making sure I don´t give up on any of my hopes for finding Indigenous Solidarity in Chile?

So I knocked and the door was opened. Opened by Luis Alberto Coilla Marin, the president of Asociacion Nacional Mapuche Wenewenche (http://www.wenewenche.org/). I told him that I am from Estados Unidos, from a tribe and hoping to learn more about Mapuche people. I was welcomed in and after talking with him and Ines the secretary for a little while he asked where I was staying. I explained that at the moment I didn´t have a hostel, but I had an address for one. Ines took a look at the address and said it would be better to find one close to the center, they discussed where the nearest one would be for a moment before Ines´face lit up and she said that I should just come stay with her because here family is away on vacation! It was lunch time anyway so Alberto gave us a ride to Ines´ and said that he could take me to a community the next day, but today I could get some rest and get to see more of town.

I was feeling pretty rugged after the night on the bus, so I was ecstatic about get to take a shower at Ines´ and when I got out of the shower she had coffee, yogurt, bread and cheese ready for me. She had given me a tour of the small apartment that she lives in with her family and I could tell that the bed and bedding would be one of the most comfortable of my trip. She gave me a key to the place before leaving again for work and I had the afternoon to wash my clothes in the washing machine and sleep. Glorious Sleep. When I woke up I got ready and left to return to the office where I met Ines´ best friend and the three of us walked around the stands I had visited earlier in the central plaza and bought food for one of the most popular foods in Chile: Hot dogs. We went back to Ines´ to make dinner, and I had hotdogs like I have never had them before. On really good bread with avacado, tomato, mayo, mustard and something that was like relish...although really I have no idea what it was. Later when it was just me and Ines´we watched a movie and all I could think about was the luck, the chances, that brought me here.

Traveling Juntas

Yesterday I said goodbye to my friend Ida, she is heading to Uyuni to see the salt flats and then on to a combination of Chile and Argentina, skipping back and forth across the border. She took a taxi to the bus terminal around 6pm yesterday. Saying goodbye was anticlimactic, we have already learned that despite our goodbyes we will always be seeing eachother again (planned or unplanned), but the loneliness I felt after she left was very real.

Traveling WITH someone has been an entirely different experience. I felt myself relaxing in certain ways, knowing that with two eyes watching everything around us I didn´t have to be quite as alert as usual, knowing that I wasn´t the only one completely confused by situations, knowing that I could count on always hearing Ida´s signature ¨ho-hum, goodnight¨ before drifting off to sleep in shared double-beds, crowded dorm rooms, our carnaval sick room and at the bed we shared here at the Barja´s. Being with someone that knew enough about me to understand (tolerate) some of my travel idiocyncracies, my constant journaling, the way my backpack completely explodes creating chaos the moment I set it down in the corner of whereever I stay, my inability to read less than three books at a time, walks being interrupted by taking photos of graffiti (something that actually started to rub off on Ida) and how a lot of my favorite activities in travel are not activities planned for travelers. I like to set out on the city, town, whereever and find art, community shows, people creating things, and learn about what they are doing, how they are doing it, and if I can join in. I would rather go to a small art exhibition openning than to see this-that-or-the-other in the guidebook. I also am drawn to organizations, to people doing something about whatever it is they are passionate about... especially when it comes back to indigenous solidarity or solidarity in a movement. So for me, although I know the salt flats are something incredible to see, I know that there are many times when going on a tour and taking the same photos that everyone takes just feels a little bit empty...or rehearsed...or just a little too unreal to me. So I need days like yesterday, where Maria from Mujeres Creando was not there for me to ask ask ask every question I have thought of, but I found other ways to take in the surroundings of the great building and read about more of their programs and then I met some comic book artists having coffee in the Mujeres Creando restaurant-cafe and was welcomed to look through their works.

