June 30, 2017 - Afternoon in Trinidad

Afternoon in Trinidad

I don’t know if you are like me, but when something is about to happen, I don’t sleep the night before.  The first day of school, the last day of school, or going on a vacation.  I had to be up this morning at 5:30 and in a taxi by 6:15 to get to the airport on time.  So I didn’t sleep last night.

I had a dream about two boys I taught a few years ago, Shelby and Angus.  Denise will remember them.  In my dream, I was administering the STAAR Test to them, but nobody else.  Shelby kept leaving, something not surprising for him.  I would look up and he was gone.  So I had to take Angus with me to search for him.  Then I’d turn around and Angus was gone.  Those boys might have done that in real life, but at least they won me the kickball trophy after two decades!  So who cares, right?

That was the dream I remember when I woke up at 11:30.  I also woke up at 1:00, 3:00, 3:45, 4:30, and 5:15 before my alarm went off at 5:30.  So I was tired when I arrived in Trinidad at 11:00.  By 1:30, after my meal of alligator, I was asleep in my hotel room. 

The brilliant blue sky, the grey and white clouds, and the gentle tropical breeze, all were calling me to explore.  Thus, around 4:00, I escaped from my air-conditioned hotel room to learn a bit more about the city of Trinidad.

I had seen two little plazas as I entered the city and decided to look for them.  Trinidad is not that big of a place, maybe 100,000, so using my map app on my phone, helped me find both easily.  One was dedicated to the heroes of the Chaco War, but it was run down and not very clean.  The other was a bit cleaner.  It was dedicated to the ranchers in the Beni. 

Walking around the city, I noticed a few things. 

Every street has a deep rain gutter for the rainy season. 

There are about 20 motorcycles for every one car. 

Drivers will motion you across the street, unlike Santa Cruz where they might run over you. 

About half the buildings look like they are about to crumble. 

Trash and dog poop is everywhere. 

In Santa Cruz, you see people wealthier than what you’d expect to see in Dallas, but here they are poor. 

But I also noticed these people say hello as you walk down the street. 

By 5:00, people are sitting outside their door enjoying the approaching evening. 

And last, nothing, absolutely nothing is open at 6:00 for dinner, nor are there that many restaurants.  I finally found one that would seat me at 6:30 and ended up going to that place again the next night.  It was still almost 7:30 before I was served my meal.  

Is this a city I could live in, like I said I could in Tarija, Sucre, or Cochabamba?  At the moment, I don’t think so.  I feel out of place and a bit lost.  

But that could be because I am tired and hot.

 

June 29, 2017 - Trinidad

Trinidad

When we broke through the clouds, I saw water and green.  Rivers, streams, lakes, ponds, and swamps as far as the eye can see.  Forest green, lime and emerald, and even neon.  That was my welcome to the tropical rainforest of the Beni.  From here, stretching thousands of miles is the Amazon River Basin, a rainforest that takes up more than half of South America, and about half of Bolivia.

And there are a million motorcycles here!  I walked out of the airport and a dozen motorcycles were offering me a ride.  I am not quite prepared to die, so I asked for a car.

My first impression of Trinidad is that it looks like the Old West, with dusty roads and buildings that look like Old Mexico, adobe with wooden posts.  Except here are millions of motorcycles.  Trinidad was founded in the late 1600s, but flooding has forced the city to move several times.  Trinidad is built on vast plains of the Mamore River.  It is flat, so when the river swells, being fed by almost every river in Bolivia, the city floods.  Open drains surround every building and are on every street.  This is necessary to divert the water during the rainy season.  Dikes have been built in several places to control the flooding, though every year the streets look like Venice and cattle are drowned in the farmlands.

And Trinidad is hot.  I knew it was going to be hot, but still it hit me.  There is not the steady breeze like we have in Santa Cruz.  The rainy season is past, so it is dusty.  I realized I was going to have to be creative to survive the heat.

My hotel is plain on the outside, but my room was one of the nicest ones in Bolivia that I have stayed in.  The air conditioner worked well.  The bed was comfortable.  The room was clean.  There was even a little terrace outside my room.

