the most touristy thing you can do in Peru

So before coming home Natalie, Yoli and I decided we deserved a little vacation so we went to Machu Pichu for a few days. We got to climb Waynu Pichu, which only 400 people a day get to climb (two groups of 200). The top of the mountain has a great view of the ruins but even more impressive are the natural mountains scapes, especially that early in the morning with the clouds rising over them. I couldn't walk down stairs for two days afterwards but it was so worth it! Here are just a few of the hundreds of pics we took:

this is Evita, this is the end

The first consolidation, aka Consuelo Uno, was basically a really good time. We had all the volunteers together at a swanky resort in the middle of nowhere Santa Cruz. We had meetings and "open spaces" to talk about how to be more effective volunteers and a lot of good advice was shared on projects and coping with volunteer life. In between these meetings we would jump in the pool and swim for 15 or 20 minutes and then run back to have another meeting. There was even a swim up bar at this place, and as some of you may know it has always been a dream of mine to swim to my alcohol. Other highlights included the All Vol Ball, which was a drag themed dance party. I have to say, PC volunteers know how to commit when it comes to theme parties. Overall, the mood of this consolidation was optimistic, as in we're not going anywhere and everything is calm. The vote happened and there was no reaction so we were sent home a few days later. Ironically, while at consolidation we heard about the Georgia volunteers being evacuated to Armenia because of the war with Russia. This was very difficult for our new Country Director who had just been the CD for Georgia. She was dealing with a lot, worrying about the safety of both her old and new volunteers. Bolivia even offered 5 spots to transferring Georgia volunteers and we were all so excited to get new volunteers, but since just a month later we were being consolidated and evacuated as well, those volunteers never came.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. In the month between the vote and all the crazy political stuff that led to our second consolidation and evacuation I actually did manage to get a little work done and even get settled in to my new site...just in time to leave. I started teaching environmental education to the 1st/2nd/3rd grade class, but really that class was whatever I wanted it to be and the kids were very receptive. In the 4th/5th/6th grade class we worked in the garden and I also started teaching English (naturally). My counter-part in the women's group was really enthusiastic about everything and we started having meetings with the women about what they wanted to learn. We started with a knitting class, which was kind of boring so we talked about doing something more physical like exercise/dance class. Oh I had such great plans to teach cholitas the latest moves from the US of A.

The Tarija volunteers had our Project Development Workshop with our counter-parts where we gave our presentations on our sites and learned how to write a project. Right after this is when things started getting bad in Bolivia. Most of the volunteers couldn't get back to their sites because of road blocks so PC told them to stay in the city. There was a major gas shortage happening and I paid double what it would normally cost in a taxi to my site but I had to get home for classes and this water meeting in my site. So while I was in site, the volunteers in the city were keeping me updated on what was happening in the city. Strikes and protests were increasing and so was violence. The hotel we stay at in the city is right across from a government building where students had protested before. We've seen them break windows, set fires in the doorway, burn tires in the street and throw firecrackers in through the broken windows. Apparently the students took over the building and were staying in there and some cell phone companies had their towers destroyed so we were on EAP alert phase. During this phase my friends were telling me that I should pack my stuff and get ready to leave but I didn't listen. Things were so calm out in the campo, work was continuing as normal and no one seemed worried about an impending civil war or anything like that. Next thing I know, Glenda is calling me telling me that we are in consolidation phase. I call PC to confirm this and my boss Pepe tells me that yes, I do need to get to Tarija by tomorrow morning even though there is NO transportation at all from my site into Tarija. So I talk to Estefania (host mom) and see if I can get a ride to Glenda's site in Don Pedro's truck. He agrees to take me and I hurriedly pack up all my belongings. Something told me that this time it could be for real so for the 3rd time in as many months I packed up everything and tried to prepare myself for the reality of leaving again. I got to Glenda's site and her host dad drove us to Tarija because we weren't sure if we would be able to get transportation with all the strikes and lack of gas. We got into the city that night and PC was still unsure about what they were doing with us. All the other volunteers had already been consolidated to Cochabamba but the Tarija airport was closed so we couldn't get there. Instead they had us leave at 5 the next morning to travel to Bermejo. We were going down in taxis of 4-5 volunteers and the people who hadn't been able to pack had a chance to pack some of their stuff. We finally got to Bermejo and were waiting around the hotel for further instructions. We talked with the Country Director over the phone several times and finally she told us that we would be flying from the Bermejo airport to Cochabamba to be consolidated with the other volunteers. I didn't even know Bermejo had an airport but sure enough...

