Last Farewell

This will be my last post in Bolivia. I will try to post when I'm home to sum it all up. I don't know how I'll sum it up. It's hard for me to think that a year ago I was in China. So much has happened since than I don't remember it all.

I suppose it's high time I talk about public transportation which has given me wonderfully horrifying stories in the previous countries. Sadly, Bolivian transportation involves no livestock, no vehicles that will fall apart at a moments notice, and no strange hand signals indicating what part of the city you want to go to. There are three forms of city public transportation: micros (mini buses essentially), trufis (the ghanaian tro tro, just not as run down but certainly not new), and taxis, both line taxis that run a route and drop taxis that take you wherever you wish. The Bolivians have taken out the guess work of catching one of these means of transportation by wisely posting numbers and/or signs on the vehicle indicating it's route. This was much easier than in Ghana where you would either have to yell where you were going or use some crazy hand signals then wait for a taxi or tro tro to stop. The driving, although not conventionally safe doesn't keep me on the edge of my seat. Then again, I don't know if much could at this point. But traffic hear is rather tame all in all. There is, however, one quirk. In Ghana, many of the cars were imported from germany, imported being a generous word. In Bolivia, Japan supplies many of the cars here. This causes a problem because the Japanese drive on the left side of the road with the steering wheel on the right whereas Bolivians drive on the right. To adapt these japanese cars to Bolivian road rules, it is not uncommon to see a taxi with the big gap on the passenger side where the steering once was and no fixed to the left side of the car. The readouts are, of course, still on the right side.

As for my living arrangements, I stay with a lovely old woman who just became a grandmother. The house is small and quiet. She works for a hotel, far more hours than for someone her age. She is a very warm and gracious host. However, she is one of the most racist people I've ever met, but it comes across is that nice old woman sort of way... if that's at all possible. She uses the 'n' word freely and seems to have no trouble with how derogatory it is. I thought that she was possibly unaware. However, she lived in the Houston at the height of the civil rights movement and is very knowledgeable about what is PC and what is not. She also frequently blames all the troubles in the country on the natives and said that if the US government were to come and get rid of all the indigenous people, she would have no problems with it. Afterwards she gently scolds herself because she knows it's not the "right" thing to say. I find it quite funny that my roommate is a hardline liberal/vegan/hippie going to law school. She doesn't tolerate the racism so well. I let it pass, not much else I can do.

Last weekend was a holiday called San Juan (day?). Basically everyone lights off fireworks and bbqs hot dogs. Sounds familiar... Thier fireworks put out 4th of July fireworks to shame though. It wasn't quite on the scale of in India during Diwalli. And the fireworks seem better manufactured and more stable unlike some of the indian fireworks which seemed little more than a wad of gunpowder wrapped in string or cardboard with inconsistent fuses. The fireworks here in Bolivia are just MASSIVE. They have plenty of the nice fountains and cones and other small ground sparklers, but they also had roman candles and rockets. We have roman candles at home at well, often 10-15 balls per candle around a foot and a half in length. The roman candles here came up to my chin and I have no idea how many balls it fires. The rockets were attached to a dowel of equal length. They reminded me of a steroid abusing pop-bottle rocket. I doubt these could be launched out of a pop bottle. The next morning I awoke to a hazy sky and a faint smell of burned gunpowder in the air. Apparently, last year it was so bad that planes had to be grounded until well into the afternoon when visibility was good enough to take off.

Bolivian food isn't quite what I expected it to be. I foolishly thought most latino food was similar, so I basically expected a variation fo mexican food. Let's just say Bolivian cuisine isn't one of the strong points of the country. That's not to say the food is bad, just more or less bland. Which took me by surprised considering how much seasonings, spices and hervs are available. They do have some spicy sauce, but it always comes on the side. The traditional cochabamban meal is either beef patty or chicken leg with fries and rice. Bolivians may not consume a lot of spices, but they make up for it by gorging themselves on meat. I went to dinner the other day with some of the interns from the hospitals to a Churasquieria (i don't know what is means). Everyone was getting Churasco (the standard meal people get at a churasquieria), so I joined the bandwagon. There were seven of us and we got four orders of churasco. Basically, churasco is beef, lots and lots of beef. They plopped down a thick wooden cutting board in front of me with three large steaks and a small side of fries. Needless to say, I was unable to finish my steaks. It didn't help that I was having a rough battle with some bacteria in my stomach at the time. No worries. I eventually won.