I was starving when I arrived.  My first goal after finding my hotel was to find a place to eat.  The crowded plaza had no places open to eat at 11:15.  I searched for a taxi (car, not motorcycle) and eventually found one.  I told the driver I was hungry.  He asked what I wanted to eat and I suggested alligator.  I know you might laugh, but the Beni is swarming with alligators and is famous for chicharron de lagarto, fried alligator.

The little restaurant was slow, but I didn’t care.  Soon a plate full of alligator, rice, yuca, and fried banana arrived.  A truly tropical meal.  I will admit, this alligator tasted like chicken.  I might have been tricked.

June 28, 2017 - Off to Trinidad

Off to Trinidad

Before you assume that I’m going to Trinidad in the Caribbean, there are Trinidads everywhere, even a Trinidad, Texas.  I did visit Trinidad in the Caribbean, but that is a whole different story.  Trinidad, Bolivia is the capital of the Beni department in northern Bolivia.  It is more tropical than Santa Cruz, with nighttime temperatures around 70 and daytime temperatures, even in the winter, topping 95 degrees.

I left early.  Getting a taxi wasn’t a problem, I actually stepped out of my apartment building at 6:15 to flag one.  The taxi wasn’t a problem, but I did discover one when I got my boarding pass.  I don’t have a direct flight, but one that goes through Cochabamba.  Online yesterday, it said it would leave at 7:50 and the flight to Trinidad at 9:30.  The flight to Cochabamba is less than 45 minutes, so there should have been ample time there.  But my boarding passes changed both times.  The Cochabamba flight at 8:00 and the Trinidad flight at 9:00, cutting my stay in Cochabamba to minutes.  So that made me a little nervous.

But I am learning that worry is a waste of time.  But here is how complicated it got.  At 8:00, we still had not boarded.  A flight that was supposed to leave after us boarded and took off.  Around 8:15, they started boarding three families that had someone in a wheelchair.  I was the first in line after them, but still we waited 10 minutes to get the wheelchairs on board.  Note, they do not always use a ramp like you find in the states.  Usually, you walk the tarmac to the plain and then board a stair.  So boarding the wheelchairs took some time.

I got on the plane and an old lady was in my seat.  She was one of the people in a wheelchair.  I am not going to ask her to move – no way!  She reminded me of my grandmother, wrapped in a blanket and asking her daughter where she was.  She was scared and confused.  The flight attendant moved me, but it wasn’t so bad, from 1C to 1D.  

I was worried about catching my connection to Trinidad, but the flight attendant assured me not to worry.  If he wasn’t worried, then why should I be.  It is not like in the United States where it seems the airlines companies don’t care.  Here they treat you well.  So I settled in to enjoy the short flight.

Upon arriving in Cochabamba, there was someone waiting for me and another half dozen people also going to Cochabamba.  The attendant waited until we were all off the plane, then led us to the neighboring plane, where I had the same exact seat.

To be honest with you, I hate air travel.  Nothing ever seems to go right.  There are always delays or I get on board to find my seat has been claimed by someone else.  But I like visiting new places.  Maybe I will take a bus next time.

 

June 27, 2017 - Guembe

Guembe

Again I found myself sitting in a corner of paradise, drinking a morning coffee, and listening to the noise of macaws and other birds not so far away.  Though it is winter in Santa Cruz, the day is comfortable.  It is cloudy with just a hint of breeze.  How often it seems that I am in a beautiful garden here in Bolivia. 

I’ve wanted to return to Guembe since I first visited on a hot October day last year.  It should not be so bad today.  There is rain in the forecast, but just a few sprinkles.  It might get to 80, but in Santa Cruz there is always a breeze.

My friend, Tim Ramsey, explained why there is always a breeze in Santa Cruz, but if you go east, 50 miles, there is not.  If you look at the shape of the Andes just north of Santa Cruz at the Amboro National Park, you will see they form a form a bowl.  This bowl collects the winds and they come rushing around the corner and then sweep through Santa Cruz.  It is kinda like what happens when you are downtown, in a city with skyscrapers.  The wind seems to whip around the corners of buildings.  If you think Chicago is windy, come to Santa Cruz.

The most prohibitive part of going to Guembe is the taxi ride.  You leave the city, cross the river, and still have a bit of a drive.  Because of that, taxistas generally charge 60 or 70 Bs., or about $10.  Once there it is a bit expensive too, except they have a senior rate.  That is one of the great things about approaching 60.

