February 2012 - World Chump

-The other day, I fenced a little with Axl, using two huge plastic baseball bats, which was really nothing serious. His brother had other ideas: he took the bat away from him and proceeded to clock me on the head with it.

-Again, I couldn't visit the carnival this year, this time due to Liebi's absence. I am running out of chances to go here.

-The other day, a gang's boss was arrested and charged with the murder of sixty-nine people. Supposedly, he was the head of a gang that would send false mini buses into public transportation, have passengers who didn't know any better hop on (in front, of course), then strangle and kill them and proceed to drop their bodies into dumpsters. The immediate award: rarely more than a few bolivianos and maybe cell phones. Reminds me of Marge Gunderson in the movie Fargo: "And for what? For a little bit of money." Seems to me El Alto's reputation for being the most violent town in Bolivia is more than well-deserved and has been cemented thanks to these gentlemen. 33 other members of the gang were also arrested.

-American Airlines has recently declared Chapter 11, which in essence would declare a protection from bankruptcy. Not good. They run quite possibly the worst flight in the world from Miami to La Paz. Somehow having less money doesn't make me feel confident that their service will get any better.

-Recently a judge ordered an all-boys school to admit eight girls among their ranks. The parents' reaction? The boys' parents blocked the girls from entering the school and attending classes. A street fight ensued with police breaking up the mob using teargas. Gender discrimination? Such a wonderful thing, if you're living in the 16th century.

-Speaking of discrimination: Disabled demonstrators demanded increased government assistance at Plaza Murillo and were promptly turned away by the police. The result: the disabled demonstrators attacked the police, using crutches, their wheelchairs, and fireworks. Talk about a handicap.

-Brazil, Bolivia, and the United States just signed a tri-lateral treaty in which they agreed to a united front against the war on drugs. Yawn. How about signing one with Afghanistan? It would be just as silly to sign a treaty with Russia that stipulates that no snow should fall in Siberia, or a treaty with Vietnam that prohibits 50% of their 80 or so inches of rain per year from falling.

-It's amazing how many thefts and robberies there are in Bolivia, but in particular the ease with which people steal stuff here. I remember people would cut their own hands off before even thinking about stealing in Morocco. No such scruples here. Then again, I understand Bolivia is still South America's poorest country.

-The rain has stopped mostly, but you'll be pressed to find anything in the world more drier than La Paz, deserts not included. My skin is peeling worse than a snake's.

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If you think there is more to life than writing about the weather, then you are absolutely correct.

Nobody really wants to hear about the typical day in Southern California (70-75 degrees) or the Irish coast (grey clouds), and even less so about the rain. But then you probably haven't been to South America.

Where I come from, I am positive that there has been a rainy day at least once in its history for every calendar day. I could travel there at any time of the year, and there would still be a likelihood, however so slight, of rain.

In Ireland, quite a few people told me how Ireland would be the best country in the world if only they could put a roof over it. I think Pacenas would agree with that to some extent – except that they would want the roof to be retractable. It seems in La Paz the weather always comes in waves – sometimes even literally, as I will explain later.

The seasons: spring is from September to December, with some rains, but otherwise high temperatures that usually top out in the low 70's. Summer is the biggest paradox here in La Paz – this is when the rains come down with a vengeance, albeit with moderate temperatures. Fall is from March to June and is mostly dry, whereas the winter from June to September is, again, cold and dry.

How weird is it, then, that we are supposedly in the middle of summer and for the past eight weeks we have had nothing but rain? You would think this gets depressing after a while, but it never has. With the mountainous backdrop in La Paz, it could rain all year and it still wouldn't bother me.

It seems weird to say that the sunny temperatures in the low to mid 70's are rarely missed, if at all. There is something brutal about sunny 70 degree days here that almost make you pine for the days in the 90's and 100's in places like Morocco or Nepal. I have no idea whether that has anything at all to do with the altitude, but the sun here literally blazes, and you will get that sunburn on certain days, regardless of whether you use sunblock or not.

Here it is nice looking out the window, the logs in the fireplace burning, a cup of tea in hand, and listening to the consistent rhythm of the rain pecking away at the skylight. The kids are inside playing – every now and then one of them will have the genius idea of going outside (not unlike when it's dark), but other than that they are inside where you can watch them. That only means there's the darn cat still to worry about.

