Bolivia Diaries: Day 12, Part 2 - Coca, Cocaine, and U.S. Drug Policy Continued

The War on Drugs met me in Bolivia and followed me home. Day 12 was my last day in Bolivia. Most of our group - everyone except for our guide, Tanya - left on an early morning flight to Miami. There are two ways to get to Bolivia (through Miami or through Peru) and I had a 5pm flight to Lima. With half a day to spend enjoying La Paz, Tanya suggested we start by visiting El Museo Nacional de Etnografía y Folklore and then head over to the Coca Museum. So we did.

Growing Coca
At the coca museum, we saw pictures of coca production, and Tanya (my friend who was with me, who has lived in the region where coca is grown for traditional uses, i.e. chewing and tea) told me about them as we looked. She told me that coca is grown in terraces called huachus, and small coca plants are referred to as "wawa coca" - literally baby coca, using the Aymara word for baby.

An article called "The Coca Field as a Total Social Fact," Alison Spedding argues that, "The integration of coca with the local ecology and social structure of the peasant family and community is such that it is virtually impossible for it to be replaced by any other crop." She writes about coca production in Yungas, which was done by indigenous people even after the Spanish came. The Spanish coca haciendas were mostly near Cuzco (in Peru), and those haciendas supplied the mines with coca. According to Spedding, there were some haciendas near Chulumani (in Yungas) before the 1700s, but mostly the haciendas came to Yungas in the 1700s.

Spedding describes how coca integrates into peasant life as follows:

From the preparation of the original nursery, it takes two to three years for a coca field to start producing; its maximum productivity comes in the first ten years of life, but if it is well cared for it can go on producing for thirty or forty years. A peasant couple begins to plant coca in the first years of their marriage. By the time the fields come into full production, their children (who start to help with the harvest from the age of six or eight years old and harvest almost as well as adults), can help them, and the fields go on producing until the children are grown and have coca fields of their own. Coca is thus integrated into the life cycle of the peasant household. In the semitropical zone, it gives three harvests a year, does not need irrigation, grows on very poor leached soils that are not fit for other crops, is unaffected by drought and very little subject to disease or pests. It thus provides an all-year-round income and full employment for all the family - the men plant the fields and weed them, the women and children harvest them.

Spedding adds that the peasants here also produce plantains, cassava, bananas, and walusa (a kind of taro) to eat and coffee and citrus to sell in addition to coca.

In another excerpt, she describes coca cultivation:

From August or September people begin to clear land and then dig it over for the next year's fields. In November and December they go to pick seeds. January to March is the planting season, and from June to August aged fields are pruned (pillu) to allow them to regenerate, while the coca harvest goes on all year round and, above all for women, is the dominant activity in their lives.

Because of the strong link of coca production and family life, Spedding says "Abandoning coca thus implies a rejection of forms of family life which establish the basis of daily existence and collaboration in the most intimate personal relationships."

Perhaps what is most interesting is the terminology of coca, which compares it to family roles. Spedding says:

After four or five years of repeated harvests, however, the bushes get leggy, the branches weak, and the leaves become very small; they are described as qaqa, 'stammering.' At this point they are pruned down to a stump a couple of inches high, which is filed down to a point and cleaned of all the lichen that accumulates on all woody plants in Yungas. This operation is called pillu. Six months to a year later new branches have sprouted a point where they can once again be harvested.

A plant is wawa coca until its first pillu, after which it is called mit'ani, which means "owns a harvest." However, it's also the title of the woman in an hacienda tenant couple from the pre-1953 land reform era. The coca plant is thus being compared to a woman who "serves the owner of the land she occupies." Spedding goes on to mention a taboo in which menstruating women may not enter the room where coca seed is stored. While the seed is stored, it becomes covered in mold. The stored seed represents a germination (almost like a fetus growing in a womb) and symbolically, they do not want this to come into contact with menstruation, "the physiological converse of pregnancy."

When most of the coca plants have died, the field may be dug up and replanted, but the surviving old plants are left to remain and they are referred to as awicha or grandmother. Spedding says: "Later, the children one by one marry and leave home, and eventually the aged parents are left with the remnants of their coca fields which are now awicha, grandmothers, like themselves, but still adequate to cover their much reduced requirements."

There is one last set of analogies here. Fresh coca is compared to a corpse that is hot and stinking (junt'u and thuksa). The fresh coca has "a penetrating, bitter, and almost nauseating odor." These leaves are stored in the same part of the house where corpses lie in wake. Once it has dried, it is thought of as a "beneficial ancestor," similar to dried corpses of ancestors that were part of Andean culture before the Spanish showed up and put a stop to that.

Nutrition of Coca
What I haven't mentioned yet is the important nutrition role coca plays for people of Bolivia. 100 grams of coca has 305 calories, 18.9g protein, 14.4g fiber, 1540mg Calcium, 911mg Phosphorus, and 45.8mg Iron. The numbers I quoted here are those I wrote down at the Coca Museum, which differs from the numbers on their website. But the point remains that coca is a good source of calcium, phosphorus, and iron, as well as several vitamins. And often it's the only food that fills these nutritional needs for Bolivians.

