Going The Distance

We interview Bolivia’s top international designer, Beatriz Canedo Patino. She uses only alpaca in her designs, is proud to represent Bolivia in everything she does, and designs Evo Morales’ wardrobe.

“Eezer goode, eezer goode, I’m ebeneezer goode”. He wasn’t familiar with the above song from the album “Boss drum” by the Shamen. But the Shaman had his own songs, and his own lyrics to sing when we met him in the outskirts of La Paz.

Our friend, Javier (see previous post), had sent us out with his favourite taxi driver, Miguel, to find out about the other side of La Paz. About a year ago, his brother had bought a new car, and he had accompanied him out to the Zona Alto Pura  to the line of Yatiri (Shaman) shacks – to bless his new vehicle. He thought that we could visit a Yatiri to tell our future (as we have done before with a tarot card reader in Redondo Beach, LA – though this time without flushing toilets) and to bless our journey and the rest of our future.

At that point, had our Yatiri been an employee of the Bolivian Postal Service, I could certainly have imagined the power he could have over the rest of our journey, in getting our new clutch to the garage in good time. Our first ritual with him was with the leaves of Coca. We gave him a bag of coca leaves, and he spread out his special cloth, and began chanting. As he did so, he placed several leaves meticulously around the cloth, (one representing wealth, one health, and one family) – then he dropped other leaves on top of these. They landed “light-side-up” – which is a good thing – and roughly parallel, also a good thing, so we are in for a good future apparently. The next thing for us to do was to make a sacrificial offering to pachamama, in the form setting fire to many white objects (llama fat, sugar houses/ cars/ penises to represent all those parts of life, coca leaves

(though technically green), and strands of silver ribbon – representing mineral wealth –    in a baking tray. Then we poured beer on the ground around the pyre. At each corner of the pyre sat a bottle of Pacena (also the sponsor of the Yatiri’s hut) – each one representing earth, wind, fire and water. Which we then shook up like F1 winners and sprayed around our pyre, then around the Pachamama shrine at the back, and another lump of earth with flowers on (by which point I had run out of beer). Then we stood sombrely watching the flames burn our houses, cars, penises, and mineral wealth, shook the Yatiri by the hand, and called it a day.

And then Miguel took us back through El Alto, and back intodowntown La Paz, where he took us to Calle Los Andes, to meet some masters of traditional clothing manufacturing. Bordados Chambi were one of the few shops open that day, that specialises in making masks and traditional clothing for the forthcoming February festival of the Virgen de la Candelaria, in Oruro, just south of La Paz.

The couple who ran the shop very kindly let us try on some Potosena clothing – representative of the town of Potosi. These included particularly guerrish hats and ribbons and flags, as well as some exceptionally curious spurs for me, that consisted of a  pair of small symbals, to alert the neighbours to my failed attempts at traditional dancing. (see right)

We went onto interview the duena,  - her husband was more reluctant, hiding in the shadows, while she talked about their marriage. One piece of advice that was particularly interesting – in that it is one of the core principles in Dr Judith Wallerstein’s book, “The Good Marriage” – was the importance of starting your own family, and making sure your old family does not interfere too much. It’s great to see the overlap of advice like that, that a Bordado in La Paz, who has most likely never read “The Good Marriage” intuitively knows the basics; and that these self-help books are not the only source of such wisdom.

I´m waiting in a chicken shop for some chips, and I thought I´d use the time to write about the kafka-esque service in this country. An amazing mix of monty python’s cheese shop sketch (where after asking for a couple of hundred cheeses by name, all to no avail, the frustrated cheese buyer is told there is, in fact no cheese in the shop), with the sketch from the holy grail where the landlord clearly asks the guards to to guard his son. The guards begin repeating various combinations of shutting the door, being inside, and not letting someone out, but generally failing to understand the simple instructions.

Actual examples that have happened here in Bolivia, beginning with Christmas eve, aka, the lunch nightmare before Christmas:

Japanese restaurant, La Paz.

“We’re very hungry – what is the quickest thing to order on the menu?”
“The soup is very straightforward sir.”
“Great, 2 soups please”
At which point we were joined at the table by a german tourist who commenced a monologue of his travels for over an hour.
“Where’s our soup?”
“Just coming sir. 5 minutes.”
The waiter arrives 10 minutes later, carrying three soups.
“Great – finally. It’s taken you nearly an hour and a half”
“Oh these soups aren’t for you sir”
“Right, that’s it, we’re leaving”
Traditional Restaurant, La Paz.