So we get to the airport around 6 am for our flight and we are waiting around for about an hour. The next thing we know we hear the almost deafening propellers of a C-130 military plane landing and we gather up our luggage and board with the propellers going and all...very dramatic. Half-way through our flight we find out from the crew guy that the plane was stopping in Cochabamba to pick up more passengers and then it was flying to Lima, Peru. So that was how we found out we were being evacuated. Since there were no commercial flights and PC had chartered this former anti-narcotics military plane to fly us out of Bolivia we couldn't actually fit all 113 volunteers on the plane. So some remained in Bolivia and were flying out the next day. It's okay, they got taken to a very swank dinner paid for by Kathleen, our CD. Meanwhile, we were taken to this weird vacation resort center that looked like a 70s rehab center and over the next few weeks came to feel more and more like a prison. Until all the volunteers arrived we couldn't let anyone know where we were. When they finally got there we greeted them with a Bolivian style bloqueo, we blocked the entrance to the "vacation resort center," blasted Bolivian music, passed some drinks around, sang, danced and Lebo, John and I sported the Bolivian flag to show love for the country we had left behind. Earlier in the day we had found out that the PC Bolivia program was being suspended and that we would not be allowed to return. This was a completely bizarre/surreal experience as the info was related via Kathleen over the phone to Bill who repeated what she was saying to all of us. Life just drained from people's faces and the shock and disbelief was tangible, even for those who had seen this as the inevitable outcome.

The entire evacuation was like a horrible dream that you couldn't wake up from. It's something that I've dealt with since making the decision to transfer to Ecuador, and not something that can be fully explained here. The staff of PC Peru, PC Bolivia and the team that came from Washington tried their best to make a bad situation as bearable as possible. There were lots of paperwork and medical tests and all the big life decisions to make so not a lot of time to dwell or to get closure. There were so many plans made and left unfinished. There were so many good-byes to say in such a short time, everyone going off on some new adventure. Some volunteers returned to Bolivia, for work, to say good-bye or to get their dogs. As a transferee I couldn't enter a country with a travel advisory but I truly hope that Bolivia can heal itself and that I can go back and travel through the country that I once considered my home.

Right now I'm looking ahead to Ecuador and the year of work I have committed to. Once again I'm starting over and once again the challenge will be great. This whole experience has taught me how adaptable I am as a person and really there's no reason to stop now, because hell, I'm just getting started.

Yes we can.

Welcome to the super SUPER campo

My time in Cochabamba was spent eating at all my favorite restaurants, seeing the new Batman movie, twice, meeting new volunteers/catching up with those I hadn’t seen in a while, hanging around the office trying to be useful and impatiently waiting for news of my new site. After what seemed like forever but was actually only a little over 2 weeks of waiting in Coch I got a site change to a very small Northern Tarija town. The transition from my sub-tropical paradise to a valley desert was as difficult as I expected. I knew that no matter what my new site was like I would be disappointed because it wasn’t my old site. Plus I barely had a week to settle in before leaving for our project meeting and “All Volunteer Conference:” location undisclosed. Despite the strange timing I moved in and even unpacked a bit although it seemed a bit pointless with all the political stuff hanging over us right now and having to pack again for this week long conference. But I’m really trying to see all the positive aspects of being moved up to NoTa and I will list them now so you can share this view with me: okay first, NO MOSCOS, so I won’t constantly look like I have a terrible case of the chicken pox, also, this is the desert so it’s dry which means my clothes and everything I own won’t get moldy in the summer the way it does in SoTa because of the insanse heat and humidity, plus, there’s no malaria threat so I don’t have to take malaria meds anymore and my liver is surely going to thank me for that in the years to come, there are 2 volunteers who live super close to me and since they are also AG volunteers we can collaborate and share ideas and projects and I’m closer to the city so I can actually see more of my Tarija crew more regularly, and finally, this is my backyard, so yeah, I really can’t complain too much can I?

