Seagull, Oh! Glorious Seagull Ho!

Only enough time for a jot. Insight: Imagine what tomorrow would be like, or the rest of your life, if you had to recreate everything you use in a typical day to subsist. Deborah came up with that one during a conversation. Puerto Montt will inspire many such thoughts. Ciao!

We´re Not in La Paz Anymore ToTo!

Santiago is a full-service urban mecca. Twenty-Six hours of contemplating the Atacama, the world´s most arid desert, make Santiago a well-populated hustle n´bustle relief. Santiago is about the furthest thing from La Paz except for the Spanish-Language part. Eli and I quickly observed that other than that, the elements that distinguish La Paz (substantial Aymaran population, prevelance of traditional dress, approval (or perhaps encouragement?) of public intoxication, inexistance of planar geography) seemed to have disintegrated over the many miles of sand that seperate the two places. At dinner last night instead of hearing customary bitter rants about from Bolivians about their land-locked reality, our Chilean waiter indulged in teasing our temporary home for the lack of ocean. The abundance of pre-supplied toilet paper in the bathrooms and soap to complement also make it impossible to mistake that Eli and I are a long way from home. But it is very nice here.

I could definitely see myself living happily and comfortably in this city. I don´t know if at this point in my life I would choose to do so though. There is a part of me that feels strongly I while healthy and able I should travel solely to places that would become inacessible, goodness forbid, I ever become invalid. So that rules out Santiago for now, but not sailing with Deborah and Rolf. By now I am ecstatic about this upcoming opportunity. The warm climate and open ocean (no Bolivia Lake Titicaca just can´t cut it) beckon my lungs and tempt my bare feet. Sunsets not intruded by skyscrapers or mountains alike, exploration of new (to me) configurations of constellations, completely unfamiliar wildlife, all these potential experiences make Puerto Montt a curious, completely invigorating life possibility. The challenges that I am sure will be present are equally welcome. If I do spend a couple days barfing over the railing I may not feel that way for the moment but any opportunity to hone mind-spirit strength is valuable to me.

True to my past experiences in across the board in Latin America (Peru, Bolivia, Colombia, Cuba, Mexico, Belize, Chile), making friends in Santiago has been the easiest part. After an astounding vegetarian feast last night (I could just feel the nutrients of raw vegetable power coursing through my veins after subsiting on bread and rice for three days. Popeye really knew what he was doing) Eli and I cruised around and back to Barrio Brasil on foot to share conversation and wine. Seated outdoor on a strip of restaurant/bars made for a great time people-watching. Eli and I discussed style here and decided it is not atrocious but is quite bland, Eli placed it somewhere in the early-mid 90s Gap ads. I concur.

The people though are much more expreessive then their taupe slacks. Walking down a street I coaxed Eli into letting me give him a piggy back ride. We only made it about 30 feet this way but the more important end result was meeting a group of 4 young Chileans. We all laughed at teh situation and they pulled ahead but no matter, turned out we were headed to the same bar. When Eli and I entered belatedly (we walk slow and deliberately, relishing in the joy of flat streets and plentiful oxygen) our friends had just sit down and insisted we sit with them. Turned out one of the friends, a 20-some man, is in fact nicknamed YoYo (= Jojo in Spanish.). We spent the next couple of hours as any group of buddies out would. For a while the conversation turned to the terror endured under Pinochet and the continuing effect of this trauma on the national consciousness. It was a topic I strongly wanted to investigate but is sensitive so determined it best not to broach it. I was therefore thankful when it came up without my coaxing. Conversation remained for a while on Chilean politics, discussion about the recently elected Left-Middle of the road socialist female was intriguing. Soon after though the evening went back to a more jocular tone, Eli and I were further trained in proper Salsa dancing techniques.

Must cut this short for now. Eli reminded me it is time to go buy our bus tickets to Puerto Montt. Then off to the Pre-Colombian museam. Apparently the ¨museum to go to¨if you only have time for one. Later tonight we are off to meet up with our new Chilean comrades so they can show us their favorite places to haunt. I would be fine of course if that meant the kids playpark. That was the final destination last night and I gotta say, the slides here must be waxed regularly because we all cruised down at super-jet speed. Although looking back, Eli and the otehr guys may have been a little too big. Three cheers for a gnome-esque stature!

con mucho amor,

YoYo

Dear Mikey, I am about to come to understand just what a tremendous friend you are.

Tomorrow, 13:00 sharp Eli and I will board a bus to Arica, Chile. Of course those reading Eli’s blog already know this but I wanted to give a personal bon voyage. I have no idea what kind of adventure I am about to embark upon. I believe that is for the best. I feel to travel with no preconception is to avoid expectation and hence avoid dissapointment. Prior to knowing Eli, sailing had only ever entered my mind as a thought relating to novels or oceanic disasters played out in Hollywood. Now I saddle up on this bus ride to step upon a boat and sail off into the wide, wide open glaringly honest night. The mere prospect of being faced with nothing other than vast open ocean is what makes even just thinking about sailing with Debra and Rolf worth it. Only growth can come out of this. I’ll do what I can.