Cocaine, Again
Despite the importance of coca in Andean culture, the government has a history of attempting to crack down on coca production, or at least work with the U.S. (who tries to do so). The U.S. often promotes alternative crops for coca farmers to grow. There has also been out and out coca eradication, where poor peasants have their fields wiped out. What I heard a lot about was more or less a fancy form of bribery. The U.S. tries to get the people to commit to leaving areas coca-free and in return they do things like build roads. While the DEA has been booted from Bolivia, USAID remains there and does play a role in the War on Drugs.

Here is one story about U.S. funded coca eradication efforts:

As we thread our way into the center of La Paz, Salvador tells us Frutoso's story. U.S.-funded and - trained Bolivian soldiers eradicated the man's coca-leaf crop as part of the War on Drugs, driving him from poverty to the brink of starvation. Like tens of thousands of other Quechuas in the tropical Chapare region, he lives in a mud hut full of children, surviving off his few acres of coca leaves, the only crop with a strong enough external market to maintain his family.

The United States and Europe offer Frutoso and other Bolivian coca farmers "alternative development" to help them switch to crops like papaya or heart of palm. But such trades are often disingenuous. There is often no market for these crops; this was the case for Frutoso. He planted "alternative development" bananas, tended and harvested them - but there was no one to buy them. He and other frustrated Indian peasants blocked a highway with rotting fruit. U.S.-paid Bolivian soldiers gave the Quechuas two minutes to clear the road before spraying the group with bullets. The protest leader was killed, and Frutoso's leg was filled with shrapnel and had to be amputated.

- Whispering in the Giant's Ear by William Powers, p. 206.

Frutoso now farms with one leg. Another source, the anthropology book I quoted from in the previous post, notes that as eradication efforts heat up, coca farmers penetrate deeper into uncultivated parts of Bolivia, which results in deforestation as well as the endangerment of indigenous peoples living there. (While the Quechua and Aymara are the largest indigenous groups in Bolivia, there are MANY of small ones.)

In 1985, there were 28,000 miners laid off after a "structural adjustment" (thank you World Bank!) and most went to Chapare to grow coca. These miners were already a radical bunch; they led the Revolution in 1952. I believe the family of Evo Morales was among this group. I know he was originally from Potosi but then went to Cochabamba at some point early on, and before his success in politics he was a cocalero.

In 1988, Bolivia passed Law 1008 ("ley mil ocho") which designated an area in Yungas as the traditional growing zone, and allowed for 12,000 hectares of legal coca growing to meet traditional needs. Outside of that zone, coca was set for eradication by manual or mechanical means (no herbicides) with no compensation to the growers. You can imagine that this went over well with the cocaleros. Not. Although there are nuances to this, as there seems to be somewhat of a rivalry between Yungas and Chapare, and the coca growers in the Yungas were basically given a government sanctioned monopoly on coca growing based on this law, if it were fully and effectively carried out. More recently, Evo Morales has declared that no matter what, everyone has a right to grow a small amount of coca. While I was in Bolivia, he acknowledged publicly - in Chapare - that some coca actually does go into narcotrafficking.

I'm not sure how much coca is grown in Bolivia, but it's far more than the estimated 12,000 hectares that would meet traditional needs. The stories I heard about towns that were known for cocaine production is that the locals generally don't like to talk about it, as if it's the dirty family secret or something.

The War on Drugs Follows Me Home
Tanya and I literally stayed at the coca museum until just before my cab was to arrive at the hotel to go to the airport. At the very end, I decided to purchase some coca. I forked over just under $1 for an ounce (a high price, compared to what you pay on the street) and Tanya warned me that it might be confiscated by airport security or customs. I was going to buy more but I didn't after she said that. Others were taking their coca home in the form of tea (in tea bags) since that's all any of us were using it for anyway. Honestly, you'd have to be the world's dumbest drug smuggler to go all the way to Bolivia to bring back $1 of coca. With 1 oz of leaves, I could make about 1/100th of a gram of cocaine, if I was really stupid enough to bother (and to want it).

Just in case, I put my coca in between a bunch of alpaca sweaters, buried in one of my carry on bags. Not even thinking much about the coca, I bought as much coffee as I could afford at the airport, since it was the variety I had heard was the best in Bolivia and it cost far less than coffee in the U.S. I put that on the top of the same bag. This bag was searched - I'm not sure for what but I assume drugs - as I went through security in La Paz. I babbled on about the alpaca sweaters and how much I loved visiting various tourist sites, and the officer searching my bag decided there was nothing dangerous in there and sent me along. I heard later that others in our group had their coca taken away from them but were allowed to keep the tea that was in tea bags.

