Day 166 - The Bolivian Plaza

The Bolivian Plaza

My apologies for not writing this week.  My mother broke her hip a week ago and needed her baby boy.  So I came home for a longer visit than planned.  I am behind on my blogs, but I have about 20 I plans to write about Bolivia, and might add a few of my visit home. 

If you know me, you know I love Bolivia.  I might be home for a few weeks, or even a few months, but Bolivia is in my heart, so I will return as quickly as I can.  This blog is dear to me.  I hope you enjoy.

The Plaza was originally the seat of power for a Bolivian, or Latin American town.  Life started here and spread out to the rest of the city and the countryside.  It is where people had an open space to meet.  It is where commerce began.  It is where religious life was centered.

I have been living in Bolivia for five months now.  On my first day back, I visited the Plaza 24 de Septiembre in Santa Cruz.  I go there often.  I can enjoy a good meal at La Pascana.  I can see the art in the Manzana Uno.  Families can entertain their toddlers by feeding the pigeons, or more likely the toddlers chasing the pigeons (my mom will regale you with stories of me chasing birds when I was a toddler).

I have learned about the history of Bolivian independence only recently, discovering the statue in the middle of the Plaza is a hero of the Battle of El Pari.  Bolivar is often featured in the plazas of Bolivia.  Why not?  He gave his name to this country.  There is always a national hero featured in a Bolivian plaza, or two or three.

Banks and money exchanges surround the Plaza in Santa Cruz, as you will find in most of the plazas of Bolivia.  Most of the government buildings have moved away, allowing the creation of the Manzana Uno.  The Cathedral still dominates as it has dominated life in Santa Cruz for nearly 400 years.

The little town of Samaipata has a beautiful, but small plaza, surrounded by restaurants.  The Plaza de Armas is much like Samaipata, an eclectic blend of tradition and the hippy culture that has invaded the small town.  There is the traditional church and the required statue of a local hero, but also strange pieces of modern art.   As the sun sets, like any plaza, it comes alive as the town gathers.

Tarija surprised me with three plazas joining each other.  I first encountered the Plaza de Sucre, which was filled with youth and young families, ice cream vendors, and roses.  It was a place where the young of Tarija gather to hang out in the evenings.  Nearby was the Plaza de Armas, the main plaza.  It was more like the plaza in Santa Cruz, with banks and restaurants, actually a lot of very nice restaurants.  It was for a more refined crowd.  Families were there, but I remember seeing elderly women gather to chat on a park bench.  The one thing that plaza lacked was a church, but I found it a block away, on its own, small plaza.

This week, Thanksgiving weekend, I visited Sucre.  Two blocks from my hotel was the Plaza 25 de Mayo, probably the largest plaza I have yet to see.  It has the expected cathedral, with a Baroque design adapted by the local Mestizo population.  It also houses the Treasury Museum and the House of Liberty.  Sucre at one time was the capital of Bolivia.  You can sense history visiting this Plaza.

The second evening in Sucre, I saw just how alive this plaza was.  There was not an empty park bench and there are so many to choose from.  Under the statue of Sucre, guarded by two great lions, youths had gathered to break dance.  I don’t think kids in the States break dance much any more, but the kids here do.  They amazed me with acrobatics and throwing themselves on the ground in spins that would send me to the hospital.

My conclusion to all of this?  Plazas are the life of a city.  They are vibrant.  From a plaza, you can get a feeling what life is like in that city.  They are all similar, but they are also different.  Before I end my year in Bolivia, I want to visit Cochabamba, La Paz, Riberalta, Potosi, and Oruro.  Most likely, I will visit the plazas first.  I know I will return to Samaipata.  I hope I will return to Sucre and Tarija.  I will always find a plaza.

Day 156 - La Pompeya

Iglesia La Pompeya

There is a small Catholic church a few doors from my house.  I discovered it quite by accident, exploring my neighborhood when I first arrived.  How do I describe this place?  Unique.