The drawback to having a travel partner is when it limits your interaction with people who are from the places you are visiting, so you have to find a balance between going out and exploring together (juntas) or separate. I can´t say that I really found this balance while Ida and I were together. I did have some alone time, but I didn´t feel as motivated to go out and meet people or go out and make my own observations as much as I usually do. During carnaval I had little choice about experiencing the majority without Ida because she was sick in bed, so when I wasn´t playing nurse I was playing in the streets.

Another aspect that puts me at odds with traveling partners in general is my relationship to travel, that this is my first trip outside the US and Canada and my travels are sometimes more of a challenge for me than a vacation. Because despite this being the most amazing opportunity of a life-time, being away from home and any sort of planned predictable week for 8 months can also be difficult. I admit there have been times when I have felt banished from my life in Washington, in Omak, in Seattle, at UW. Expelled from these places until I can come back with the thoughts, feelings, lessons, experiences that 8 months abroad doles out in the best and worst of moments. I feel bad for sounding like I am complaining, because this has been the best 3 or so months of my life (feels more like 3 years for sure)... but what I am trying to express is that the nature of my travels is different from the other backpackers and vacationers I have met and this makes traveling solo almost easier. Add on top of that the fact that there is no destination that for me is a place that I am going to ¨party¨, I don´t want to spend my time drinking with a bunch of travelers anywhere, especially not spending an evening where I just stay inside of the hostel at a hostel bar, not even setting foot in the real world, in the place I have traveled to (and people do this! I have seen it!).

Back on subject: At the same time I let the negative media attention about Bolivia get the best of me and really don´t know if I would have come without her. And although I saw no riots (only a bit of evidence here and there that they ever happened) and I wasn´t caught in any floods (although this did limit where I could travel) I have to say that Bolivia did not feel like the friendliest or safest of countries I have visited. I had heard from other travelers that the people of Bolivia seem more reserved about getting to know travelers and this does seem like truth to an extent, but with a travel partner I made less attempts and had less opportunity to test this generalization.

Traveling with Ida also raised my awareness about areas of my social interactions or interpersonal relations, if you will. I may have relaxed a bit with the sense of comfort and safety of having a traveling partner, but on the other hand there were times when I had a heightened sense of needing to put effort into conversation and planning and compromising. I could tell at times that my satisfaction, my enjoying the little things or making perhaps an excessive amount of observations aloud and in my journal where not entertaining for Ida and this was a little distressing. I most of all noticed how protective I was of Ida, even before she was ill and how much I did all I could to make everything easier for her or to meet her wants and needs.

This reminds me most of my childhood friends, Ashley, Whitney, Katie, and how much I wanted to take care of them and never complain... and scratch punch and kick anyone who messed with them. This runs into a lot of constructs of gender and race in my mind because I remember never really felt I fit into the world of these childhood friends, a world where being the ideal girl (the epitome of girl-ness) was blue eyes, blonde hair and frailty... and so with my tom-boy tough girl nature I felt like the protector and strength within those friendships.

My most pronounced observations of having a travel partner took place when Ida and I went to the Isla del Sol and spent the day hiking from the south end of island to the north, with no particular trail to follow for most of the trek. I realized how well Ida and I work together, how insync we are with taking turns being the lead, whether that meant walking first or making decisions or both. At times we would decide on a point we could see that we would need to get to and take different routes to get there, different routes suited to our different immediate preferences (me finding the best way to go with my knee troubles), but the outcome being the same. What a perfect day that was overall, why did I stop blogging for so long instead of writing right after some of these great experiences?!?

That too, I think, was the result of having a travel companion, I forgot how much I want to tell everyone at home about my travels and instead spent much more time talking about home with Ida. Exchanging stories from our homes and our travels and learning about eachothers cultures and perspectives on what we were seeing hearing and eating.

To combat the twinge of loneliness I felt after Ida left I got together the last package I will send home from South America, I am sooo excited about the space that this will create in my backpack!!! I actually should really get my mess of stuff organized again for my flight tomorrow to Santiago. Then I have prescriptions to fill, a package to send, and time to meet with Maria of Mujeres Creando.