That's all for now. Nothing else too exciting. I'll probably spend my last weekend buying souveniers and spending time with patty and her family. I look forward to seeing everyone when I return.

Riots and Protests and Demonstrations! Oh My!

This post is long overdue, I realize. I just haven't had much of anything to post about lately. That's not to say I've been bored, I've just had so many good stories in the past that my standards for literary material are a wee bit high. Also, in my last post I mixed up east and west in Bolivia. West: jungles, East: mountains.

Bolivia is a very... active place, especially among the youth. I'm not just talking about the pint sized mugging glue sniffers, but the university students like to be quite active themselves. Riots and demonstrations are no oddity here in Cochabamba. Last week the university students rioted because they were unhappy with the newly elected president of the school, there are roughly around 40-45 thousand students (I think). They damaged many of the buildings on campus, and in the surrounding area (small business owners who have no involvement whatsoever with the university goings on). There were many injuries and even a death. I fortunately was at work, unaware and didn't learn of the troubles till watching the news at lunch. The interns who I dine with daily seemed unconcerned and unsurprised, because it seems to be a frequent occurance. Why is it that university students are always the instigators in riots, demonstrations and protests?

In other news, I've spent the last two weekends in Cochabamba, for several reasons. First off, my roommate went traveling to peru a week ago and has clearly not been available for short weekends trips around the country. Secondly, I really don't know any other volunteers. I'm not too sure why I don't have the motivation to socialize with the other volunteers unlike in most countries. There aren't too many TPA organized events where I could meet and greet other volunteers and my cell phone doesn't work here, making it difficult to stay in contact with anyone. I've become quite close with an intern at the hospital, Patty (the lone english speaker at my hospital), and have spent most of my time with her and her friends and other interns. I think I enjoy making more local friends than I have in any of the other countries. I think I may also have just had my fill of 18 year old british girls. Fortunately, the cultural barrier isn't as pronounced between my bolivian friends and me as it was in the other countries. Then again, the language barrier is staggeringly large. But we still manage to laugh and joke and have a good time. Last weekend Patty invited me to attend her church and go to lunch with her family. Once again, the language barrier never ceases to be a problem, but I still muddle through and end up enjoying myself along the way. I even went to see Shrek three the other night, in Spanish, and still managed to understand the gist of things and get many of the jokes.

I've found a quality in myself that has become far more pronounced since starting my travels (partially out of necessity). I am incredibly adaptable. This spans from being able to eat most any food (even things that I don't like, which I haven encountered occasionally) to picking up habits and methods specific to the country where I am. Perhaps I want to be viewed as local and not stand out because of my western behaviors. In some countries I have had little choice but to stand out, but here in bolivia, I blend in quite nicely... that is until I open my mouth to speak spanish.

I don't have much else to write. Work goes well enough. I spend most of my time in pediactrics listening to breathing and heart beats and stomach parasites. Sometimes it can be slow, but I'm no stranger to that. My hospital is slightly removed from the city, so we serve many of the indigenous people in the area. One of the problems with natives is that many of them don't speak spanish, but speak some blend of native tongue and spanish. This can cause some communication problems for the interns that don't know this language. Another problem is that they don't like to wash much, or at all. The room can be pretty pungent when the windows are closed. It's even more nose-wrinkling than in India, and that says a lot. Anyway, that's all for now. I'll update at least once more while I'm here and maybe once when I get home to sum it all up in thoughtful reflection. I hope all is well at the homestead.

Che vs. Mickey or The Escape from Monkey Island

Sorry for the odd title. It's a bit of a throwback to the Rocky and Bullwinkle show. Which, by the way, I never really liked when I was little, but my brother always wanted to watch it. Who knows?

So of the few common denominators in all the countries I've been to, the most interesting are the icons that cross cultures and oceans to become a commonplace everywhere. Of these, the two most recurrent images I've seen depicted are Mickey Mouse (in various forms) and Che Guevara. While there's no mistaking Che (it's always the same picture) Mickey comes in so many shapes sizes and colors it's sometimes difficult to recognize that it is even Mickey at all, but upon close inspection, the he shows his true colors. While I think most people know the symbolism of Mickey Mouse (if there is much symbolism), I think you'd be hard pressed to find a Ghanaian that knows who the man is on their shirt. It's understandable that Che appears in Bolivia with that whole latin america connection, but in China, India and Ghana? I also don't know what's more interesting (or scary), that Mickey is as recognizable as Che or visa versa. While I love the animals, the food, the public transport systems and the methods of dress, it's the little things like this that make other countries so much fun.