So I went from Papayaland to Grapelandia. I’m pretty much in the middle of Bolivian wine country, which is going to be amazing come March when it’s time to harvest. So my last site was pretty campo and pretty small but the NoTa site is even more so. I’m talking about 80 families dispersed over several miles of nothingness, the school has a total of 30 students with 2 teachers who each have 3 different grades in their classrooms. It’s so spread out that I’m lacking that real sense of community. The women’s group even wants to have separate groups, one up by where I live next to the school and the other further down by where my counter-part lives. I don’t mind having 2 groups but I’m definitely going to need to get a bike to cover the distance between them. They also want to learn marmalade, there are peaches here and tomatoes and I’d really like to start expanding on that, I’m thinking sun-dried tomatoes could go over really well in the Eco Sol supermarket in Tarija and in some of the snazzier restaurants. After the All Vol Call is over and I return to site (ojala!) I will start teaching in the school and working with them on their school garden, which is pitiful right now. I would love to start some worm bins at the school to improve the sandy soil and since the kids have pretty much nothing to do in the afternoons I was thinking of starting an Eco club or school newspaper, I mean, something, anything because having my host siblings just sitting around staring at me all afternoon until I teach them a new card game or something is just driving me crazy. There are 5 kids in the house, 4 boys and one girl (ages 14, 12, 10, 8 and 2) and yeah, they’re pretty much awesome except that they look at me like I’m a total freak or zoo exhibit or something. I taught them a whole slew of card games and how to do cat’s cradle and thus we were entertained for the week but they need a whole lot more stimulation out here, it’s so empty and besides their farm chores (they have cows, pigs, goats and a horse) they don’t have a whole lot to do. When the sun goes down, forget it, there is no light outside, I’ve never seen a town so dark at 8pm. The blanket of stars covering the sky kind of makes up for it though, and just darkness with the mountains in the distance, it’s actually quite surreal. The sunrises and sunsets over the mountains are probably some of the best I’ve seen in my life and they’re not going to get old anytime soon, I can guarantee that. The thing that amuses me the most is that even though I am in the middle of absolutely nowhere and I barely have any transportation that passes through my town or any stores or people I have really good cell phone service. So I am totally within communication range at all time if you feel like, you know, reaching out and touching me…via the phone of course, get your head out of the gutter, don’t you remember those ads…whatever, just call me, but keep in mind I’m usually asleep by 9:00. So even though it’s a change and a bit of a shock I’m going to make it work. Here’s to new beginnings, I hope that this do-over pays off for my new community and me.

Bad News Blog

My Peace Corps service was going rather smoothly, too smoothly I guess and this feeling of it's too good to be true overtook me when almost overnight my service became a shit storm that I have absolutely no control over. Due to an unbloggable "security issue" I have been forced to change sites. I don't want people to get worried because my safety was never at risk. As you can probably guess from my previous blogs I really loved my site, I don’t know of another volunteer who loved their site more than I loved mine. There was real work and I felt connected to the people and the place. To be forced to leave when I believe the problem could have been rectified with a simple housing change is really upsetting to me. The incident involves the family I lived with and I don't think it's appropriate for the public domain, but I am more than willing to talk about it privately with anyone who wants to know the details. There is a certain air of paranoia and panic associated with PC Bolivia at the moment and I think they overreacted in this case by forcing me to leave my site. Ivan informed me of the decision on a Monday and Tuesday morning we went to my site and packed up all my stuff, settled things with my landlady, I tried to tie up all my loose ends and say a few good-byes but it was all so surreal and I just didn't want to break down into hysterics in public. I didn't even get a chance to say good-bye to the teachers or most of the kids because they are on winter vacation right now. Oscar, the 3- year-old grandson of my landlady was drawing pictures in my room as I packed and he doesn't understand that I won't be coming back. I had to tell the women from the centro de mujeres that I was leaving for a medical reason and explain that I wasn't allowed to come back. They tried talking to Ivan, telling him that they were already used to me and that I was doing good work with them but he just repeated the story about my “medical issue.” It was a difficult day, I felt hollow, sick and helpless. I don’t really know how you define happiness, it’s that vague, elusive and fleeting thing that no one really understands, but I think I can say that I was happy in my site or very close to it. I feel like I had made a commitment to those people, I had started and promised projects, I had so many plans for the next two years and all of it just had to be abandoned so suddenly.