Carnaval - no salt flats for me - back to La Paz

Sunday, the last day of carnaval, was the day that I really got into the carnaval spirit. After being sprayed in the face repeatedly with lemon scented foam I threw down my nine bolivianos at the nearest foam vendor (a 10 year old girl wearing the popular denim bucket hat with one letter initial stitched on the front) and chased down my attacker with my foam ammunition. For the rest of the day I kept the foam canister at the ready in the right arm of my poncho-raincoat, ready to strike unsuspecting children and adults that thought I was unarmed. I also watched the parade from the plaza, the area broadcasted on TV and to see how whole other sections of town looked during the celebrations. The music went on late into the night again and there seems to be no end to the water fights.

Ida and I were going to head to the Salt Flats on a Monday night bus after we went to the doctor, despite her still feeling unwell, but there was no night bus, no busses at all to Uyuni due to the heavy rain (Bolivia has declared a state of emergency, whole lot of flooding going on). The only way to go is by train, which only runs on tuesday and friday... which wouldn´t give me enough time to go tour the salt flats and return for my flight in La Paz. The salt flats are incredible. I have seen pictures. It kills me a little that we won´t be able to go...

But it worked out for the best. Ida was still feeling horrible and we decided we should return to La Paz so she could have better medical attention. This turned out to be a more difficult task than we thought. It turned out that tuesday was also a holiday, so instead of the bus station being open and being able to just find a desk selling tickets to La Paz, there was a free for all outside of the closed station. Busses were departing from all sides of the station and people where frantically trying to get on the busses. Bus drivers took advantage of the chaos by upping the prices and tempers were running high since people would run onto busses and save seats for everyone in their family, so being the 10th person in line was a deceptive place to be. Ida was sick, I was still getting fatigued easily, but this was really too much running around for her at the time. So I got quite the adrenaline rush when she stayed with the bags and it was my job to get us on the bus... which involved me running all around the area finally finding a bus heading to La Paz, finding two separate empty seats on a bus and begging the passengers next to them to save them for me, getting our bags under the bus and getting Ida and I on the bus. I was really annoyed when we couldn´t leave when members the family that had rushed on to save all the seats in the back didn´t show up, and didn´t show up, and didn´t show up... But finally we were on our way. We drove past small towns with small bands and small crowds celebrating in the streets, some stopping to hurl water balloons and open windows in the bus. Blue skies and very eastern Washington looking scenery passed by as I read my latest book Instanbul memories of a city by Orhan Pamuk.

The very first thing on our agenda when arriving to La Paz was finding ¨Clinica Del Sur¨, the clinic suggested in Ida´s lonely planet guide. We took a taxi to the clinic, which as the name implies is in the south zone or more suburb type area of La Paz. Fortunately the clinic was open for the holiday and Ida could see a doctor right away. The doctor in Oruro that we visited basically just prescribed Ida some anti-diarhea meds and told her not to eat food sold in the street. This doctor went through the same routine, but also wanted to run lab tests... exactly what we wanted. The truly best part of this whole ordeal was when the doctor asked about Ida´s diarhea. Now Ida knows more spanish than I do, so maybe I just understood some of his questions better because I knew what questions he would ask... he asked the consistancy and I asked her in english, same for when he asked the color. In response, Ida put down her head and answered ¨depends, depends on whether I have Fanta or Coke¨ which was really too funny for us not to burst out laughing, all she had eaten in the last 4 or so days was Coke and Fanta. The nurse thought that this answer was soooo not funny.

Ida had her lab tests done and within 15 minutes she was taken back to hear the big news: Ida´s illness is caused by AMOEBAS. They where going to run more tests, but with these initial results we could atleast get the medicine to stop the amoebas that the doctor said from the looks of it she´s had in her system for atleast 15 or 20 days. It was while she received this news that I called the Barjas, the uncle and family of my first and favorite college roommate Margo. Rodrigo and his wife Ana really saved the day for us. Ida found out she would have to return in two days and we had no idea if there was a nearby hostel where she could have the much needed quick access to a bathroom. It just so happened that Rodrigo´s family lives in the South zone where the clinic is located and they came and picked Ida and I up at the clinic, took us by the pharmacy and to their beautiful home.