Looking out here in La Paz, there's the large white cross on the hill over Achumani about to get a complimentary wash as it looms over dozens more mini crosses that form the cemetery on the slope of the hill. There's nothing spooky about that, unless there's a mudslide, because then that 'final resting place' goes out the window. The rain here is also connected with several tragedies, as the mudslides and the occasional floods with their menacing brown waves last year here could attest.

Other than that, the rain is part of our routine like work, dinner, and toothpaste: convenient enough to watch, not dangerous enough to be a threat.

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Statistics lately have suggested that 85% of all crime victims in Bolivia refuse to go to the police.

Although the figure itself may appear surprising, it is hardly shocking.

Luckily, I have yet to be the victim of any serious crime here in La Paz. The worst that's happened was a bottle of cologne that was lifted out of the gym shower after I had left it there. Annoying, yes, considering this bottle cost me money and would take a little doing to replace, but compared to other crimes committed around here, it's chump change and small peanuts. Other than that, I live near the Ambassador's house, which would discourage any burglar, due to a heightened security awareness in general, not to mention that our house has a security system and plenty of neighbors who probably see and hear everything within a half mile radius. Wait a minute, I actually forgot another crime: my dog was kidnapped and never to be returned, although we are convinced this was the result of an insider job. Come to think of it, that mutt was a pain in the rear anyway, so the kidnappers might have performed a valuable service by removing it.

The 85% stat is very telling in that people have more faith in Alasitas fulfilling their pie in the sky wishes than the police following up on any crime report that does not involve immediate family members, friends, or the rich and famous. Hard to blame the lack of law enforcement motivation, considering each of the fuzzies here makes less than my cleaning lady or my gardener.

Even more disheartening is the fact that crimes against women, in particular rape or domestic violence are rarely reported, which shows you that, wired and technologically advanced or not, the old gender norms still remain firmly entrenched, meaning don't rock the boat, save yourself any public humiliation, and bow down to the will of the master. Although the efforts of several women's self-help groups are commendable, all the nonprofit groups and even education in schools will remain futile if there is not a serious shakeup within the legal system itself.

Another shocking example of the frustration and helplessness people feel here was exemplified by a case that hit a little closer to home. Here at work, Jimena is a lady who runs the cafeteria. Hers is pretty much a one (wo-)man business, as she provides for the breakfast and lunch needs of about one hundred people. A serious woman by nature, she will often take various barbs by most of her male customers for everything, from how much salt is in the soup to the length of her hair, chauvinistic conduct that has long been deemed unacceptable in the west.

Jimena recently took a leave of absence when she learned that her 25 year old daughter had been murdered. That's right. Murdered. Right there in broad daylight, at her house. While I don't want to begin to imagine what it feels like losing a child, it must be even more painful knowing that this crime will very likely remain unsolved. Even the six hundred or so dollars we collect for her may suffice to pay for her funeral and buy a cop or two for a few weeks who might open a few files for her. But Jimena will be holding her breath like a deep sea diver without an oxygen task if she expects this to be solved anytime soon, if at all.

So far, I have only mentioned crime in terms of car burglary (the most common crime in Bolivia), but lift the covers a little bit, and there are ugly and yet unread chapters in the criminal history of both Bolivia and its capital, chapters that are destined to never make it to print.

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All right, so the novelty per se is already gone, we learned about the mini houses, the money, and the rooster and the hen last year – only the second time around does have added dimensions, as this year's Alasitas would confirm.

As a reminder: Alasitas is a festival where people wish for things – mostly material items, whether it is money (you should also state the currency, should you be lucky enough to emigrate), houses, cars, visas, diplomas, you name it. Of course the rooster and the hen symbolize marriage, so you will find many of La Paz's singles running around with tons of poultry.

In order to have your wish come true, you will have to buy the coveted items in miniature form. Think Matchbox, in this case, except that the car you would wish for is even smaller than that. On the days before Alasitas, merchants open their booths and sell anything mini that people might wish – needless to say, they make a killing doing so. I have seen at least a dozen different currencies too (dollars, euros, pounds, bolivianos, pesos, among others), and houses that range from the mini cottage to a huge mansion. The sky seems to be the limit for what people can wish for.