Last weekend I left the hills of Cochabamba for the jungles of Chapare in western Bolivia, where the mountains flatten and opens into an expanse of jungle that turns into the Amazon basin. We stayed in a not so quiet little town of Villa Tunari, which is much like a glorified truck stop. I say not so quiet because, although it was tiny, there was a brass band that had gathered for some celebration. At first, I thought it was an old man band. You know where there talent is betrayed by the lack of dexterity due to old age. But then I realized they weren't good enough for that. I'd say more like a high school band... a really miserable high school band, playing really awful music. Every once in awhile someone in the back would hold up a roman candle and let the fireballs fly (for dramatic effect?). The small party seemed not to notice or care that the band was horrid and proceeded to dance about. I don't know if I'd call it dancing, more like drunken stumbling around, but they weren't drunk. And they all seemed synchronized, like it was a rehearsed dance. Certainly a good laugh for the first ten minutes, but then it dragged on a bit longer than I would have liked.

The next day we headed to the nearby national park for a good hike. The park was also loaded with monkey; friendly, meddlesome, kleptomaniacal monkeys. Fortunately, they have lockers to store your bags and other valuables you're afraid will be filched if left unguarded. Ok ok, so the title is misleading, it wasn't an island, but monkey island sounds way more exciting than monkey park. Anyway, you don't have to go far into the jungle before you start seeing the monkeys. They have no fear of people or cameras whatsoever. This was made clearly apparent to me when a monkey came over and grappled with my leg for a minute or two before climbing up my body, checking every pocket she passed, to rest gently on my neck while she picked through my hair. She was also a jealous monkey because whenever my friend, Alyssa, came close trying to take a photo, the monkey would lunge out and grab her arm and try to take the camera. It was quite an entertaining spectacle. She stayed there for quite awhile before we started moving down the trail to another area.

The jungle was hot and humid, but since it's winter here the mosquitos are few, fortunately. We saw many many more monkeys along the way, red and green macaws, beautiful butterflies and some amazing ant colonies. The trail led up the hillside for a great panorama then to some meager but tranquil waterfalls. I imagine that during the wet season it's far more dramatic. After the hike we had some lunch in a quaint restaurant where a kitten became very friendly with my lap and my lunch. We had dinner at the same restaurant where another kitten, probably of the same litter, took a little nap on my lap (but had no interest in my food, which was a nice surprise). It was strange because on both occasions there were other people in the restaurant, but the cats came straight to me. This prompted Alyssa to call me Dr. Doolittle and say that maybe I should go into veteranery medicine instead.

Other than the parks, there was very little to do in the town. It wasn't even a relaxing getaway because the highway ran straight through the town where there was a steady stream of bus and truck traffic. The next day we ventured to a nearby 'Orquidario', which was apparently an orchard, in a way, but also had orchids so I don't know what the translation is. There were also a couple of crocodiles and turtles in a small pen. I don't know why, but it was still interesting. We then hopped on the bus and had a beautiful ride back through the mountains to Cochabamba.

As for things here in Cochabamba. Things are moving along well. I'm becoming good friends with the interns at the hospital, despite the immense language barrier. We went out to dinner last night, then to coffee where we played cards and just had a general good time laughing. I wish I could stay longer and spend more time with them. I'll just have to make the most of it. Hopefully I'll be able to have a whole conversatoin with them before I leave.... haha, who am I kidding? I can't learn spanish that fast.

As an aside, the big news lately is that the Harlem Globetrotters are coming to Bolivia. Nice to see that they're living up to their name, but I find it strange since Bolivia isn't a big market for basketball. Oh well. Take care all.

Now I remember why I wanted to take Spanish in College...