I first noticed it because of the toborochi, pregnant tree, in front of the church.  It has one of the fattest bellies of any toborochi I have ever seen.  I can’t wait to see it in full bloom in April.

So I was snapping pictures of the toborochi and noticed the unique fence beside what I thought was a house.  It is a mixture of wood, metal, and wire, except for the sunburst, forming random patterns.  I looked beyond the fence and saw a garden that looked like it came out of someone’s dream of a modern, woodsy garden from the 70s or early 80s.  And then I saw it had a steeple above the house, and a sign that said Iglesia La Pompeya, the Pompeya Church.

When I have ever mentioned the church, nobody knows anything about it.  I did some research on the internet and found nothing, except address and phone number to reserve the place for weddings.  On the door of the church is a plaque that tells of an original construction date in the 1950s and a reconstruction in the 70s, and further reconstruction a few years ago.  So I can’t relate any history about this beautiful little church.

The church to me will always be this pretty little church.  I have only seen it open once.  There were three ladies sitting at the front talking quietly.  The gardens are always clean and quiet.  It is a fitting addition to my little neighborhood.

Day 155 - Multiethnicity

Multiethnicity

When you arrive in Bolivia, you quickly discover that there is not one typical Bolivian.  It is a multiethnic nation that has had a history of battling for equality across racial and ethnic lines.

Spanish is spoken by almost everyone in Bolivia, but not everyone.  Quechua, Aymara, and Guarani are still the first language of tens of thousands, or hundreds of thousands in the case of Quechua.  Besides those, there are another 34 recognized languages in Bolivia.  A full 30% of the population speak Quechua and 25% speak Aymara, meaning that over 55% speak an indigenous language.

About 60% of the population is considered indigenous.  The largest groups are the Aymara from the area around La Paz, a group conquered by the Inca, but who managed to keep their culture alive within the Empire, and the Quechua, which are the Inca people.  The Quechua and Aymara are close to each other in population, but the Quechua are spread much wider, into Chile and Argentina to the south, and Peru and Ecuador in the north.  They are the largest “Indian” (American indigenous) tribe in the Americas.  The Aymara and Quechua make up what is called the Andean culture.

Half of Bolivia is in the tropical lowlands, or lower mountains of the Andes in the east.  They are occupied by their own indigenous groups, including the Guaraní, Chiquitano, and Moxos.

About a quarter of all Bolivians are Mestizo, a term that means mixed indigenous and European.  They are spread throughout the country, and often identify themselves with the local indigenous population.

Those of European descent tend to be located in the larger cities, such as La Paz, Santa Cruz, Cochabamba, and Tarija.  Most are of Spanish descent, though Italian, Portuguese, Arabic, Lebanese, and a host of other European countries are represented here.  There is a German Mennonite colony that numbers around 70,000 in the Santa Cruz department.  It is not uncommon to see people in the traditional Mennonite dress in the city of Santa Cruz.

The Spanish brought slaves from Africa with them when they conquered Bolivia.  Eventually these people were freed and settled in an area near La Paz called the Yungas.

There is a significant Japanese population found in the Okinawa Colony near Santa Cruz.  Asians, mostly Japanese, Chinese, and Korean are found in the big cities of Bolivia.

Traditionally most Bolivians are Catholic, though as a percent of the population it is on the decline; only about 80% now.  Evangelical and other Protestant denominations are on the rise, now numbering around 15%.  There are small numbers of about every religion you can think of in Bolivia, including a little under 1% who still follow the indigenous religions.

The history of voting rights, as in the United States, show a gradual democratization of Bolivia.  Originally the founders of Bolivia feared a mod rule, so granted voting rights to those who spoke Spanish, owned a sizable amount of land, or were skilled in the arts and sciences.  The right to vote was concentrated in the hands of a very small minority of European Bolivians, and some Mestizos.  Even with that small concentration of power, Bolivia suffered from one revolution after another, as rival factions tried to take control of the country.