The next day I had to fly to Cochabamba to meet with PC administration and I'll be here until they find me a new site. Pepe, my boss has a few in mind, two of which are in Tarija. I strongly requested to stay in the Tarija department because it is a great place, so tranquilo and the volunteers from my group who are down there have become my family. They are my support system and the people I depend on to stay sane and happy when times are tough and if I have to leave them on top of leaving my site I just don't know what I would do. You have no idea how much you come to depend on the volunteers in your region for support and understanding and I just don’t think my PC experience would be the same in another department. Plus I already bought a Tarija tracksuit and I'd just feel silly trying to rock it in another department. So while I’m stuck in Cochabamba I’ll be working in the office to gather information that my fellow Ag volunteers requested for our in service training (IST) which has been pushed back to August. It’s nice to be able to support my fellow volunteers but I’d much rather be working out in the campo than in the PC library. There are no Coch volunteers from my group but I was allowed to go visit a few of my fellow B-47ers in the Altiplano over the weekend. My friend Garrett (with the killer stash) invited me to Oruro to celebrate his birthday with an ugly sweater party and it was so much fun, definitely the pick me up that I needed. The used clothing selection of ugly sweaters in Oruro was amazing and prizes were awarded for the ugliest. I got to wear not only one but two ugly sweaters over the course of the night because another volunteer legitmatly liked my first sweater, yikes! VAC and PSN (two volunteer run groups) are also having meetings in Coch this week so I’ll be able to hang with them and even sit in on a PSN listening skills workshop (something I’m interested in because I hope to serve on PSN in the future.) Besides my site change there are much bigger problems for PC Bolivia in general. There is a vote on Evo’s Constitution coming up in August and the general stability of the country is in jeopardy. They have canceled B-48 twice and now we aren’t getting another training group until 2009. It’s certainly an exciting time to be in Bolivia but believe me when I say that we are not in danger. If you walk down the streets anywhere in the country or talk to any Bolivian you would know that there is no real possibility of a civil war or violent civil unrest. Will there be strikes, marches, protests, and blockades? Yes, of course, this is Bolivia they have strikes, marches, protests and blockades on a weekly basis, but life goes on and we continue working. The thing that scares me the most is having PC Bolivia closed and having to leave because I already know what it feels like to be forced to leave a place that feels like home. Bolivia has been my home for nearly six months now, which may not seem like that long but I like my lifestyle here, I’m settled and comfortable and I can’t imagine having to go somewhere else. Then again, if we are forced to leave the country I’m ahead of the game because all my stuff is already packed.

Some Bolivians I Know

Karla, one of my most excellent trainers wearing my favorite shirt

(Do fries come with that Shake?) You bet they do Karla!

This is my favorite picture of Rosamel, she looks like a 3 year old gangster running a mandarin smuggling operation through Bolivia.

Rosamel and Sylvia coloring in my room, a.k.a my social life in site

Leidy and Jimena, my landlady´s grand-daughters and my dance partners

Leidy and her brother Kevin in the kitchen

Jimena and Oscar, my other 3 year old shadow

I had to force these kids to smile for this picture.

Some of the women from the centro de mujeres taking a break in the garden

Crooked faced Rocky who lives in my friend Jaime´s site
My favorite graffiti artist in Tarija, only a chick could pull off graffiti in cursive

Okay, I know the Pope isn´t Bolivian but he will be there to greet you when you get off the plane in Tarija

Bolivian sentiments

They Called her “Choltia of the Sea”

After I got back from Tarija things really started to pick up in my site. June was a tremendous month for Ag. First of all I decided to take a cue from the moscos and just started constantly hanging around the women from the centro de mujeres, showing up at their houses or at their garden, going around with the president trying to get them to have a meeting so we could talk about ideas. And well, like any good mosco I got some bites. First, I made orange-banana marmalade with Doña Eva and Doña Heidi (even though it was only 2 out of the 11 women it was 2 more than I had expected to actually show up and it was a delicious success in my book.) Then we went to the garden and planted a seedbed. My boss had sent me a whole ton of seeds and they are sprouting beautifully. That same day we were machete-aring the land to make way for yet more sugar cane and the women were “cleaning” the debris from the peanut plants by burning the left over leaves. I saw this as a great opportunity to implement behavior change. I told them that they were burning money and that my boss would die when he saw this and I took a picture. Then we talked a bit about composting and how since the land was right by the river and very sandy it could really use some organic material to improve it. Why don’t we make a compost pile here instead of burning our organic waste? So right then and there we started stacking an enormous pile of organic matter. The next week I went back (I now know how to get to the garden on my own and whenever I just show up by myself the women are impressed) and we restacked the pile into a neat rectangle, watering each layer as we went and then covering it. It’s the most beautiful compost pile I’ve ever seen, don’t you agree? Actually, we had so much organic material that I made a second pile and I have great hopes of getting worms from a volunteer in NoTa who works with a university that does worm composting.