Once you are here, there is so much to do.  There are several pools that look like postcards from Hawaii or the Caribbean. There are paddle boats, an awesome jungle gym, and miniature golf for the kids.  There is an exhibit where you can learn about the life cycle of butterflies, as well as see them hatch.

I started with my coffee before heading out for my favorite exhibits.  They have the most interesting orquidarium I have ever encountered.  Actually this is probably the only one I have ever encountered.  It is winter in Santa Cruz, so there was not a lot in bloom.  They have a butterfly exhibit famous in Bolivia, but not as nice as the one at Fair Park in Dallas.  But it is nice.  There is also a monkey island, another monkey exhibit, and a tortoise exhibit.

My favorite exhibit is the Aviary.  It is three stories high and filled with macaws, parrots, toucans, ducks, guineas, and peacocks.  The sign says there are more, but I think they must hide when people come to visit.  In the middle is a spiral staircase that leads to a lookout above the aviary.  From there, you have a view of green and the skyline of Santa Cruz in the distance.  As I was descending, a toucan scared me by landing inches from my face.  Take a look at that guy’s beak and ask yourself if you want to tangle with that serrated beak.  About the same thing happened when I sat to write for a while on the platform.  Several macaws landed where I was.  One took a few chunks out of my notebook.  I guess he aspires to be a writer too.

After an hour and a half, walking around the tropical paradise, I was sweaty and ready to sit in a breezy place in the shade, have lunch and write.  And that is where I am now.  Jealous?

 

June 26, 2017 - Coffee With Martha

Coffee with Martha

I want to start this blog out by saying happy birthday to my fabulous and gorgeous mom, Shirley Rosinbaum Pennoyer!  If you know her, you know she is the best.

Tomorrow I leave for Trinidad, Bolivia in the Beni department in the north.  It is on the Mamoré River, which feeds into the Amazon.

My friend, Martha, says she has friends there and thought we’d like to meet each other.  So I invited her to coffee at my artsy coffee place near the Plaza, the Café Patrimonio.  Since it is a new place, only since January, many of my Bolivian friends don’t know about it yet.  That means I have the great pleasure of introducing it to them.

I arrived early, so I could write a bit.  I am waiting on a friend who is editing Onesimus, so I have started working on three other novels.  I believe one will surface in the near future for me to finish.  One is the story of Moses and Pharaoh’s daughter, another is Luke interviewing Mary, and a third an expansion of an event in high school.  Martha arrived before I got too far.

Martha is one of my favorite people in Bolivia.  She knows the significance of her namesake in the Bible and is striving to be more like her sister, Mary, who sat at Jesus’ feet.  She feels she is like the biblical Martha, but if you meet her, you will agree that she is more like Mary.  She is the kind of woman who devotes herself to prayer.  She will pray for you in a heartbeat.

Now let me explain the picture of Martha texting.  No, she is not one of those people who texts while talking to you.  She has a friend in Trinidad that she wants me to meet, thinking she will show me some of the special sites in the city.  So, while we were having coffee, Martha proceeded to text her friend to set up the meeting.  You don’t get to see the next scene of her beating me over the head with her chair for taking a picture of her texting (just kidding).

After coffee, I had the privilege of showing her around the Patrimonio.  It was the home of Dr. Melchor Pinto, a famous doctor and politician.  One room is a reconstruction of his office.  The walls are covered with famous people from Santa Cruz.  I knew very few, but Martha, knew many of them.

There are five other rooms filled with art.  Most of it is modern.  One room is permanent; I think it ight have been Dr. Pinto’s personal collection.  The other four change ever few weeks.  They stagger the changes in galleries, so it seems that every week there is something new.

Martha needed to go to the school to work in her room.  I needed to pack.  I love relaxed mornings like this with friends.  Want to join me for a coffee?

June 25, 2017 - La Guardia and Instagram

La Guardia and Instagram

A few years ago, my friend and teaching partner, Denise, encouraged me to join Instagram.  I balked because all my 6th graders at the time were on Instagram posting selfies all day long.  I wanted no part of that.   Denise told me that Instagram was created as a place for photographers to share their photos and learn from each other.  So I followed her advice, created an Instagram account, and started looking for photographers.  A lot of my students found me and today make up more than half of my followers, but I have also encountered many amazing photographers from across the globe.