In the 1930s Bolivia experienced a war that drained the country.  The Chaco War increased tensions between the middle class, the military, and the ruling elite.  In the 1940s voting rights for women were given for the first time.  It was followed by a revolution in the 1950s that gave the right to vote to peasants, though not fully achieved until the 1960s.  Still the White and Mestizo upper class managed to control Bolivia for decades to come.

It was not until 2005 that Evo Morales, the first indigenous president in Bolivia, was elected.  He has strived to end social injustice and inequality, especially among the indigenous population.  It has taken close to 200 years, and problems still exist, but Bolivia has finally achieved equality for all in this multiethnic nation.

Day 155 - Dragons!

Dragons!

I was standing under the great beast, feeling its deep call across the dry valley in Chuquisaca, near Sucre.  Every time it called, I could feel it in my bones.  But I was not afraid.  This beast made me feel warmth and protection, as strange as that seemed.  Yes, Job said they could not be trained, but who would want to?

In Job chapter 40 it describes an animal much like the titanosaur I was standing under.

“Look at Behemoth,

which I made along with you

and which feeds on grass like an ox. 

What strength it has in its loins

What power in the muscles of its belly!

Its tail sways like a cedar; the sinews of its thighs are close-knit.

Its bones are tubes of bronze,

Its limbs like rods of iron.

It ranks first among the works of God,

Yet its Maker can approach it with his sword.

The hills bring it their produce,

And the wild animals play nearby.

Under the lotus plants it lies,

Hidden under the reeds of the marsh.

The lotuses conceal it in their shadow;

The poplars by the stream surround it.

A raging river does not alarm it;

It is secure, though the Jordan should surge against its mouth.

Can anyone capture it by the eyes,

Or trap it and pierce its nose?”

These creatures must have survived the Flood of Genesis for Job to witness them in the waters of the Jordan, which must have been a more powerful river than it is now.  I can imagine standing under his belly and hearing, as well as feeling, his echoing call across the Jordan Valley.

Today, November 25, I visited the Parque Cretácico, Cretaceous Park.  I was told by friends that I could see a place where thousands of dinosaur tracks have been uncovered.  The cement factory, which surrounds the park, uncovered the footprints.  A vertical slab of rock, hundreds of feet long and over a hundred feet high, contains tracks of 15 species of dinosaurs, including a 347-meter trail of a T-Rex, nicknamed Johnny Walker.

As a creationist, I believe these were most likely laid down during the Flood of Genesis.  Many evolutionists won’t agree with me.  I won’t argue with them about it, or go into all the details that make me believe in the Flood, but the historical record of men like Job, so perfectly describing one of the great dinosaurs, makes me believe.  There are other historical accounts besides the one of Job.

The prints are not well-preserved.  It is estimated that most will be destroyed by erosion by 2020.  Bolivia is a poor country and lacks the resources to preserve them.  At the moment, half of Bolivia is suffering a severe drought, leaving a large portion of the population with little or no water.  I doubt Bolivia can do anything to save the tracks.

This little park, with dozens of life-like dinosaurs, will make you dream of a time when man would walk with the dinosaurs.

Day 154 - A Tour to Remember

A Tour to Remember

A young man arrived at my hotel at 8:30 to take me on a walking tour of Sucre.

“Hello, my name is Camilo,” he said as we headed out the door.  My first impression was that he was a rough looking street kid.  He quickly changed my opinion and reminded me not to prejudge people.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand.  “Will we join the rest of the tour at the Plaza?”  I had purchased a small group tour.  The website said there would be between five and ten people on the tour.

“The rest?  You are the only one.”

It turned out to be a private tour, with one of the nicest young men I have met in Bolivia.  He loves photography and travel.  We talked about both a lot.  Who could ask for better?  As we stopped at churches or monuments, he knew the right place to stand on the correct side of the street, or out of the sun.  He was always patient, making sure I was comfortable, that I understood what he was saying, and that I was happy.

Our tour began at the market, where he treated me to a traditional Bolivian breakfast, a corn drink that tasted like tapioca and banuelos, a delicious sweetbread.  We stopped at a fruit vendor who gave me bites of cherimoya, peaches, and papaya.  Before leaving we had an explanation from a potato vendor about the varieties and preparation of different potatoes.