Then, I show up at the school for English class one day and see that they are doing a garden. There are a ton of projects going on in my town, generally called “The Plan” and a bunch of people here are working on these projects. Apparently they were supposed to work on the plaza but the cement didn’t show up so they decided to do the school garden instead. At first I was like, why didn’t anyone tell me, but this is kind of how things go around here, we do things by the seat of our pants. Plus they start work at 6 in the morning and I was most definitely asleep. So the next day I woke up at the butt crack of dawn and brought my seeds and people were actually asking my advice on seedbeds and intercropping, since you know, I’m the “expert.” This made me feel better and somewhat useful. And on top of that Don Hector, Doña Clara and Doña Gloria asked me if I could teach them orange banana marmalade and peanut butter, so in the afternoon I went to Don Hector’s house and we made marmalade, they invitared me to fish for dinner and we chatted into the evening. The whole strategy of seeking people out and making my presence known totally worked because now I have people seeking me out and wanting me to teach them, what more could I ask for? Next up on the Ag agenda is peanut butter. Everyone says they want to learn how to make it and I would love to have a ready supply at my fingertips (there is no peanut butter in Tarija!)

In other news, one Tuesday I get a note from Aaron saying that it is his town’s anniversary on Wednesday and that I should stop by and check out the festivities. I asked the teachers at my school that live in his town what the plans were and they said a velada with all the traditional Bolivian dances was scheduled for that night. I debated if I should go or not, after all I was pretty “busy” with English classes to plan and compost to check on. But since anniversaries only come once a year I decided I should check it out. I got the 3pm trufi and found Aaron in his house, kind of surprised to see me a day early. Aaron had recently returned from the States so he didn’t know exactly what the plans were. We confirmed with the locals that the dances were indeed happening that night. Aaron explained that he had originally planned on doing a dance for the festivities but that his partner had only recently arrived from Tarija and that they hadn’t practiced or planned anything. And that’s when it started. I convinced him that there was still plenty of time to practice and that he had to dance. It was only around 5pm and the dances wouldn’t start until 8 or 9. That’s plenty of time; let’s face it you can probably learn any Bolivian dance in about 3 minutes, I said. We went to his friend Blanca’s house to see if she was interested, we convinced her and his original partner Judith that they should dance and then I got roped into it. “You have to dance too, you know.” Okay, but now we had 3 women and 1 man and Bolivian dances are all couples so we had to find 2 more guys. Poor Aaron ran around recruiting while Blanca went around finding us all costumes, because you can’t perform a dance without the right costume. The song we were doing was called “Cholita Marina” which I would translate as Cholita of the sea. I learned the steps easily enough but hadn’t realized that Aaron is a terrible dancer (it’s okay, he admits it) but he eventually got it. Blanca came back with her arms full of cholita wear. This is something I absolutely love about Bolivians, the fact that everyone will lend anyone anything at anytime. All you have to say is “Prestáme” and they do, I’ve tried it on several occasions and it totally works. I tried on a couple of polleras (the traditional cholita skirt) and the classic button up blouse that they wear. I felt and looked ridiculous. Blanca braided my hair with these tassel things that cholitas wear (I need to find out what those things are called) and I really looked the part. I borrowed sandals from Judith’s mom and the look was complete. Aaron wore a brightly colored vest and a white button up shirt. I danced with Blanca’s brother Primo, and Judith danced with the dance teacher Raúl. The 6 of us didn’t go on until 1 in the morning, we were among the last performances which I was grateful for because most everyone was drunk by that point and after we finished they were shouting “otro, otro!” and we got an impressive round of applause. I was absolutely frozen though and we ran back to change and then had some more Diana, which is a drink made from hot milk and Sengani, a grape based alcohol that doesn’t taste like grape at all. This may sound disgusting but it’s not and it was so cold that it felt great to drink something hot.