Many of these people follow me and we have since become friends, though I have never met them.  I have friends I chat with sometimes from India, Nepal, Ecuador, Brazil, and I forget where else.  I have many invitations to visit their countries, and they should beware, because I might just do that. 

When I arrived in Santa Cruz and started posting photos from here, I gained at least 100 or more followers from Santa Cruz.  One amazing photographer, santacruzdelasierraoficial, just happened to be the son of a lady I taught back in the 80s.  

One girl, Stefany, posted a beautiful picture of a church.  I wrote her and asked where it was.  She said La Guardia, where some friends of mine live.  La Guardia is on the route from Santa Cruz to Samaipata, so I started looking for the church.  Last Saturday, when I went on the spur of the moment to Samaipata, I saw a miniscule sign pointing to the plaza.  I knew where it was, so I vowed I’d go this week.

This morning I had two errands to accomplish before I went searching for that church.  I needed coffee from the Café Patrimonio.  I admit it, I have become addicted to a morning coffee.  I also wanted to buy some new pillows for the bed.  April and May have been very damp.  The weather was cool enough that I slept with the windows open most night and rarely used the air conditioning.  My pillows were not smelling too good from being damp so long.  I was afraid if I washed them, they might not get dry for a month, if ever.  So, I bought be two new ones for just $12!

Then I was off to find a way to get to La Guardia.  I did something stupid, but not horribly so, just stupid.  I wasn’t sure where to get a ride to La Guardia, but had a general idea, so I asked a taxi driver to take me there.  It was only six blocks away!

I was the last one on the micro (a small bus) when it left.  Half of the time the trip took was in the Ramada Market.  I could have walked faster than we drove.  Most of my trip was sitting next to this adorable kid, whose mom was teaching him his letters, as he traced them with his fingers.  Thirty minutes later, with two dozen getting off at various places and two dozen getting on, we arrived in La Guardia.

There is not a lot on the internet about La Guardia, except that its population is around 50,000, that it is the 16th most populous city in Bolivia, and it is the fastest growing city in Bolivia.  I suspect in a decade that you won’t be able to tell where Santa Cruz ends and La Guardia begins.  Even today there is not a lot of countryside between the two.  Basically, it is a stop along the highway running west out of Santa Cruz.  The street where you get off the bus (actually the highway) is crowded, busy, and hectic, with stores, businesses, small factories, and a bustling market.  

But a mere block away is a quiet, tree-lined plaza, with lots of benches and paths to stroll.  On the southside is the church I was looking for.  On the east two schools.  Most of the time I was there I could hear high schoolers playing a fierce game of some sort.  To the south are a few houses and a big restaurant I was told is only open on Sundays. 

To the west was a restaurant.  I was hungry, so I chose that for lunch.  It was packed!  I have been told that is a good sign of good food.  This place did not disappoint.  Almost as soon as I sat down, they served me a bowl of soup and boiled yucca.  Before I finished the soup, I had a plate of chicken and rice in front of me.  When I got the bill, it was only $2 (15 Bs.).  So, let me figure this out.  I paid $0.30 to get here by micro, and will pay another $0.30 to get home, and $2 for lunch.  I’d say this is worth the trip and maybe a few more visits in the future.

I wrote most of this before lunch or during lunch.  But while I was eating, a young man from Santa Cruz who follows me on Instagram, named Andres, starting texting me and chatted about my pictures in La Guardia.  At the same time, he was posting pictures of Cotoca.  Mind you, I don’t know him, except through his posts on Instagram.  He wanted to tell me today that he is studying photography at the university, and that he studied my photographs to improve his own.  What?  I am an amateur!  Yet, he likes my photographs.  So, I have to go back to Denise and thank her for getting me on Instagram, so my pictures can be an inspiration.

A last note about this day.  And this is my favorite part.  I usually leave a tip.  That was how I was raised.  Meals, haircuts, whatever are supposed to be tipped.  Things are cheap in Bolivia.  Imagine some of things costing half of what you’d pay in the States.  So it is not uncommon for me to tip 30% to 50%, because things are dirt cheap here, but that doesn’t mean the quality is less. 