Another American who I met in the airport was also traveling through Lima to Mexico City, so we hung out together a bit. At the baggage claim in Mexico City, we stood together and waited. And waited. A few bags would come out, then the entire operation would stop. Then a few more bags, and a stop. My new friend said "I guess those are your American tax dollars at work." I looked through a glass window and saw a dog walking along all of the bags, sniffing them for drugs as he (or she) went. After the dog sniffed each batch, they were sent through on the carousel to the awaiting passengers. It was then that I remembered hearing that sometimes drug smugglers pack coffee with their drugs to throw off the dogs. Well, I packed coffee because I like coffee! I'm accidentally a very good narcotraficante I guess.

The War on Drugs did not end there. In Tijuana, I had to wait in a line to have my luggage scanned one more time before leaving the baggage claim. Then, I went to the U.S. border and waited in a loooong line. When I got up to the front, the U.S. customs agent asked me what I was doing in Mexico. I told him I went to Bolivia. He said, "Drugs come from Bolivia." I told him that's not what I was doing there. He kept asking if I had something to declare, and I kept saying no. Was I sure? Yes, I was sure. Unless you want me to declare alpaca sweaters. Well, or coca. WHICH IS A TEA NOT A DRUG DAMMIT. I didn't declare the coca, and he let me through.

Thus, my coca made it home safe and I've been enjoying it as a tea ever since. I've shared some with friends as gifts, particularly folks who like hiking and need something for altitude sickness when hiking up Mt. Whitney (the tallest thing to hike that is relatively nearby... tall enough to make you sick). All in all, I'm disgusted by the drug war. For the amount of money they spend screwing over peasants, why can't they put that money into treatment for Americans and into prevention programs that work? There wouldn't be cocaine production if there wasn't cocaine demand. And, according to the museum, 50% of the demand in the world is from the U.S. If I were a Bolivian, I would be outraged. Why can't the Americans fix their own people if they want to stop the drug trade? Why do they have to go to South America to wipe out the coca crops of poor peasants?

Bolivia Diaries: Day 12, Part 1 - Coca, Cocaine, and U.S. Drug Policy

The War on Drugs met me in Bolivia and followed me home. Day 12 was my last day in Bolivia. Most of our group - everyone except for our guide, Tanya - left on an early morning flight to Miami. There are two ways to get to Bolivia (through Miami or through Peru) and I had a 5pm flight to Lima. With half a day to spend enjoying La Paz, Tanya suggested we start by visiting El Museo Nacional de Etnografía y Folklore and then head over to the Coca Museum. So we did.

Although we never made it to Yungas, the coca-growing region we planned to visit, due to the cocaleros protest, we interacted with coca quite a bit. We drank it in tea and we chewed it to cope with altitude sickness. Bolivians also use it for hunger and energy (it's a mild stimulant), as well as some other medicinal uses.

Coca, in Bolivian culture, is sacred. Offerings to gods almost always include coca. Religious gestures (such as making the sign of the cross) are sometimes performed prior to chewing coca. With this in mind, it's easy to understand why it is so offensive to Bolivians (and Peruvians) to suggest that coca itself is a drug. You can even buy keychains and bumper stickers that say "Hoja de coca no es droga" (Coca leaf is not a drug).

As Evo Morales points out in his NYT op ed "Let Me Chew My Coca Leaves," the 1961 United Nations Single Convention on Narcotic Drugs placed coca in the same category as cocaine, and said that “coca leaf chewing must be abolished within 25 years from the coming into force of this convention.” Bolivia - under the brutal dictatorship of Banzer - signed onto this in 1976. Well, it's nearly a decade after that 25 year deadline expired, and coca chewing is still around.

Evo points out that plants have compounds called alkaloids. These alkaloids include caffeine, nicotine, and quinine. Then he explains the difference between coca and cocaine as follows:

The coca leaf also has alkaloids; the one that concerns antidrug officials is the cocaine alkaloid, which amounts to less than one-tenth of a percent of the leaf. But as the above examples show, that a plant, leaf or flower contains a minimal amount of alkaloids does not make it a narcotic. To be made into a narcotic, alkaloids must typically be extracted, concentrated and in many cases processed chemically. What is absurd about the 1961 convention is that it considers the coca leaf in its natural, unaltered state to be a narcotic. The paste or the concentrate that is extracted from the coca leaf, commonly known as cocaine, is indeed a narcotic, but the plant itself is not.

If I understand correctly, drinking coca tea provides less of an effect than chewing coca. The reason is the use of llitja or legia, an alkaline agent that is used in chewing. According to the coca museum's website:

The llijta is a preparation made of several types of vegetal ashes, such as quinoa and plantain. Its purpose is to provide an alkaline medium to maximize the action of the alkaloids of the leaf.

When you chew coca, you don't actually chew it. You can see the website linked above for a full explanation, but basically, you form a ball of coca leaves (minus their stems) with the legia in the middle, and you suck on it. I found that I really, REALLY do not like the taste of coca leaves. I don't even like their smell. The tea is mild enough that I enjoy drinking it. It seems you can use legia when you brew coca tea too, but we never did.