I'm in Bolivia. Finally. My flight from Miami was delayed and I missed my connection from La Paz to Cochabamba. I bused it instead, which was actually a pleasant seven hour trip. For those that don't know, La Paz is the highest capital in the world, somewhere around 14,000 feet I think. The city is amazing. It's built in a bowl shape. Most of the buildings are made of stone and seem to grow out of mountainside as part of the mountain. I would not have seen so much of the city had I made my connecting flight.

As for Cochabamba, it's the most modern place I've been to since China. I said a silent prayer when I noticed that sewage was below ground (not everywhere of course, but at least in the major cities). There are plenty of fast internet connections, multicultural restaurants and easy public transportation. I only have one problem: I don't speak a lick of spanish and you'd be hard pressed to find an english speaker. This makes work quite a challenge. I fortunately found an intern that speaks english so I usually follow her around most of the day. While I'm sure I would have plenty of hands on experience if I spoke the language, the barrier is more inhibitory than I would like. Fortunately I'm taking spanish lessons and picking up the language rather quickly. While I can't speak much, I can understand quite a bit. Surprisingly so. Aside from the language barrier, Bolivia is a lovely and colorful place. Apparently it is 80% indigenous. So you see many women with the colorful panchos, poofed out skirts and bowler hats, or a wide brimmed straw hat. I live just a block down from the soccer stadium which makes for some loud and enjoyable evenings. Another source of excitement are the ¨cleferos ¨ or glue sniffers. These are apparently glue sniffing teenagers that group mug people. I haven't run into them yet, but partially hope that I do. Things like that make great stories!

A month to volunteer in a country is far too short. I feel so strapped for time and I've only been here a week. I was feeling a little morose when I left because for once in a very long time, I wanted to be home; to be around friends and family and comforting things I know. When I left I thought of the poem by Davy Crockett

Farewell to the mountains, whose mazes to me
Are more beautiful far than Eden could be.
The home I redeemed from the savage and wild.
The home I have loved as a father his child.
The wife of my bosom, Farewell to ye all.
In the land of the stranger, I rise or I fall.

It's a strangely wonderful feeling to miss home this much and to know that I'll find contentment there, which isn't something I could have said a year ago. Fortunately, Bolivia has ample amounts of charm to keep me satisfied and excited and my time is so restrained that I won't have the opportunity to get homesick. Heh, ironic that now, finally, in my last month of travels, I finally miss home. Farewell all. Take care and I'll be seeing you all soon.

Away Away Away

Two months goes fast. More than two months... It's hard to believe that a year ago this time I was still finishing up school. As I'm approaching the end of my travels, I'm getting far more contemplative. I've been thinking about how I'm turning 25 in august (that's scary enough) and that I was only 23 when I left for China. My 24th year has somehow been engulfed by all the countries I've been to. Soon I'll be done and I will have to get back to my life. And while I have enjoyed my time immensely and look forward to going to Bolivia, I partly wish I was finished. I feel like the reasons I left have all been addressed, the demons have been battled, the fears overcome, the maturity... well I don't think I'll ever be able to address that problem ;). It's comforting actually. Having overcome a lot of the problems in my personal life, I now find myself thinking more and more about my future career. That's not to say that I wasn't serious or sincere about med school before, but it's much easier to think about my future when I don't have other distractions getting in the way. I think that's why it was difficult getting rejected from med schools. I felt prepared, more so than I have in a long time. But the more I think about it, the more I feel like another year is better for me. I think I've somehow managed to find some real contentment in my life. This coming year will be the most fun I've had since I was young. Medical would have been fun, but I think the stress would have outweighed the enjoyment. Whoever said limbo was a bad place? Let's just hope I can find a job. Any suggestions are welcome.

As for Ghana, I'll miss it... to a degree. With each country I travel to, the less and less attached I become. That's not to say I get less and less out of the experience or immerse myself in the culture less and less. I think I'm just getting stretched a little thin. In China, I made a large number of close friends. Here in Ghana... I don't think there's anyone I'll stay in contact with (aside from my ghanaian family). That could have to do with the social structure in Ghana compared to that of the other countries. It could have to do with the other volunteers here. Or maybe it has to do with me. I had always prided myself on being a loyal caring friend. That quality, however, sometimes resulted in my being hurt, taken advantage of or disregarded. That did not deter me from getting close to people. That was most likely due to loneliness. Being so desperate for friendship can make a person very vulnerable. Perhaps now that I am comfortable in my friendships and content with my life the desperation is gone... and so is the ability to get attached to people. I suppose that's just a part of growing up though, becoming detached, less emotional, jaded. It's strange to think of the things we unknowingly concede. No matter, I'm still going to act like a little kid.