I mentioned that my meal was 15 Bs or $2, but I only had a 20 Bs. to give him.  I gave him the money and left, assuming he’d figure out the 5 Bs. was a tip.  I went to the middle of the plaza and did some writing, and continued texting Andres.  About twenty minutes after I was gone from the restaurant, the waiter came out looking for me to give me my 5 Bs.  I wouldn’t take it, explaining it was a tip.  It turns out his name is Marcos, the name I go by in Bolivia.  I told him I enjoyed his restaurant and would most definitely come back (I’m already thinking I will next week).  He doesn't get tips.  I think I might have been the first.

And that is what I want to leave you with.  There are beautiful people all around us.  We don’t know what influence we will have on their lives.  Andres admires my photos.  Who knows where that friendship will lead?  Marcos, the waiter, just made a friend today.  I can see him becoming a friend like the waiters at La Pascana.  If we open up our lives to others, we can both be blessed, as I was today, and we can bless others.

 

June 24, 2017 - The Pharaohs of Exodus

The Pharaohs of Exodus

Most people will quickly tell you that the pharaoh of the book of Exodus is Ramses the Great.  Where did that idea come from?  You will assume it has been verified by archaeology.  But I think you would be surprised by the answer.

If you were raised in church, like me, you will know the stories of the Exodus.  A pharaoh decides to kill all the Hebrew boys.  One family hides their son, who is discovered by a daughter of pharaoh.  She raises him as her own.  Later that boy flees the country, only to encounter God.  He returns to tell a new pharaoh that he is taking his people out of the country.  That pharaoh refuses, causing his country to suffer ten plagues that devastate the country.  Once the Hebrews leave, they cross the Red Sea on dry land, with pharaoh’s army in hot pursuit.  That army is destroyed when the sea goes back to its place.

You might not be aware but most of the idea that Ramses was the pharaoh of the Exodus comes from Cecil B. Demille’s 1950s production staring Yul Brenner and Charlton Heston.  It also starred Yvonne DeCarlo as Moses’ wife.  She later played Lily Munster!  There have been scholars that believed he was the pharaoh of the Exodus, but Hollywood made it stick.

Two problems arise as to who the pharaoh is.  First, he is never mentioned by name in the Bible.  There is a reason for that.  Pharaohs considered themselves to be god-kings.  They were the bridge between their brother gods and the common people of Egypt.  God is mentioned early in the book of Exodus, as Yahweh, or I am.  The book of Exodus was never meant to glorify a man who called himself god, but was meant to do that for God.  Moses purposefully never named pharaoh.

Second, most archaeology has depended on dating anything in the Middle East according to Manetho, who wrote a narrative of the kings of Egypt, going back thousands of years.  The problem is his work is only found in copies that never tried to be faithful to the original, so we don't know what the originals said.  Many wanted to group kings in sacred “eights,” so kings were added that there was no evidence for just to complete the eight.  Some of the pharaohs were given longer reigns than archaeology supports.  His works also don't take into account that there were often co-rulers, two pharaohs.  Yet evidence exists that pharaohs often placed their sons as co-rulers, just in case he were to die.  So the length of time might be much shorter.

The Bible, as I discussed in an earlier blog, has proven to be the most historically accurate document in the ancient world.  If we place the Bible in context of what we do know about the pharaohs of Egypt, the story is not only more interesting than Cecil B. DeMille, but also more exciting.

The pharaoh who ordered the execution of the Hebrew children was most likely Amenhotep I, who ruled from 1532 to 1511 BC.  He was a busy king, invading what is now Sudan and Libya.  He is probably best known for his daughter, Hatshepsut.  It is also interesting to note that most of the pharaohs of this dynasty had “Moses” as a part of their name.  It is not a Hebrew name, but very Egyptian.  It seems to have been popular at the time.

Hatshepsut is most likely the daughter of the pharaoh mentioned in the book of Exodus.  She was probably about 15, or younger, when she discovered and adopted Moses.  That would be the reason she sought someone out to nurse Moses.  It seems she was the only surviving child of her father, Amenhotep, and mother, Ahmose, making her important in the palace hierarchy.  When her father had no son to follow him on the throne, he made Hatshepsut his heir.  The plan would have been for her to have a husband one day who would become pharaoh. 

Why do people never question why Pharaoh's daughter suddenly had a son?  Why was she exempt from breaking a law protecting a Hebrew child?  Why was Moses allowed to live?  Because of her closeness to Pharaoh, she could break the law and bring a Hebrew boy marked for death into the palace.  Her father, not wanting to lose his last child, permitted her to adopt Moses.