The indigenous Bolivians already chewed coca when the Spanish invaded. The Spanish, observing coca's sacred role in Andean cosmology, decided that coca was bad. Then, when the realized that chewing coca would allow the Indians they enslaved to work 40 hour "days" in the mines with no adequate food or rest, they decided that coca must be okay. In fact, at that point they built haciendas to grow as much coca in possible.

The picture below shows an exhibit of a Bolivian miner, together with a representation of El Tio, the god of the mines. Tio, Spanish for uncle, is a devil-like figure that the miners bring gifts of coca (as well as cigarettes and other things) to. By bringing offerings to the Tio, the miners hope for good fortune and safety from harm.



The coca-growing region we were going to visit is not the major cocaine-producing area in Bolivia. In Yungas, the leaves are smaller and Bolivians think they taste sweeter. These leaves are used for chewing and tea. The larger leaves grown in Chapare, a province in the department of Cochabamba, are used for cocaine. Here is an excerpt of an article called "Cocaine and the Economic Deterioration of Bolivia," written in 1986 by Jack Weatherford and printed in the book Conformity and Conflict: Readings in Cultural Anthropology that tells how cocaine is made:

Most of the young men who go to the Chapare do not actually work in the coca fields. The coca bush originated in this area and does not require extensive care. One hectare can easily produce eight hundred kilograms of coca leaves in a year, but not much labor is needed to pick them. After harvesting, the leaves are dried in the sun for three to four days. Most of these tasks can easily be done by the farmer and his family. Wherever one goes in the Chapare one sees coca leaves spread out on large drying cloths. Old people or young children walk up and down these clothes, turning the drying leaves with their whisk brooms.

The need for labor, especially the labor of strong, young men, comes in the first stage of cocaine production, in the reduction of large piles of leaves into a small quantity of pasta, or coca paste from which the active ingredient, cocaine, can then be refined. Three hundred to five hundred kilograms of leaves must be used to make one kilogram of pure cocaine. The leaves are made into pasta by soaking them in vats of kerosene and by applying salt, acetone, and sulfuring acid. To make the chemical reaction occur, someone must trample on the leaves for several days - a process very much like tromping on grapes to make wine, only longer. Because the corrosive mixture dissolves shoes or boots, the young men walk barefooted. These men are called pisacocas and usually work in the cool of the night, pounding the green slime with their feet. Each night the chemicals eat away more skin and very quickly open ulcers erupt. Some young men in the Chapare now have feet that are so diseased they are incapable of standing, much less walking. So, instead, they use their hands to mix the pasta, but their hands are eaten away even faster than their feet. Thousands and possibly tens of thousands of young Bolivian men now look like lepers with permanently disfigured hands and feet. It is unlikely that any culd return to Pocona [a small town in the Andes] and make a decent farmer.

Because this work is painful, the pisacocas smoke addictive cigarettes coated with pasta. This alleviates their pain and allows them to continue walking the coca throughout the night. This pasta is contaminated with chemical residues, and smoking it quickly warps their minds as quickly as the acids eat their hands and feet.

The article goes on, telling how the cocaine manufacturers supply these workers with women, creating an STD problem among the workers as well as the prostitutes. Many of the workers come from remote villages (such as the aforementioned Pocona) which are now suffering horribly from the economic impact of so many people leaving. The cocaine trade also employs people called hormigas (ants), often women and small children, to transport cocaine or the chemicals used to process it.

According to the article, a gram of cocaine sells for $5 in Cochabamba, Bolivia, but sells for over $100 in the U.S. I'll admit, I don't know what cocaine sells for now or what it sold for in 1986 in the U.S. or anywhere else. But going with these numbers, and other numbers given in the 1986 article, for the gram of cocaine that sells in the U.S. for $100, the farmer received a penny. By my math, that means a farmer received maybe $20 per hectare of coca, double what can be earned by growing papaya. (On my trip, I bought a plastic bag of coca leaves, maybe 5 oz, for 5 Bolivianos. That's a little under $1.) The pisacocas were paid $3 per day, three times what they would make doing other work. The person smuggling the cocaine out of Bolivia was paid $5000 for moving a shipment worth $5 to $7 million. There are Bolivians who get rich by Bolivian standards from the cocaine trade, but there are far more who suffer.

Bolivia Diaries: Day 11, Part 3 - The Ousting of Goni

In October 2010, I spent 2 weeks in Bolivia learning about their food and agriculture. I ended up getting a lot more than I bargained for out of the trip, including learning why the rainforest is being destroyed, how eco-tourism might save it, how Bolivia fits into the drug trade (and what the US does to try to stop cocaine production), and how global warming has already impacted Bolivia.