When I leave, my host mother said she would cry and that everyone would be sad. I am their sixth volunteer, so I thought she was just being kind. However, she told me that I am better than all the other volunteers before because I eat whatever she makes, sit with her in the kitchen while she cooks, and play and laugh with my 12, 14 and 17 year old host brothers and sister. She (and some others) call me a simple man. While in America that might be a little offensive, in Ghana is means easy going. The funny thing is that many of the reasons why she likes me so much is why I'm looking forward to coming home. The food is fine and I don't mind spending time with the kids, but I look forward to getting my freedoms and my privacy back. I look forward to decided when to eat, what to eat and how much to eat. I have had a lot of fun with my host siblings, but sometimes they can be draining and downright annoying. I've always been the baby in the family, so I've never really known what it's like to have younger kids around. It's been a good experience I think. While my host sister was on break, she also took care of a 4 and a 5 year old that stayed at our house for about 3 weeks. That was quite a handful, but loads of fun. I've never said I was "good" with kids. I wasn't bad, per se, but I had no talent in dealing with them. I think this has been a great experience and growing opportunity. Hopefully they don't cry too much.

There were some other fun tidbits of Ghanaian life that I have previously forgotten to mention. The tro tros and some other trucks and cars have a lot of German writing on them. I eventually learned that this is because when cars become to old or they fail the emissions tests, they get sent to Ghana. Then the Ghanaians run them until... well until an axle breaks and the car crashes and is totaled. Way to help solve that world pollution problem Germany! Secondly, I saw my favorite t-shirt of all time the other day. While I covered this topic already, I feel that this requires it's own acknowledgment. I've seen shirts of pizza delivery companies, department store spring blowout sales and even Disneyland rides but nothing compares to this shirt. It said "Howard Dean for America". Priceless.

Fastest C-Section EVER

So I'm in a bigger hospital now. Not the big hospital I was supposed to be in, but at least this one does some major operations. Apparently the big hospital in Kumasi (the biggest outside of Accra) has had a falling out with TPA and no longer accepts volunteers. Don't ask me why.

Since Tafo Hospital did practically nothing by way of surgery, I plan on spending the last two weeks of my stay here in the operating room. Unfortunately, it's still a little slow. Today, for example, I spent all my time folding gauze. No patients came in. There's also apparently a health workers strike so the amount of surgeries done is decreased for some reason. While it can be slow, I have seen some interesting things. Yesterday I saw a gargantuan hernia repair and two and a half c-sections. I say a half of a c-section because this woman came in needing a cs because of fetal distress, but by the time they got her on the operating table the babies head starting poking out... I guess he didn't want to be a c-section baby. This little bugger was huge too. He weighed about 4 kilos, should consider a career as a linebacker. Unfortunately he was so big that he kind of "split" the mother. She had a female circumcision (I have no idea what that is) and the size of the baby caused tearing. It was a pretty hectic moment when they all realized the baby was coming out.

The other two c-sections I saw were crazy fast. They pride themselves here by saying the baby is born within one minute of the operation. Basically true to their word, within a couple of minutes after the first incision, the baby was out. The whole procedure took around 20minutes (including the sutures) For comparison, the c-sections I saw in India took around an hour, 40 minutes at the shortest. I've come to realize that the main procedure done in the operating room is a c-section. There is an occasional hernia or historectamy, but little else. I can't complain though, the nurse said that by the end, they might let me assist in surgery. How sweet would that be?

As for some other peculiarities that slipped my mind before, I've remember a few... some so strange I don't know how I forgot. Hair is an interesting thing here amongst the ghanaian women. Most have very little hair on their bodies and short hair on top. However, it is not uncommon to come across a very hairy legged woman (which apparently the guys like). While the hairy legs is a little off putting, what's even stranger is the facial. Many women get a small collection of chin hairs that they seem to cultivate and grow as long as they can. It's not enough to call it a beard or really even whiskers, I just call it gross.