Her father married her to her cousin, or possibly half-brother, Thutmoses II, but they never had any children.  Because of her preeminence, as being the child of the pharaoh and queen, when her father died, she co-ruled with Thutmoses.  They co-ruled for many years after the death of her father, but she was most likely the one who actually ruled.  Many who study Egyptian history note that she was one of the great rulers of this period, improving the infrastructure and enjoying a period of peace.  It was possible that her adopted son, Moses, would succeed the throne, but Thutmoses II took a second wife who bore a son, Thutmoses III, about the time Moses was 30.  So now, Moses was out of the picture.  You can begin to imagine the palace politics of this family.

Thutmoses II died and Thutmoses III was promoted to pharaoh, even though he was still a baby.  There was probably a lot of politics involved that eventually drove Moses away from court, leaving his adopted mother abandoned.  Twenty-one years later, she died, and some historians suspect that she was poisoned.  Thutmoses III commenced to get rid of everything that had to do with his step-mother.  He must have hated her.  Since Egyptian records were written in stone, he had her name and image chiseled out of every monument possible.  

Records show that he was a powerful king.  He expanded Egypt to the south, farther than any had gone before, as well as to the edge of Palestine and to Libya in the west.  Then in the 39^th year of his reign, his adopted half-brother arrived back in Egypt.  The rest you know from the Bible. 

History shows that he left Egypt a devastated land.

Isn’t that more exciting the Hollywood’s version?

This is also the basis of a novel I am writing.  I'm not sure when it will be finished.  But in the meantime, my novel Onesimus will be out soon.

 

June 23, 2017 - Escape

Escape

“Where are we?” I asked the sailor as he untied my hands.

“We will be in Brindisium in the hour.”

“Italy?”

“Yes.”

I ate the bread, but was too weak to eat quickly.  My fatigue and sorrow was such that I didn’t care.  The water slid down my throat.  It was rancid, but strengthened me.

Nobody was watching me, so I untied my feet.  Slowly I devised a plan.  As we came nearer to the shore, I would jump in the water.  I recalled the boys in Delos and how they swam so successfully.  Either I would die from drowning and this nightmare would be over, or I’d swim to safety.  I doubted the latter.  My body was burned by the sun.  I ached and felt feverish. 

I could hear the waves and the gulls circled overhead.  I knew we were close.  The captain saw me as I stood, but he was so assured of my captivity that he ignored me.  I looked at the shore, realizing I had made it all the way from Asia to Italy.  Either I would die today, or escape.  Either way, I would be free.

To the right, the docks were lined with row upon row of ships, some anchored offshore because the docks were so crowded.  To the left, where we headed, there were just a few ships, and further away a rocky shore.  I decided quickly and dived into the water, like I had seen the boys do. 

A green haze surrounded me.  Sparkles of light broke ever my head.  My hands touched a muddy bottom.  I turned my body around and pushed my feet into the mud as hard as I could.  I came out of the water gasping for air.  I looked and saw I was farther from the ship than I anticipated.

I heard the laughter of the sailors as I went back in the water, taking a gulp of water instead of air.  I came back up coughing.  I turned in the direction of the shore, remembering how the boys had swam.  I pushed my right arm out in front of me and pulled it back through the water like an oar.  I repeated that motion with my left arm.  I was moving.  It took a few stokes to get the rhythm of one arm then the other.  I then realized my feet were trailing behind me, not helping my speed.  I started kicking them and it made me move forward.  I quickly grew better.  I would not drown.  I would make it.

The minutes passed before I felt the rocks under my feet.  I stood and pushed through the waves.  When I finally looked at the shore, I saw a half dozen men waiting for me, including the captain.  I stopped, realizing I had failed.

Two men came into the water and took me by the arms.  I didn’t struggle.  It was useless.

What you just read is an excerpt of my newest novel, which will be published in the next few days, named Onesimus.  It is the story of a boy taken into captivity, who one day escapes and finds a life of freedom in Christ. 

 

June 22, 2017 - Lunch with Gustavo

Lunch with Gustavo

I want to introduce you to one of my favorite people in Santa Cruz, Gustavo Soliz.  This young man attends Berea Church, where my former student, Debbie, is married to the pastor, Percy Miranda.  After a year in Bolivia, like I said, he has become one of my favorite people here.