On our eleventh day was one of the best. We visited a La Paz suburb and checked out the (amazing) agriculture there. Then we had a delicious and very Bolivian lunch, and hit the town. Now that I wasn't suffering from jet lag and altitude sickness, La Paz was a kind of nice place! This diary is about the ousting of Bolivia's President Goni in 2003.

My trip was organized by Global Exchange and Food First. You can find out about future Food Sovereignty tours at the link.

Goni, whose full name is Gonzalo Sanchez de Lozada, was president of Bolivia from 1993-1997 and 2002-2003, representing the party of the 1952 Bolivian Revolution, MNR. As you'll notice, that second term was quite short. And it's because the people of Bolivia ran his ass right out of office.

The first I heard of Goni was on the road to Lake Titicaca, just after we passed the town of Achacachi. The road became very bumpy and our car had to swerve to avoid potholes - "criminal potholes" as our guide called them. ("Criminal" referring to any government that would allow such large potholes to remain in the road, not to the people who made the potholes, I am pretty sure.) These potholes, he explained, came from the ousting of Goni.

Goni was called "El Gringo" because he grew up in the U.S. and - so I hear - his Spanish was never very good (I wouldn't be the one to judge). He wasn't liked by the Bolivian people, but with the help of an American team of consultants that included James Carville, Stan Greenberg, and Bob Shrum, he won with a plurality of 22 percent of the vote for his second term. The definitive documentary on Goni's re-election is called Our Brand is Crisis.

The road with the potholes was the site of a blockade, which I believe occurred in mid-September 2003. The blockade, apparently, trapped some tourists in the town of Sorata. On September 20, 2003, in the town of Warisata (between Sorata and Achacachi), a government operation to break the blockade in order to let the tourists pass shot and killed three people.

This wasn't the first or the last time Goni used force. In February 2003, he tried to impose tax increases, which resulted in protests, and suppression of the protests that killed 34 people. I believe it was then that the police were a part of the protest, whereas the military was on the side of the government.

The issue that took him down was a gas pipeline which was to go through Chile. Bolivians are still sore over a long ago conflict in which Chile took some of Bolivia's land along the Pacific Ocean. (Yes, at one point Bolivia was not landlocked.) So putting the gas pipeline through Chile without negotiating any access to the sea was a big enough deal to mobilize the population in protest. Or maybe it was just the fact that they had a government that was going against the will of the people one more time, and it wouldn't have mattered if it was a gas pipeline through Chile or something else that Goni did that they hated.

At any rate, following the September blockade and killings, in October, the people of El Alto really put the pressure on La Paz with a blockade of their own. La Paz is built into a valley with the city of El Alto built above it on the Altiplano ("high plain"), and going in or out of La Paz means going through El Alto. El Alto was in a good position to blockade La Paz and really make the city hurt. Imagine the shortages of food, fuel, and other necessities.

More people were killed in October 2003. Most were civilians but one was a member of the military. He was ordered at gunpoint by his commander to shoot the protesters and he refused. And he gave his life for it. This was a turning point because many in the military were indigenous and they had more in common with the protesters than they did with Goni and his neo-liberal policies that they were defending. And without even the military on his side, Goni was toast. He resigned, then stole what he could, and fled the country.

Ultimately, this led to a string of events that put Evo Morales in as President from 2005 to 2010, and a second term of 2010-2015. Morales, who represents the party MAS (Movement Toward Socialism) is Bolivia's first indigenous President. Today, Goni resides very comfortably in Washington, D.C. Bolivia wants him extradited back to Bolivia, and the U.S. won't do it.

This history is all very real and present to the people of Bolivia, who are no doubt proud of themselves (and should be!) for kicking a no-good jerk like Goni out of the Presidency and out of the country. (And here we've got Bush living happily in Dallas and launching a book tour!) Below are several pictures I took that are related to the ousting of Goni and Bolivian politics.


Bullet holes in the building from the military vs. police standoff


The Vice President's place, which was set on fire


Graffiti near the hostel which our Bolivian friend translated as "Goni Go To Jail Movement 17," which I believe is named for the events of 10-17-03, during the protests.


"From Monkey to Man... EVOlution," a pun on Evo Morales' name, showing each president getting less apelike leading up to Evo Morales, who is human. I took this picture at the public university in La Paz.


An ad for Evo Morales. I wish I got a picture of my favorite Evo sign that says "EVO: Defensor de Pacha Mama." It has EVO in block letters, and the O is the earth, with South America front and center and Bolivia highlighted in red. Pacha Mama is the indigenous term for Mother Nature.


A ballot from the last election, posted on the street in Chicani.

For English language news from the time of the protests, I recommend Amy Goodman:

October 9, 2003: 9 Killed in Street Battles Between Army Troops and Protesters in Bolivia Over the Past Month
October 16, 2003: Two More Killed in Bolivia; Opposition Leaders Reject President’s Offer on Gas Export Deal
October 20, 2003: Bolivian President Steps Down and Flees to U.S. Amid Mass Protests; VP Takes Over

Bolivia Diaries: Day 9, Part 3 - Climate Crisis Strikes Bolivia

In October 2010, I spent 2 weeks in Bolivia learning about their food and agriculture. I ended up getting a lot more than I bargained for out of the trip, including learning why the rainforest is being destroyed, how eco-tourism might save it, how Bolivia fits into the drug trade (and what the US does to try to stop cocaine production), and how global warming has already impacted Bolivia.