Passed the market is Bolivar Park, the Old Supreme Court Building, arches resembling the one in Paris, a grand Theater, and the national asylum.  In the park were statues that reminded me of ones from Versailles and a miniature version of the Eiffel Tower.  This one is more accessible, easier to climb, and you don’t have to wait for hours to visit it.

We then took a city bus to La Recoleta.  I spent the afternoon there the day before, so I didn’t take a lot of pictures.  He explained to me about indigenous weaving, the art of the region of Chuquisaca, and about the founding of the city at the site of the Recoleta, or resting place.  The view from La Recoleta is stunning.  White arches overlooking the beautiful city below and mountains of the Andes.  The school on the plaza let out and children invaded it to play soccer or laugh at each other’s stories.

Our tour ended with a visit to the cemetery.  My guide impressed me as we were entering.  There was a blind man looking for a taxi, but of course, he couldn’t tell which was a taxi and which a car.  Camilo stopped my tour to help the man with a taxi, making sure he was comfortably inside and sent to his destination.  Impressive.

I have mentioned before that the cemetery in Santa Cruz is beautiful, but the one in Sucre is gorgeous.  Tall trees line the walks creating a shady park.  If I were to ever live in Sucre, even for a short time, I would regularly visit the cemetery to write in solitude.  Camilo said he has come there to study at times.

That is where the tour ended.  Camilo talked to me about places I should visit on a future visit to Sucre, and promised he would show me his photography one day.  I thought that was the end of the tour.

The next afternoon he texted me to ask if I were free.  I was writing in my hotel room, so I said I was.  He came over to show me some his photography.  He sells them very cheap, but he is talented.  Someday he could make money off his photographs.  Before he left he invited me to taste some real Bolivian food for dinner, so again I had a guide.  I was surprised that when the bill came, he was going to pay.  I didn’t let him of course. 

Sucre is definitely on my list of places to visit again.  Camilo already has an entire week planned for me.  I am truly grateful to him for opening my eyes to such a beautiful city.

Day 153 - The White City

The White City

After twisting and turning through the dry, brown hills, my taxi turned a corner and before me was a white wall with green words that read, “Welcome to Sucre.”   In front of the sign were the skeletal remains of someone’s car.  There was nothing left.  I was beginning to wonder what I had gotten in to.  Was this the ruins of a once great city, or something else?

The hills of Chuquisaca are beautiful, tan and brown, dry from lack of rain.  From the plane, I saw a valley that made me think of the Grand Canyon; the valley scrapped by Flood, thousands of years ago.  There are houses on top of ridges, but I didn’t see roads.  How did they get there?  How do they live in such a remote place with so little water?

My first impression of Sucre was the brown adobe and brick houses that lined the highway entering the city.  They were simple, places of poverty.  So much brown blending with the dry earth.

Then it happened!

We turn a corner and we are in the Plaza of the Recoleta, the original settlement of Sucre, about 480 years ago.  I was looking down on the White City.  So much white!  Red tiled roofs.  My taxi driver said the Spaniards arrived here in 1538.  As we drive along, he points to buildings and tells me dates that predate Texas by 200 years.  I am lost with the age of the city and so much white.  I would think of bleached bones, except so many doors are open, revealing the traditional colonial courtyards and patios, lush with flowers.

My tour guide from the next day would tell me it was not called the White City because there is so much white, but because the original Spanish founders were from Andalusia, in Spain.  I have been there and remember the white cities of Ronda, Arco de la Frontera, and Medina Sidonia.  They built this city to remind them of home.  And yes, it looks like Andalusia.

I stayed at the Hostal de Su Merced, two blocks from the Plaza.  I gasped as I enter the place.  It is what I have always dreamed of for my house.  There is a patio in the center of the hotel with stairs going up in various directions, everything open to the central patio.  Rooms open through French doors.  Cascades of roses and bougainvillea greet my eyes.  After settling in to my room, I climb the stairs to find roof top terraces that give me a stunning view of the White City.