The first Saturday here in Santa Cruz, I came to the Berea Church to attend the youth meeting.  When I arrived, it was crowded with 50 or more young people playing a game.  After about 15 minutes they started stacking up all the chairs at the back of the room, so I thought the youth service was over.  But it wasn’t.  They moved the chairs to begin the worship service and the crowd more than doubled.  There was a very active duo leading the service, a young black man, very rare in Bolivia, named Joel, and a typical Cruceño named Gustavo.  When I say active, I mean this duo was jumping around and dancing to the music.  Since then, most Sundays, both of them lead worship, though there is another young man and three women who are regularly part of the worship team.

I’ve heard him preach on two different occasions.  The second time, the last Sunday of May, he preached on our value to God, specifically speaking about destroying our bodies through sex.  He was in tears the last ten minutes of his sermon.  I look forward to seeing what God does with him in the future.

One day, on Bolivian Father’s Day, the door greeter asked me if I had any children and I told him no.  Gustavo standing next to him, reached over and and said he would be my Bolivian son.  I liked that!  So Mario, Hans, and Artur will have to share.  

The other day I was talking to Debbie about my family back home and she asked about my younger brother, Cris.  He has epilepsy and cerebral palsy.  In his teens and again in his twenties he had surgeries that were supposed to control the epileptic seizures, but they always came back.  The medicines he has to take make him irritable, so he won’t take them.  The interesting thing is the doctors told my mom he wouldn’t live to be 20, then changed the date to 25, and later 30.  He will be 58 this August.

Debbie told me that Gustavo has suffered with epilepsy too, though now it seems to be under control.  I have been wanting to sit with Gustavo sometime and get to know him better.  So, I found my excuse.

On Thursday, June 1, we met at the Texas kolache and burger place on the second ring.  I asked about the epilepsy and heard a similar story to my brother’s.  He knew there was something wrong, but nobody believed him.  It took him having several major seizures until they recognized he had something major wrong.  Gustavo told me God healed him, but not just of the epilepsy, but of anger and pride he held onto for so long.

Currently he works as a counselor, going from school to school in Santa Cruz, helping to guide young men and women.  He also is an amazing singer.  I’ve heard him sing on several occasions, not just when leading the church in worship.  He is trying to get the songs he has written recorded, but the costs can be high for the average Bolivian.

The best description I can give to this young man is that he loves God.  His conversation is filled with Christ.  His face is always lit up with the smile of someone who has met God.  He might only be 25, but he knows the Savior personally.

If you ever visit me in Santa Cruz, you will have to meet Gustavo.

June 21, 2017 - Moritz Hochschild

Moritz Hochschild

Recently my friend Anna posted one of the most moving accounts of the Bolivian Schindler.  His name was Moritz Hochschild, or Mauricio Hochschild in Bolivia.

He was born in Biblis, Germany in 1881.  His family was in the mining business, so he studied mining and engineering in the Frieberg University of Mining and Technology.  After several years of working in the mining industry in Germany, Australia, and Spain, he ventured into the world of South American mining in Chile, but returned to Germany after World War 1 and married Kathe Rosenbaum (uhmm – I have a cousin named Kathy Rosinbaum.  Could be we are related).

He soon made his way to Bolivia where tin was becoming king and replacing silver as Bolivia’s claim to fame.  He became one of Bolivia’s three tin barons, alongside Simon Iturri Patiño and Carlos Victor Amayo.  These three men controlled tin much the same way the Saudis control oil today.  History knows Hochschild as a ruthless tycoon.

But I would not be writing about a tin baron unless there was a reason.  I wrote about Patiño because of his beautiful estate in Cochabamba.  As for Hochschild, what makes him important to me is what he did in the 1930s.

If you recall your history, Hitler came to power in 1933, at the same time as Franklin Roosevelt.  This followed the poor treatment of Germany in the Treaty of Versailles and a devastating depression through much of the 20s.  If you think the Depression was bad in the USA, do a little research on it for Germany.  Hitler blamed the Jews and Communists for Germany’s problems and the people listened.   Before too long, Jews were suffering persecution that eventually turned into the Final Solution of the 1940s.