On Wednesday there was more parading around the plaza, a soccer game and that night there was a dance in the multipurpose room where the town meetings are held. It was a “modern” dance that reminded me of junior high but with drunken Bolivian men lining the walls instead of pre-pubescent boys. There was a smoke machine, laser lights and a band from Tarija playing all the faves: chacareras, cuecas, cumbia, etc. Not bad for the campo. Now, there were some decent looking, young guys hanging out and drinking, but who do you think asked me to dance? Drunk middle aged men who are such ridiculously bad dancers that I actually am laughing in their faces as we’re dancing, convinced that I am on a Bolivian hidden camera show and that any minute someone would pop out yelling “Surprise, you’re on campo camera!” And it only got worse from there. My next dance partner was a 19 year old who looked like he was 12 and was exactly the same height as me. Now, admittedly I hadn’t showered in a week and I was looking pretty campo but come on! I had had enough and after some drunken campesinos started fighting I decided I’d pack it in early, it was only around 1am.

The great thing about Aaron’s site is that he’s been there for almost a year and he’s got some great Bolivian friends who on principle treat me as a friend. They also really want me to cook with them since that really isn’t Aaron’s bag and whenever I’m there they ask me when I’ll be coming back. That feeling of being wanted is really nice when you’re living in a country far from friends and family and I think it’s great to have this network of volunteers and Bolivians that I can rely on. I’ve got work and a social life and I just can’t believe how fast time is going. Before I know it I’ll be back in Cochabamba for the 3-month reconnect where we present our diagnostics and I’ll get to see all my fellow B-47ers and hear all their crazy stories. Speaking of that diagnostic, I should probably be working on it instead of my blog. I’m out.

Good Eats

I am in love. Not with a Bolivian or even an Argentinean as was expected, but with a Brazilian! When we first met I was a little hesitant, things were complicated and I was worried that I might get hurt but after a while I got used to having him around and things really started heating up between us. In fact, things are so serious that we are living together. His name is Dako and if you haven’t figured it out by now, he is my stove, and this entry is all about food.

So yes, I was afraid of my Brazilian made stove. Once I finally acquired a gas tank and hooked it up I was convinced that I was going to blow myself up somehow. It took many attempts to light it the first time and when I didn’t blow up I felt reassured. The first meal I made was pasta with an oil, garlic and lemon sauce. I didn’t have olive oil at the time so I had to use vegetable oil, but still, I was so happy to have cooked something that it tasted just fine. Thankfully I have acquired olive oil and my Italian ancestors can stop rolling over in their graves. Speaking of travesties against Italian cooking you would not believe what my friend Elliot told me about Bolivians and pasta. I already knew that Bolivians don’t cook pasta correctly, it is usually way overcooked, soggy and sometimes burnt and for some reason they fry it first, just like they do when cooking rice. Well it turns out that just like rice they also cook the water off of it. My jaw dropped and exactly half of my blood curled when I heard that. Pasta does not absorb as much water as rice; you can’t cook the water off of it! Anyway, they mostly eat it in soup or with a little oil as a side along with rice and potatoes; it is never a main feature of the meal. For me, it makes up a large part of my diet and I think I’ve nearly perfected my tomato sauce recipe. I even channeled a 1950s housewife and made a casserole one day. I didn’t even think I knew what a casserole was, but I had this leftover cream of asparagus soup that wasn’t very good and I had to do something with it and hey, it turned out pretty good. A high point in my Italian cooking was when I made pizza in my landlady’s clay oven that she uses to make bread. Even with campo cheese instead of mozzarella and tomato extract instead of my own tomato sauce it tasted delicious and everyone liked it. None of them had tried pizza before and my dueña was convinced that I was making some kind of bread and I kept explaining that yes, there’s dough but it’s more than just bread. I’ve also made pizza in my Dako, which turned out really well and was equally enjoyed by Bolivians and me. I’m also learning to make all kinds of bread which is great, who ever has time to make bread in the states (except for you Jessalynn)? I made tortillas and pita bread so far and would like to give bagels a try…oh bagels…