Our ninth day is difficult to sum up succinctly because we did many small, completely separate and different activities as we traveled from Rurrenabaque to La Paz to Oruro. This diary will cover the last part of our day, as we visited the community of Tomarapi, made a surprising (and disturbing) discovery showing the impacts of the climate crisis, and finally made our way to a small family-run hostel in Sajama National Park.

My trip was organized by Global Exchange and Food First. You can find out about future Food Sovereignty tours at the link.

After our earlier stops, we finally came to our destination: Sajama National Park, home of the highest forest in the world. Bolivia has 9 mountains taller than 6000m and we were near 3 of them (Sajama and 2 others). After starting our day under 300m above sea level, we were ending it at 4300m. (This was not a good idea, by the way, and a few members of our group were quite sick from it.)


Sajama

Sajama National Park is characterized by several different habitats: grasses, shrubs, and trees. There are also some salty areas where nothing grows. Altogether, the park has over 200 plant species. In addition to a number of birds, there are vicuñas, foxes, pumas, and viscachas (similar to hares). In the grassy areas, there is a bird called a tinamu that cannot fly very well. The area is also home to the Andean condor, an absolutely enormous bird with a wingspan that is among the largest in the world (up to 10.5 feet).

As you will be able to tell from the pictures below, the climate here is harsh. The winds are fierce and the temperatures are cold, particularly at night. During the day, it can be quite nice out, but even in the morning, around 6am, it was about 25F when we visited. Unlike the wetter part of the altiplano, this area does not get snow in the winter (the dry season). They get their snow during the summer, the wet season, because that is when they have the most humidity.


Trees


Sajama, rising above an area of shrubs


A shrub among grasses


Grasses - the tall, clumping grasses are prickly, and they can even stick you through your clothes

Some of the grasses grow close to the ground like cushions. This way they are protected from the wind and they can lock humidity inside of themselves. You can see our guide, Bolivian biologist Gabriel, with one of these plants below. One species of cushion-like plants, yareta, is now threatened because it grows only 1mm per year, but it makes an excellent fuel source. Yareta has been harvested for a long time as a fuel source for Bolivia's mines. Some of the individual plants are older than Jesus. You will see that they are very short in height, but surprisingly, they can have roots that are 2m to 5m deep.


A grass that resembles a cushion


Yareta (the bright green spots)


Teeny tiny white flowers (I swear they are there!)

Here, the agriculture mostly consists of Andean camelids: llamas and alpacas. Some people have sheep, and I also saw a few chickens and a donkey. The area is dotted with small corrals called estancias where shepherds put their herds at night. Sometimes the estancias are far from the shepherds homes, so they have small houses where the shepherds sleep as well. The corrals are made from stones, wood, or grasses. Some medicinal plants grow here, but (to my knowledge) no crops do.





After arriving in Sajama National Park, our first stop was a town called Tomarapi. They are an indigenous community that has survived by running an eco-tourism operation. We stopped to see a pretty church in the town, but instead of going inside, I used the opportunity to shop for the handmade alpaca hats, mittens, scarves, and more, made by the people of Tomarapi.


Tomarapi's church






Tomarapi's Eco-lodge


Tomarapi's Eco-lodge


Tomarapi's Eco-lodge


A view of Sajama from Tomarapi

After leaving Tomarapi, we continued on our way. Gabriel had been promising me lots of flamingoes and even some vicuñas. All of a sudden, we came upon a dried up lake. Gabriel was shocked. The lake, Laguna Huayñacota, has never been dried before. We checked later, asking our hostess for the night about it. She said the lake normally shrinks in the summer but it never disappears. It's been dry for 2 months now.

Gabriel worried about the fish that used to live in that lake. This part of the Andes was once under water (a long time ago) and when the Andes rose, the fish rose with them, evolving in that lake as they went. Now the fish were gone. Needless to say, there were no flamingos living there, or vicuñas drinking the water.


Laguna Huayñacota

Earlier in the day, we had seen another pond that was also drying up, which I snapped a picture of as evidence of the climate crisis.


A pond we passed earlier in the day that now resembled more of a puddle

The climate crisis is hitting Bolivia in a number of very clear and alarming ways. On many mountains, glaciers are receding, in response to changes in precipitation, temperature, solar radiation, cloudiness, humidity, and climactic events like El Niño. For example, the glacier on a mountain called Chacaltaya was considerable in size in 1994, tiny in 2005, and all but gone in 2009. This is having an impact on Bolivia's reservoirs as well, which are noticeably receding.