Recently documents were uncovered in the Hochschild estate in La Paz that tells a different story than the evil capitalist.  It is thought that Hochschild might have been part of an anti-fascist movement and had connections with the German Resistance.  In 1938, he convinced Bolivian President German Busch to give special visas to Jews fleeing Nazi Germany.  He persuaded the president that they would be a major contribution to the Bolivian economy.   

Over the next two years, more than 9,000 German Jews made their way to Bolivia.  Some were employed in Hochschild’s mining organization and others settled on estates he bought for the Jews to farm in the Yungas region near La Paz.

I’ve told you before that I am writing this blog to introduce you to the culture of Bolivia.  The longer I am here and the more I talk to Bolivians, I discover that this land has some heroes you should know about.  Men like Hochschild, though a ruthless capitalist, is a hero to me, for finding a way to get these 9,000 Jews into Bolivia.

 

June 20, 2017 - Lessons in Samaipata

Lessons in Samaipata

The other day I was having coffee in Montero and looking at Facebook.  I saw my friend Fernando, who has a house I have borrowed in Samaipata, was working on the stairs to a second-floor apartment.  On the spur of the moment, I wrote and asked if he would be there on Saturday. 

“Yes,” he replied.  “Why?”

“Would you mind if I stopped by to see your stairs?”

“No, of course not.”

“Good.  See you Saturday.”

I’ve got the business of getting to Samaipata down to a tee!  I know where to get the trufis and how much they cost.  I am even beginning to get the route in my head.  I think the next time I am going to make a timetable of what I see or what towns we pass.

I arrived at 8:30 and the trufi was about half full.  While waiting, I had a moment that gets me emotional trying to describe it.  A man, not ten feet away, started digging through the trash.  He was a mess.  Dirty, smelly.  It is quite possible he was on drugs.  His face was a patchwork of scrapes and bruises.  He found a bottle with a few sips of orange drink.  My stomach went into knots. 

I walked over to the man and pulled out a 10 Bs. note, only about $1.40, and told him to have a real breakfast.  He looked at me stunned, but asked the lady at the store if he could have an empanada.  She looked like she would have told him no, except I was standing there.  He went down the street, sat on the steps of a house and ate the empanada.  He looked so tired to me.

I don’t want to sound like I am boasting.  In fact, telling you embarrasses me.  I walked back to him, gave him a 50 Bs ($7), told him to eat well today, and said God bless you.  I also felt compelled to put my hand on his shoulder as I said that.  I wondered if he had been touched by another person in a while.  It just felt like something I was supposed to do.  So maybe the whole idea of going to Samaipata was just to meet this man.  I don’t know, but I am sure God does.

The trip was eventful in because of two things.  First, at Angostura, we had to wait for a blocked road for over 30 minutes.  Usually we zip right through there.  Second, once we entered the mountains, it started raining and half the route was slippery mud.  So the usual 3 hour drive, or even as little as 2 hours if you get a fast driver, took 4 hours.

The driver dropped me in front of Fernando and Mariela’s house.  I just missed lunch, but told them I wanted to sit and write in the plaza anyway.  But I stayed and chatted with them for a while, Fernando proudly showing me his stairs and explaining future plans, and Mariela, like all teachers I know, talking about the needs of her students.  I love these two!  They also, as always, ask me why I don’t buy a bit of property and make Bolivia my home for life.  I don’t have an answer to that.

I had a nice milanesa de pollo (breaded chicken) and shared the potato with a dog.  After I had walked around the plaza a bit, I heard the trufi place saying there was one more seat on the trufi to Santa Cruz, so I walked half the block to fill that last seat. 

There was a man who took the front seat, who left just as we were getting in the car.  He walked the three blocks to the market, unaware that he was causing the rest of us to wait.  Just as we were leaving town, he asked the driver to stop at a convenience store.  He came back with a pack of gum!  He talked the whole way to El Torno, luckily not to Santa Cruz.  Periodically he turned the radio up to full blast, though the driver kept turning it back down.  It seemed like every sentence the man said used the Spanish word for sh--.  And to top it off, halfway along our journey he again asked the driver to stop at a store. 

While I was getting angry, I reminded myself of the man from earlier this morning.  How blessed I was and how little it mattered what was happening.  I wanted a day of adventure, but then learned valuable lessons about giving and forgiving.  Isn’t that what all of our days should be like?