I thought that my lack of a refrigerator would really limit my dairy options but they don’t refrigerate campo cheese and I think it’s unpasturized anyway and I haven’t gotten sick so while it’s cold enough to just keep it in my room, I do. I am also totally addicted to powdered milk. I was skeptical at first but it’s actually really good. A mug of warm milk with a spoonful of sugar and a piece of bread is a typical campo dinner and it’s totally delicious. Plus, I need milk for cooking and baking so it’s super convenient. It was around the time that I discovered the greatness of powdered milk that I became addicted to Oreos. I had a 2 pack a day habit (4 cookies/pack) for a few weeks but I’m glad to say I’m recovered. It was just the only snack that was delicious and relatively cheap. Luckily I discovered some quality Bolivian dark chocolate that I can get in Tarija and I got some packages from the states with some quality US of A candy (thanks Mom, Jessalynn, Michelle and Vishu for that!) Bolivians especially enjoyed the sour patch kids I got, they were like whoa, first it’s sour and then it’s sweet. Okay, this makes me sound like a junk food junkie but actually I am eating super healthy. Oatmeal almost every day for breakfast, rice and beans, tons of fresh organic veggies, quinoa, lentils and trigo (a wheat grain that is delicious and super healthy, I don’t know why we don’t have this in the states) and so on. The crazy thing is that all this incredibly healthy food is super cheap here. You can get a kilo of flax seed for $1. A kilo of oatmeal is also $1 and Bolivians don’t eat oatmeal the way we do, they blend it and drink it. One volunteer told me how her family cooked oatmeal, then drained it, threw away the oatmeal and drank the water. One time Peter and I were contemplating all the fresh veggies that they sell in the markets and the typical Bolivian diet. Bread and tea for breakfast, soup for lunch, meat, potatoes and rice for dinner and not a vegetable to be found. “Who’s buying all those peppers?” we wondered, could it just be us? Then I remembered that Picay Machu has peppers in it, but still. I’m hoping to have some nutrition and cooking classes at the women’s center, when they’re done constructing it.

As for Bolivian food, well there remains much of it that I can’t eat, although I am guiltily enjoying fish that comes from the river over here. I did find street food in Bermejo that I can actually eat, these papas rellenas, which are bits of fried goodness, potatoes with campo cheese almost like a knish in consistency. The only problem is that I seek them out at every empanada stand and I seem to have a quota and must eat 5 of them every time I’m in the city. But like I said, I’m eating healthy at home so I don’t feel too bad about it. There’s also one empanada lady that has cheese and onion empanadas instead of the ubiquitous chicken or meat ones but she is like the big foot of empanada stands, you think you know where to find her but then she’s never there and then one day when you least expect it you find her again.

One of my favorite Bolivian meals was cooked in the campo in between the river and the women’s garden. They had been watering the potatoes all morning and still had a lot of work to do and no one had brought food or was going to cook. I said I could go back and get food if they wanted so they sent me with this girl named Estella and we did this thing called “mercado” where we went to all their houses and had their kids or whoever was home give us rice, vegetables and plates. We put all the stuff into a huge pot and carried it back to the garden. We started a fire, heated some water from the river and Doña Aleja started peeling and cutting everything in that magical way that Bolivian women can peel and cut, super fast and completely in their hand, it’s really incredible. If there is a Bolivian skill I hope to learn it would have to be that. So we ended up making a pretty tasty soup out of what we had and everyone ate lunch and at the end of the day when we had finally finished watering all the potatoes, we finished off what was left of the soup.

I have to say I’m very proud of how pretty much none of my food goes to waste. With the incredible humidity down here (both hot and cold) I was really worried about things getting moldy and going bad super fast. I usually play 2 games when it comes to food. First, “Will Michelle eat it?” I have to stay my standards on what is acceptable to eat have changed now that I don’t have refrigeration and yet still have leftovers. But if it so happens that something is past due even by my campo standards I play a new game, “Will a chicken eat it?” Whatever food item is in question is thrown into the yard where my dueñas chickens are hanging out and then I watch to see if they will eat it or not. For those of you playing at home, the answer is always yes, a chicken will eat it, and it doesn’t matter at all what “it” is. But now that I’ve started an indoor compost bin I’m playing that game less (yes, I’m that into composting.)

Well, I know you were all dying to know what I’ve been eating so there you have it. Dako and I are very happy together. At times he can be temperamental and I know it can’t last, when I go back to the states he will have to stay here in Bolivia, but we’re enjoying the time that we do have together. My friend Elliot is a hardcore veg and an excellent cook with his very own Dako and he is going to teach me how to make tofu and soymilk and I can’t wait! Provecho!