The changing climate also helps pests enter new areas, such as weevil larva that like to eat the Andean staple, potatoes. Late blight, which devastates potatoes, is an example of a disease that is moving into new areas with the changing climate.

Climate change has brought both droughts and floods in recent years, and the rains come later than they did historically. In some parts of Bolivia, desertification is a problem. Many farmers use bio-indicators to tell them when to plant or harvest, etc. This means they might plant when a certain bird arrives, or a lizard appears, or a specific tree flowers, etc. But now, with the changing climate, these bio-indicators are no longer reliable.

We continued driving around Sajama, past the dried up lake, finally arriving at a hostel where we would spend the night. In this area, many families operate their own small, bed and breakfast style lodgings, and we were staying at one. The family's house was attached to the dining room, and we were invited to watch our hostess cook dinner (and help, if we wished).

Half of our group was sick from the altitude and various other ailments, but several of us crammed into the kitchen. A major perk of hanging out in the kitchen was its warmth. I bundled up in layers and warm clothes, but it was COLD out. In addition to the eco-lodge, the family had a herd of llamas... one of whom was our dinner.


A lovely view of Sajama at sunset


A "laka uta," literally "house of mud." Each of these little structures contained one room and bathroom with two twin beds.


A pile of firewood - look at how twisted the logs are!


Our hostess, cooking dinner and wearing a hat indoors (it's so cold!!!)




An ax, not a normal kitchen tool in my world, but I guess it is here


Trimming the meat


Llama meat


Llama, cooking


Browned llama meat


A lovely Andean table


Corn soup


Potatoes, llama, and quinoa

Bolivia Diaries: Day 9, Part 2 - Jesus Ate Guinea Pig

In October 2010, I spent 2 weeks in Bolivia learning about their food and agriculture. I ended up getting a lot more than I bargained for out of the trip, including learning why the rainforest is being destroyed, how eco-tourism might save it, how Bolivia fits into the drug trade (and what the US does to try to stop cocaine production), and how global warming has already impacted Bolivia.

Our ninth day is difficult to sum up succinctly because we did many small, completely separate and different activities as we traveled from Rurrenabaque to La Paz to Oruro. This diary will cover the various livestock at the airport (YES, the airport!), a visit to some chullpas, and our first stop in Oruro: a surprisingly fascinating church and a market.

My trip was organized by Global Exchange and Food First. You can find out about future Food Sovereignty tours at the link.

The morning of our ninth day began VERY early. Unnecessarily early, as it turned out, once we got to the airport and realized that we had arrived before any of the airport staff. We watched the sun rise over the cows - yes, the cows - on the airfield at the tiny Rurrenabaque airport. There, check-in involves no computers, baggage check involves passing your suitcase to some guys in a room that also serves as the baggage claim (no moving carousels here), and there is no security to speak of.

We waited for the plane, giggling about the airport staff shooing the cows off the field and making jokes like "Hey look, my plane leaves from Gate 1!" (Of course, there's only one gate.) Then a member of our group returned from the window, laughing. "Now they're shooing horses off the field!" A few minutes later: "Now there are pigs!" After all of the livestock had moved out of the way, the incoming plane landed, and we left the Amazon for the Andes once again.


Sunrise at the Rurrenabaque airport


Cows at the airport

Once in La Paz, we had a happy reunion with Gabriel, the Bolivian biologist who had been our guide there for the first part of the trip, who was joining us again. And I had a happy reunion with the airport's ATM machine, since there was no way for me to get cash (and no one takes credit) in Rurrenabaque - or anywhere else between there and La Paz for that matter - and I was nearly out. And then we took off for Oruro.


Lovely, huh? I bet if I ever learn to SCUBA dive there will be Coke and Pepsi ads on the bottom of the sea. They probably have some on the moon, too.


Andes are pretty, don't you think?

Our destination was Sajama National Park, named after the mountain Sajama (which is also the name of the province the park and the mountain are located in), near the Chilean border.

Our first stop for the day were some random chullpas. These are funerary towers that are found all over Bolivia. The corpses found inside are often in the fetal position. There is some folklore that says the chullpa people lived before the sun came to bring light to the earth and when the sun rose for the first time, the chullpa people died of fear.


Chullpas


A chullpa


The entrance to the chullpa


Inside the chullpa (you can see bones in there)


A home and a family that lives next to the chullpas

By the way, if you've gotta go, I recommend going behind the chullpas. There are NO bathrooms and few cities around on these long drives, and there aren't even trees to pee behind.

Our next stop was the city of Curahuara de Carangas, home of a church worth seeing and a market we stopped at. Here are some pictures of the outside of the church, which I believe was constructed in the 16th Century, but the outside isn't the real story. I'll tell you about the inside (where taking pictures was forbidden) below.