Of course, if I’m not back this time in 6 weeks, carry on, carry on. But that won’t happen. Gotta make that blood that’s pumping keep me invigoratingly live.

Insist on your right to be free and exploit your choice to be honest.

Ships Ahoy,

Jojo

PS Blog title is in reference to a tremendous act of friendship on part of Kitty Buddt Mikey. April 2001 he took a the 40-some hour bus ride from Santiago to La Paz and was in Bolivia for my 21st birthday. In truth though, that barely even scratches the surface when it comes to what a spectacular person Mikey is. Miss you budday!!!! Miss all you other budday’s too!

Carnaval is a Blazing Ritual

Going to Carnaval is an agreement to suspend time and orientation. Carnaval in Bolivia is like unregulated Disneyworld with booze. Or perhaps even more accurately, what Disneyland would be like if placed on the island from Lord of the Flies, complementary booze included. The celebration of culture is sandwiched somewhere between the organized chaos and debauchery. Total harmonized discordance. Giant water war included.

For me enjoyment of Carnaval requires absolute suspension of any concept of time, sanitary standards, and ego. Being a young woman and a gringa automatically placed me amongst highest value targets for water balloons and spray foam. That is where suspension of ego comes in. I would have been absolutely miserable all weekend if I would have taken any of that personally. The key for me was to participate without judgement and sometimes honestly, without thinking for too long about where I actually was and what I was actually doing. Again, fruition of successful Carnaval requires suspension of any previous concept of time, health standards, oreintation. I suppose all that ads up to what is called ego. I love Carnaval precisely for that reason. For me Carnaval in Bolivia is an exercise in stripping away the many layers of social domestication we literally wear, on our faces, in our clothes, in our actions. Toxic spray foam strips the synthetic layers of self leaving ballloons to tarnish a new sense of self onto skin and finally, water balloons (traditional name does no guarantee water as contents in ballloon) to give a purifying rinse. This process leaves me literally and figiratively feeling the most raw possible, so entirely stripped from ego the only remainder is essence, pure love, pure light, pure life. Whatever essence is, it is the final product of post-Carnaval Jojo.

Trash seems to be the only element of Carnaval unharassed by the water balloon brigades. Whilst lounging upon a mid-summer’s eve in the middle of the central plaza of Orurenan Carnaval for ten minutes or so I intentfully watched my littered water bottle complete it’s destiny. Carnaval in Oruro may be the only time I have even actually felt my no littering would make a difference. Even Eli threw more than two sheets of TP to the wind. Watching my bottle scuff along the chatty tile, set into motion through unaware feet, I had an insight into the trash/waste debris blanket covering the town. At first all the trash seemed echoes of a violent past, the ruins of a bear-den Carnaval. As I allowed my mind the freedom to wander I thought, “well, in actuality, the scattered evidence of human presence and consumption that is trash makes a significant contribution to the beauty of Carnaval.” The trash is like the foil in major literary works. The trash makes the constumes, the music, the deep fried cheese fritters, all so comparitavely brilliant the parades and dances of Carnaval truly convert into spectacles of momentous glory. Chincey glitter becomes profound grace. The parade path is for Bolivian steps resounding cultural richness alone. BTW, insight was not beer talking. Was sober.

Another magicalization of life achieved by Carnaval in Oruro is philosphy of sharing. From the hands of strangers that pull you up onto benches between beer-soaked slats to the inability to ever find one’s cup even half-empty, the general attitude at Carnaval I found akin to a “if your cup is full, may it be full again.” Metaphorical and literal. Of course carnaval is not all romanticisms and joy. There are plenty of brawls, deth count in Bolivia at about 54 this year. The population in Bolivia also harbors serious alchohol challenges. I am hesitant to make a judgment call by using the phrase “alcohol problems” but by (internationally comparitvaley strict standards) U.S. standards at least half of Bolivians would merit a stay at a rehab center. interestingly (at least to me) many parallels can be drawn between Bolivian cultural history and alcholism and “Native American” cuultural history and alcoholism. If you are interested in what I mean by this, read some about it or let me know. Otherwise I will leave that comparison at ‘nuff said. If it is of concern to you, it will be pursued. If not, wouldn’t want to make you less likely to read my future blogs by babbling on and prosthelitizing about it here and now.

To end since time is running out quickly before I am headed to the Pacific Ocean, the only thing Carnaval is really missing in my opinion are live llammas. Llammas are so regal, they are the only thing besides trash that could make Carnaval any more stupendous and organically classy.