It was that night that I started thinking that maybe, just maybe amoebas were the reason why I still had minor stomach problems, fatigue and no appetite. So the next morning we returned to the clinic and it was my turn to, a-hem, give a stool sample (a poop pot as Ida called it) and await the results. Ida joined the doctor and I for the official results, so she was there when he said ¨You don´t have what she has... You have something else." It is ordeals like being sick together and making the best of the miserable times that bring about the sort of humor that Ida and I now share. We both bursted out laughing, we were sick at the same time with two different things and every day our illnesses were seeming more complicated. The lab results showed that I have bacterial gastroenteritis, and that it was time for me to use the Cipro that I was prescribed at the travel clinic before I left on this adventure.

Carnaval!

Goofy picture of me and... this guy
foam fights!
That little armadillo he´s holding is a noisemaker that they all spin around in unison

The BOOM of the marching band drums makes me really appreciate the fact that my flu and the accompanying headaches are long gone. Like my little bit of flu that I had in Banos in Ecuador, the chills and sweats and aches all passed in one night. Unfortunately they seemed to have passed on my my travel buddy Ida. She started feeling very ill at some point in night before our bus trip, and despite much rest yesterday she is still feeling very weak and immodium doesn´t seem to be doing anything for stomach trouble. Right now I am blogging as part of the carnaval parade passes by the narrow street directly outside of the internet business so that Ida can sit in a chair in the doorway and watch without getting too tormented by water balloons and the foam spray that is so popular for carnaval. It smells lemony fresh, but isn´t very much fun when you get a face-full.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carnaval_de_Oruro

Carnaval is the longest parade procession I may ever see in my life. It started before I woke up this morning and is supposed to go on for about 20 hours. I don´t even know how to begin to describe the elaborate costumes and variety of costumes in the procession. I think this may motivate me to finally put up a bunch of pictures instead. When I was in La Paz I went to a museum of folklore and there was a great display of the different types of masks and descriptions of their history. The descriptions were in Spanish so I only got bits and pieces of these histories. I was mostly wondering why so many of the masks seem to be the faces of black men, but with grotesquely exaggerated representations of common stereotypes. I reallly had to take a step back, accept that I found this offensive and then try to accept carnaval for all that it is at the same time.

I have been watching from side streets although I think the best place to see carnaval is from the main plaza which is completely packed. I have been going back and forth watching the parade and checking in on Ida. We both lived on coca-cola and water yesterday and I am hoping she will feel up to eating something today, but I have to admit after the flu the street food that I usually enjoy looks less enticing and more like another potential bout of tummy ache. I have however not lost my taste for saltenas, delicious pastries with a veggie and meat type stew inside (now I know why these are Margo´s favorite food in Bolivia, Margo by the way is the best college roommate ever and my first Bolivian friend... and is now engaged, Go Margo!).

Now that I am feeling well I am enjoying the water wars and can´t help but laugh out loud as I run, duck and dodge in an effort to escape the water balloons. I haven´t stocked up on any ammunition though. I have discovered some of the best ways to avoid an attack which are:

1. Walk close to the stands where the little old ladies are selling food, souveniers, decorations or miscilanious stuff from china. These tough grannies put up such a fuss at a drop of water getting on their merchandise that people don´t risk it.

2. Carry food. Surprisingly the kids toting squirt guns and water balloons didn´t attack while I was carrying my saltena and corn in full view in front of my body. I kind of did it as a test, and my potential attackers seemed quite disapointed.

3. If you have to move across the street or up the street walk will the dancers or just as they pass... those brief spaces between performers are an all out brawl with bleachers full of people pegging everyone with water balloons, and hard.

Time to go out and re-join the festivities!!!