Look... the path to the church is in the shape of an Andean cross

The inside of the church was painted wall-to-wall with every Biblical scene you can imagine. They had the birth of Jesus, the Last Supper, the Last Judgement, Noah's Ark, you name it. But these were no ordinary paintings. Oh no. Because the three wisemen came to Bethlehem with llamas. And, at the last supper, Jesus dined on guinea pig and potatoes. The Spanish were in charge when this church was painted (in the 18th century, I believe), but they trained indigenous artists in European painting techniques and it was the indigenous people who actually did the painting.

Better yet, was the Last Judgment scene. It showed Jesus in heaven, with the Sun and the Moon to his left and his right, but at the same height as Jesus himself. This implied that both the sun and the moon are gods equal to Jesus. (The Inca worshiped the Sun and "his sister-bride," the Moon. Incan rulers claimed to descend from the sun and would also marry their sisters. The reason is that the Incan rulers were supposed to be so holy that they did not want to "water down" their holy blood by marrying and having offspring with non-related people or even distant relatives. Only their sisters were holy enough to bear the next heir to the throne.)

What was disturbing were scenes and even a terrifying statue of "San Tiago, Mata Moros" - Saint Tiago, the Moor Killer. Of course, San Tiago was also the Indigenous Bolivian Killer, but that might not have won over so many Incan or Aymara converts so I guess it was left off his resume in the Andes. You might assume that the indigenous people would hate San Tiago - as they heard the Spanish yelling to him as they killed scores of Bolivians in battles - but it was quite the opposite. They figured that this San Tiago guy must be pretty darn powerful and they had really screwed up by not worshiping him. Clearly, that was why they were getting their butts kicked by the Spanish. So the indigenous Bolivians got right on board with San Tiago, in an effort to win his favor and perhaps stop losing to the Spanish all the time.

It was about halfway through the church that altitude sickness hit me. Hard. I walked outside, drank some water, ate what food I had on me, got myself some coca tea, and sat down. While I was out there, I noticed something else. The path leading to the church was a cross... but it was an Andean Cross. And the Andean Cross has NOTHING to do with Jesus. Hehe.

As we were leaving, several of us decided to get a picture of some nearby alpacas (I think?) and our guides promised us for the zillionth time that we would be seeing "literally thousands" of llamas and alpacas. Oruro is much drier than the area near Lake Titicaca we had visited before. The vegetation is considered "dry puna" instead of "wet puna." As you drive from wet puna to dry puna, the change is obvious. Suddenly, you stop seeing cows and sheep and you start seeing llamas and alpacas. The grasses look different too. (And, somehow, all Bolivians seem to have some innate ability to immediately tell the difference between llamas and alpacas, a skill that I do not yet possess.)


Alpacas, I think

Next, we went to a market. It was a market intended for Bolivians, not for foreigners. Most of the items being sold were not terribly appealing to me as a shopper, but they were interesting to me as someone learning about Bolivia's food and agriculture. Many of the first pictures show clothing. I found it fascinating that the traditional cholita clothes are sold alongside with "modern" clothing.


Cholita gear


Cholita gear


Cholita gear


Clothing (non-cholita)


Bulk bags of rice and flour


Athletic shoes and soccer balls


Yarn (much of it was acrylic)


Oranges and bananas


Fruits and veggies


Apples and oranges


Lots and lots of eggs


"Pasankalla," Bolivian sweetened popcorn


Seeds, animal drugs, and agrochemicals


A close up of the animal drugs and agrochemicals


Several varieties of corn and some fava beans


Tanya, our guide, drinking some canawa


Pacay

The picture of the corn was very difficult for me to get. I asked the cholita woman who was selling it if I could take a picture. She did not respond. Then I asked if I could purchase a little of each type of corn so that - once I owned it - I could take a picture. She did not respond. I left.

Then I thought about it. Maybe she only spoke Aymara and did not speak Spanish. It certainly would not be the first time. I went back and showed her my camera and pointed to the corn. She gestured no again. I showed her money. She still refused. At that point our bus driver came to intervene. He was a bit of a weird guy and he'd come in strangely handy before (when I was getting the picture of the DDT in Achacachi).

This time, I explained to him that I wanted a picture and I was willing to buy the corn in order to get it. I went out of my way to compliment what beautiful corn it was, and how wonderful it was to have so many varieties, whereas in the U.S. we do not have such great variety. He somehow got the woman to agree to let me pay her in order to take a picture. I gave 3 Bolivianos to the bus driver, assuming he would give her the proper amount. She moved far away from the corn to be sure she wasn't in the picture, and I got my picture. Then the bus driver handed her 1 B and gave me the rest back.

Once we got back to the bus, everyone came together for a snack. Gabriel had purchased locally made cheese, bread, pacay, and a cooked, dried, and powdered form of canawa (a local grain) that is made into a beverage by mixing it with water (usually sweetened with sugar). Gabriel got me to try the pacay but failed to mention it was called "ice cream bean" in English, a detail that would have made me much more enthusiastic about it. It tasted OK. We had a little feast in our minibus, then piled back in, and kept driving toward Sajama.