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Hola,
Well I arrived in Sucre after an overnight bus from La Paz early Sunday morning. This was a Bus Cama, translating to "Bed Bus" which was a first for me and was quite simiply the best experience I have ever had on a bus. The bus was equipped with two sets of fron wheels, which made me think it was in reverse when I saw it delicately maneuver into the loading bay meant for a bus half its size. Climbing aboard you found double wide seats with footrests (sadly too short for gringo legs...), blankets, and enermous windows like I have never seen before. It was strange to be in this luxurious goliath, my eyes peering over the slums as we headed out of the city. The ride took us through some very flat, very empty countryside under a full moon. The moonlight coated the empty landscape in a pure white, as if it were snow falling in rays. The acne ridden night sky was devoid of clouds and the horizon was hard to distinguish, as if the black sky simply became blacker at some indistinguishable point kilometers away. The scene was very tranquil and my mood quite sombre (I
was listenning to Beethoven at the time). I thought of a lot about how it is that I can, on one hand, be genuinely concerned about the undeserved poverty of a hardworking people in a country full of natural resources, and on the other hand ignore the pleas of hungry disabled people begging for money that, after the exchange to Canadian money, didn't even add up to peanuts.
I thought of a conversation I had with someone this summer about Communism and what I thought to be the one key issue I had with it, namely asking people to abandon the notion of private ownership. I wondered whether personal ownership and profiteering was an evolved psychological mechanism or a social construction. My opinion, strengthened by my and others' ability to stroll past the starving gimp like he were already dead, is that it is biologically evolved. As I said to the girl this summer "I feel like asking people to give what they feel they own is like asking them to walk in the rain or like asking a lion to give up its den". The problem, though, is that reason tells us different: giving this guy a Boliviano
is like asking us to walk in the rain with an umbrella: there is no real loss, only the feeling of it. How do you let reason win?
Slowly I fell asleep, feeling quite conflicted but also like my train of thought was on to something. I awoke six hours later (which makes the first time I got a real night's sleep on a bus) in Sucre, and checked into a nearby Hostelling International hostel. After a nap I was awoken by a German roommate named Uli who invited me into town for breakfast. I happily agreed and we headed for the Plaza. Like everywhere in Bolivia the taxis charge by the person, an idea that may seem foreign to western ears (like it did for mine) but here makes perfect sense. Capitalism may ostensibly be the way in Bolivia but it is built on the native socialist way of life. In the front seat sat the NiƱo (small child) of the taxi driver, not an unusual sight. My first reaction when seeing this sort of thing is that it is too bad that they cannot afford daycare. But, as time went on, I came to really appreciate what
the benefits of a "developing economy" can be. Here was this kid, maybe three years old, happily reading a colourful Barney-like book able to ask questions of his father when explanation was needed. What is interesting is that there is no question of how appropriate this was: we are not in
a taxi, the thing that in Canada would conjure up feelings of appropriate conduct and manner, but instead we were in Bob's car and Bob has a son Frank. Like I have said before, when talking about the NASA vs Russian choices of writting utensils in space, we are in the land of the pencil. Call it simple, call it primitive, but it is also transparent and, because all encounters are without mystery, a much calmer, more managable, less confusing less isolating way of life. I wonder what a rich Bolivia would look, er, feel like...
Anyway, after spending a day bumming around I got a good night's sleep and met the new addition to my room, a quirky but smart American girl named Jena (Americans are a rarity). The three of us headed to the town square midday Monday to get in on the dino tour, a
trip to a mine where thousands of 140 million year-old dino tracks had been found by lucky accident in 1994. The ride was uneventful but was fun because there were 20 odd gringos piled into the back of a 30 somthing year old truck, a dinosaur in its own right. We met some interesting people of all sorts (some relatively old travellers and some young volunteers) and arrived 20 minutes later to the mine.
Our guide explained, in English, that we were giong to see a week's worth of tracks that were made in a shallow lake that used to cover Sucre and its surrounding area. What was amazing is that, like the rest of the Andes, the lake bottom was pinched upward by the eastward moving plate in the Pacific and we were going to see these tracks on the imposing wall to our left. After donning hardhats (totally useless ones that I am sure were for photographs only) the gringos went marching one by one, hurrah, towards the wall. Amazingly intact you could see the tracks, numbering more than 5000!, scattered all over the 100 meter or so tall wall that stretched off into the enclosed area
of the mine (where another beast, laying distinct tracks of its own, rumbled around bashing its claws into the earth - a bulldozer - which, we were told, caused vibrations that damaged the wall and thus the dino tracks). We saw raptor tracks, spread far apart indicating a running pace, speed towards a Brontosaurus and suddenly stop, which our guide told us, in a proud tone in English, makes "the scientists" (I am sure he did not like them too much...) think is indicative of a fight. You could rebuild the whole thing in your mind, aided by the five inch tall plastic toys our guide excitedly used to reinact the scene, obviously having never lost the wide-eyed wonder usually reserved for toddlers.
The tour ended when we got to put our hand in a track and take pictures, one by one Hurrah, surely damaging the track. Welcome to Bolivia. A good anti-gravity-pen vs. pencil illustration is that our guide used a mirror to reflect sunlight onto various tracks that he was discussing on the wall. No laserpionter, no spotlights. Just a terribly useful mirrror...
Today is South American independence day, independence which was declared in none other
than Sucre. Starting last night and going until tomorrow is a festival which has drawn people from all around Bolivia, including the controversial President Evo Morales, for whom I am waiting to speak in the square only meters from me. I got bored of the seemingly endless groups parading around the square with banners and nothing else. What struck me as odd, though, is that for the most part they wore suits... Doesn't that seem weird?
Anyway I am off to find a good vantage point. Ciao for now.
**EDIT**
On my second to last day in Sucre I went for a nice day hiike to see the Seven Waterfalls, which were completely dry because of a lack of rain... So I got to see the seven eroded rocks, which was still kinda neat. Before and after the trek we (I went with a South African friend Bruce, who I am still travelling with) had a chance to check out a nearby, tiny little village which was very neat. Pictures are now attached.
I am now in Potosi, which is a very cool city about 3 hours from Sucre by bus. I am going to do a tour
of the nearby mines which I am sure will be very sad indeed. I don't know if I like the idea of going to this sort of place, seeing the horendous working conditions, shaking my head a few times and then having filet mignon for dinner... we will see.
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Simboy
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Socialism
Hey there GRINGO Man, its truly amazing the insight your gaining in south America, all the contrasts to western....specifically Canadian ideals. I truly wish i had both the resources and the free time (commitment to g/f) that you have. What happened to the Yukon adventure though? Sim