Food is always a good source of oddities. They eat snails in Ghana. Not unheard of. It's considered quite the delicacy in France. Ghanaian snails, however, trump French snails ten times over. These guys are massive. I'm talking radioactively mutated to be super snails. They shells are almost the size of conch shells, to give a comparison. The like to tote these around in buckets on their heads selling them to passersby. OH yes, the head thing. It has become so commonplace I almost forgot that no one carries boxes or buckets or really anything on top of their head. Ghanaians carry EVERYTHING on the tops of their heads. The balancing act is an amazing sight to see. Sometimes I want to run over to them and give them a little hip check to see if they can keep it together without dropping anything. I've yet to work up the audacity. That's all for now folks. I'll write again at least once more before I leave. Take care.

Travels, Tombstones, T-Shirts and other Peculiarities

I have finished my travels along the coast and am quite happy to return to Kumasi, not only because of the inordinate amount of mosquito (and other unknown bug) bites I accumulated on the coast or because of the lack of internet, but also because the coast is mostly just pretty beach. Not that I don't enjoy the nice beach every now and again, but I can only spend so long staring at ocean and sand before I get incredibly bored. It was a nice get away, I'll have to admit, but when I travel within a country, I usually like to see something unique the country has too offer. Beaches really don't fill that role. I suppose I should be thankful for the slave castles. Those made the trip more than worth it. As well as the stories I got from the journey.

Most good stories occur when reality borders on the rediculous or when my life is being threatened. Fortunately for you all, I have both! Goats are everywhere in this country. Everywhere! On the way back to Kumasi from the coast, we plowed into one with the tro tro. For some reason I wasn't phased. I wasn't phased when the door fell off my tro tro either. While I was concerned when we had passengers on top of our tro over a dirty/bumpy road, I was a little concerned, but not surprised at all. But all of that takes a back seat to when goats were placed on the top of our tro tro and tied around the waste. Throughout the journey his hooves were clanking on the top of the tro. Sure enough, at one point during the ride, the goat tumbles off the side of the tro and dangles there by the rope for a few minutes before the driver realizes and the tro stops. I couldn't stop laughing. It was priceless.

Tros come in various shapes and sizes... and various rust to actual metal ratios. Several times while riding along the coast I was fortunate enough to get into a tro that was definately more rust than actual metal and the seats weren't really bolted to the floor, so they freely swayed to the whims of the road. Now, I realize that this is a feature that they use in amusement rides and people pay good money for. In this case, my only consolation was that the tro tro was so beat up and old that it's top speed wasn't horrific. So instead of a speeding death trap, it was just a death trap. I often thought of the stories I've heard of when the axel snaps off a tro tro and what's usually left is a heap of twisted metal. You'd think that with all the traveling I've done and all the near death experiences I've had in various vehicles, I would have lost the impending sense of doom by now. And yet it's still that imminent threat of danger that makes the ride that much more exciting.

Aside from transportation, there are a large variety of other perculiar things to see in Ghana. Funerals are abig part of Ghanaian culture. They are quite similar to weddings in the sense that there is a huge crowd, musical entertainment, food and formal invitation. It is always an open casket ceremony and the tombstone is always large and ornated and frequently has a portrait of the person being laid to rest. I had thought of this as a great respect for the dead, but then I noticed at this cemetary I pass by to work every day that taxi drivers, tro tro drivers, and other laborers often take their breaks in the cemetary and stretch out across the tombstones. It's a shaded area, so I imagine it's quite cool and it's better than sleeping on the ground.

While people speak "english" here, the complete understanding or context of things escapes them. T-shirts are a great form of expression (I should know, all mine have cartoon characters and superheroes on them). Of the various T-shirts I've seen being warn by ghanaians are: Kiss me I'm Blonde, Hold my beer while I kiss your girlfriend, and fcuk (French Connection United Kingdom) like a bunny to name of a few. I would be surprised if they actually knew what the shirt was saying. Aside from the gratuitious ones, there is also a random assortment from old pizza hut deliver shirt to U. Wisconsin lacrosse. I think many people have relatives in the States and want any shirt from the US, no matter what it says.

There are other oddities that are escaping me at the moment. I'll think on it and post them next time. Two weeks from today I fly out and arrive at home for a few days before I depart again for Bolivia for one month. Traveling is wonderful, but I can feel it starting to drain me a little, and I even have a three month break in the middle. I hope everyone at home is well and are highly anticipating the fast approaching summer. Take care everyone.