Of course, what has actually come true is an entirely different manner. File any wishes the Pacenas might have among those you might have in the west when you break a wishbone, see a falling star, or drop a penny into a well.

This year around is a little different. Here it is customary – although by no means the law – to give employees enough time off (usually an hour or more) to buy the miniature equivalents of what they wish for this year and then have them blessed by the shaman. You see, buying the said items is hardly enough here. To clinch the deal, you need a little something extra, like a little divine interference to up your chances, unless you want that suitcase of money to remain a pipedream.

With familiarity come perks, as well.

For example, last year I was just another foreigner. This year, colleagues and neighbors inundate me with miniature items: I must have thousands of dollars in different currencies, most of them in dollars.

Supposedly at work, there is a lucky fairy here whose gifts have a bigger chance of becoming reality. This would be Karina, who, legend has it here, is directly responsible for more husbands and wives, cars, and visas than anybody else in the building.

You could argue that it is suspect that Karina herself has none of these things, but according to tradition I ask her for a mini house, which I promptly receive and is now sitting on the window sill behind my workstation.

Here are some of the oddest wishes that I've heard people express here in La Paz:

1. A printer, so the person can print money instead of making it.
2. A lama, so the person can run over it with his car (after one spat in his eye). No joke.
3. A gigantic roof, so the person can cover La Paz during the rainy season.
4. An earthquake, so the person's architecture firm gets more business.

Different countries, different customs.

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The Saya Brewery in Achocalla is owned by Remo, a forty-something Bolivian entrepreneur who also serves as its beermaster. It actually qualifies as a microbeer and, at the risk of running some advertisement here, is far superior in taste to the other giants in La Paz like Pacena and Huari. The downside is that only 10,000 bottles are sold per day, meaning it is still very much a day-to-day business operation where expenses need to be observed and waste avoided.

The hashers followed Remo's invitation to hold the event there recently, being that beer is the main ingredient of any hash, this was a no-brainer.

We took a convoy of five cars (with several more to follow later) and drove the thirty minutes or so out to Achocalla, a pretty little bucolic suburb of La Paz. It is what you'd expect of a suburb - clean, small, familiar, with superb views of the mountains and a lake that attracts plenty of Pacenas for the weekend. This is perfect green farmland combining all the charms of Bolivia…with all of its farm animals, as it turns out! You can virtually make a checklist of all farm animals and then cross them out one by one as they become visible – donkeys, cows, chickens, sheep, pigs. Add to the fact that the people are much nicer and more laid back than in the urban setting of La Paz, and you have a charming little weekend getaway at your fingertips.

The brewery itself is well hidden, but not unknown to the villagers, who are not above rapping on the door occasionally to ask for some unfiltered Saya beer. Remo, always obliging, knows the value of decent community standing very well, and though its more conservative members might frown at the idea of a city dweller producing suds in their midst, they can't deny he's been a valuable contributor to the community as well as an outstanding neighbor.

Remo proudly likes to point out how everything is recycled within his small compound, not a given in a country that lacks technological fundamentals like Bolivia. Even the runoff from his bathrooms is treated in a little water work – certainly a good long term solution both ecologically and financially.

The hashers themselves treat themselves to a run around Achochalla's pristine lake and run just a little faster this time around, owing mainly to the dark and menacing clouds gathering in the distance. This also entails stepping into mud puddles and crossing a racetrack. Anything to stay dry and get to the beer quickly.

The people in Achocalla themselves greet this novelty with a collective shake of the heads or with simple greetings. I can even recall a farmer we pass with his two cows offering one of his cows for immediate consumption, coca leaf stained teeth showing. Unlike La Paz, it's not like these people don't have a sense of humor.

The valley of Achocalla itself is a sight to behold. Whereas I've heard people compare La Paz to an erosion ditch, Achocalla is little more than a village really, despite its claim of being a suburb, and has far more green and water to offer than La Paz itself. It's far less intimidating than La Paz and almost feels like a different area or province altogether.

Great place, certainly, and one of Bolivia's many little hidden treasures.

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World Chump - Wanderlust

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