I am hungry so I go searching for food.  My pastor and his wife recommended the Joy Ride Café, an eclectic little place.  I end up having three lunches there over my stay in Sucre.  Matilde, another friend, texted me to try another restaurant just doors away for dinner.  I ate well my three days in Sucre.

Before taking my siesta, so I can explore all afternoon, I made a quick turn to the Plaza.  I’m in love with Bolivia again.

I can’t sleep.  I have to go explore!

Th

Day 152 - Friends, Old and New

Friends, Old and New

When I woke up Saturday morning, I was met by sunny skies and a cool spring breeze blowing in my window.  I had plans for 11:00, but at 7:15, I decided I needed to get out of the house and enjoy the gorgeous morning.

I had plans to meet two different groups of people for lunch.  Mary, a coworker, has her parents visiting.  Ron and Lisa, former missionaries, are thinking of returning to Bolivia.  I was going to meet both for lunch at the Plaza and take them on a little tour.  Lunch was Lisa’s idea and the tour Mary’s.  Both sounded good to me.

By 8:00, I was out of the house taking pictures of a cute little church called La Pompeya and heading over to Starbucks for breakfast.  I wasn’t there long before I had a destination in mind.  The sky was gorgeous, so I wanted to try again to see if I could get a picture of the Cristo.  That is a long walk so I took a taxi instead. 

I walked around the neighborhood of the Palacio de Justicia, taking pictures and discovering barrios I haven’t visited before.  There are some beautiful condominiums in that part of town.  Lots of flowering trees.  Clean streets.  And cool restaurants.  I found a statue I had passed a few times, always promising I would return to it one day.  It is a knight on a horse (or half a horse) with his lance in the air.  He somehow reminds me of Don Quixote, the Spanish knight who fought windmills.  Until someone tells me differently, that is who he will be.

Not far away was the Cristo statue.  I walked to the chapel, who a friend told me was built for the Pope’s visit, so he would face the Cristo when preaching.  It was closed, but there was a young guard on duty.  I asked if I could come in to take a picture of the Cristo.  He said I wasn’t allowed to do that.  He looked nervous, then said, “if you do it quickly and leave.”  I had not intended on pressing the issue, but I am thankful to a young man who allowed me to take a picture.

After more walking, I was again in a taxi, heading to the Plaza.  About two blocks from the Plaza, I notice the young lady that had been doing immigration work with me, Tabitha, who works with El Alfarero.  So I got out of the taxi (I paid of course) and hurried to meet her.  She was going to the Plaza to change money, but I tempted her to sit and have a soda with me at my restaurant, La Pascana.  We talked about the ministries of the Learning Center and El Alfarero, which works with college students.  And we talked about seeing the country, places like Samaipata and we talked Thanksgiving for those of us living outside the USA.  After an hour, she had to leave, but it was good catching up.

Ron and Lisa, and their daughter Rocio, are very Bolivian in one thing, promptness.  They were half an hour late, but that is something you learn to accept here in Bolivia.  Ron and Lisa attended CFNI with my sister, Glenda and her husband, Andrew.  Later they attended the same church in Rockwall.  When Ron and Lisa decided to move to Bolivia, Glenda directed them to meet me.  My last year in Bolivia they worked here with a deaf ministry and when I returned to the States, they took my dog, Shadow.  They left in the 90s, but now want to return.

I think they enjoyed lunch

They peppered me with lots of questions about Bolivia, from the perspective of an American living here.  Lisa is also interested in teaching at the Learning Center.  Their daughter, Rocio, is now an adult and just wanted to get to know the place where she was born.  They had questions about how things work now, compared to the 80s.  Lots of things have changed.

Mary and her parents weren’t able to show, but I still gave a little tour of the Plaza to Ron, Lisa, and Rocio.  To top it off, I took them to the hospital that Rocio was born in, Clinica Foianini, which is across the street from my apartment.

I got home around 2:30, exhausted and slept the next two hours.  But it was a beautiful day to spend with new and old friends.