“we’re very hungry, we’ve just waited for an hour and a half in a japanese restaurant, we’d love something quick and simple.”
“How about chicken and rice, sir?”
“Perfect. Could we get a chicken soup as well?”
10 minutes later, the chicken soup arrives.
“Thanks for the soup. That was surprisingly quick. And the chicken?”
“Just coming sir…” The waitress finishes her shift.
“Excuse me, I ordered some chicken half an hour ago and I wondered how much longer it would take.”
“Oh, five minutes I’m sure, sir”
“Right, well, could you hurry it along.”
Another 20 minutes passes.
“Hello – erm, the chicken – is it going to be long”
“Hold on a second sir…oh, the order hasn’t been placed. What was it you wanted?”
“You’re kidding me right? I’ve now been waiting for food in 2 restaurants for nearly 2.5 hours. Please help feed me. I have money”
“Sure, it’s a quick dish. Give us five minutes.”
20 minutes later I begin eating the chicken. With such rage that I struggle to swallow.
Eli’s, La Paz.

“I’d just like to place an order for chicken soup, as I am going next door to pick up a  burger from burger king. Could you prepare it, so it’s ready when I get back?”
“Of course sir, everything here is quick, you won’t have to wait”

I return from Burger king -

“Is the soup ready”

“The soup sir?”

“Yes I ordered a chicken soup from your colleague, who said I could pick it up when I arrived”
The colleague arrives.
“Ah, the soup. We didn’t prepare it because we didn’t know if you wanted rice or chips with it.”
“I don’t want either, I’d just like the soup”
“Right ho. Chicken soup then?”
“That’s right, chicken soup”
10 minutes later, the soup has been heated and is ready to take away.

Burger king.

I am second in line to place an order. The lady at the front, a cholla lady with bowler hat, many skirts, and a screaming child in hand, hands over a stack of at least 20 vouchers. The spotty kid behind the counter starts the process of logging each item, while printing a receipt for it and stapling it to the voucher to put in the till. He runs out of staples in no time, his boss comes over to help get the order to the kitchen, the till roll runs out, the queue behind is growing long and impatient. The cholla lady begins gathering the substantial quantity of food,and finally the spotty kid gets to the last voucher and looks up to take the next order from a cholla lady, with bowler hat and huge stack of vouchers.20 minutes later, I pick up my food – and head to Eli’s to pick up the soup.

Mario’s, La Paz.

There are six of us, all panamerican motorcyclists, all hungry for a spot oflunch. Our hotel recommends the chinese place in the corner of the square, as it is quick. We order 4 special fried rice with shrimp.

“Sorry, there’s no shrimp.”

“Could we have chicken instead?”

“Of course. And for you madam?”

“The two of us would like chop suey.”

I see the order on his pad – 4 x special fried rice, chicken.  2 x chop suey

While the food did arrive in a lightening 15 minutes; the special fried rice surprisingly did have shrimp on, one of the chop suey meals was spicy noodles with beef, and the other chop suey order was a fish. Just a big fish on a plate.

Chicken shop in Potosi.

“Could we have some chicken and chips?”
“10 minutes for the chips.”
“OK we’ll come back.”
10 minutes later.
“Are the chips ready?”
“The chips, sir?”
“Yes, that’s right, the one’s that were meant to be ready by now”
“Hold on a second” (she disappears out the back)
“They’ll be 10 minutes sir…”

Hi all, greetings from Bolivia. You may have seen that there are basically no posts since we arrived here (Mike on the bike and me on a border crossing). Well, the reason is simple. I have been feeling sick as a dog for the entire time we have been here.

La Paz is the highest capital city in the world, at around 3,000m. Potosi, where we headed afterwards is 4,060m, with its mines at 4,200m.

I’m usually a fairly reasonable travelling companion, but I fear that I have been pretty poisonous for my dear husband for the duration of our time at height. Altitude sickness has many friends – breathlessness is its closest ally, but sickness and sleeplessness are part of the gang. In La Paz, this meant that it was very hard to do anything apart from loaf about. Walking up stairs resulted in a old-man-chest-grab and bend-at-the-hip at the top, even getting out of bed would need a minute’s repose once on our feet.

The highlight of La Paz for me was leaping out of the wheezing bike and having to push it up a 45 degree angled hill. I pushed with every ounce of my being, then had to run quickly up to the next set of lights to do it again. It then took me 10 minutes, sitting on the curb, gasping, to catch my breath. From then on in, I have had a raspy little cough which would make Tiny Tim proud.

By the time we got to Potosi, I had a perpetual headache and felt like I had a strong flu all the time. We were there for 3 days. That’s a lot of woeful wife for Mike to deal with (he didn’t get the headaches or the flueyness). Mike himself woke up one night hyperventilating because he couldn’t get enough air. Conversations are peppered with momentary breaks where one or other of us has to take 5 seconds to concentrate on getting enough oxygen. Forget walking and talking…!

We’re now in Sucre, having dropped a kilometre last night in a 2 hour drive, and though I feel better, Mike and I are still wheezing…