In Bolivia, Pachamama is the benevolent recipient of any number of offerings including llama fetuses, but most prominently alcohol, beer and chicha (lowland moonshine). Whether indoors or out, its customary to spill some of your drink on the floor as an offering to Pachamama before taking a sip.
In anticipation of Her assistance in redefining my research project, I didn’t perform any blessing ceremonies or go to the witch’s market for supplies, but unintentionally did make a pilgrimage to the end of the earth in her honor.
I agreed to travel across the country to Cochabamba to meet the sister office of one of my partner organizations for a tour of their work in four rural communities. So last week I headed for the airport in a typically crammed mini-bus, but was seated next to a jolly sort of man who somehow struck up conversation in spite of my fluster and frenzy. We started discussing Bolivia’s political situation, (not an uncommon topic even for strangers). I was surprised when he somehow humbly suggested force might be necessary to resolve Bolivia’s ongoing conflicts, shocked when I later found out he was a Quaker pastor and stunned when he revealed he used to be a communist (and given his age, the country and his life timeline, that means he was a communist in the era of, if not with, Che Guevara). We talked about the choice he had to make between Communism and God and what a shame it is that some institutions require mutual exclusivity even if its not what our gut tells us. I told him at least twice I wanted to visit his church, and as we approached his stop, made it more evident and asked for his card. But he didn’t have anything and had to get off the bus. Just before scooching out the sliding door though, he put his hand on my shoulder, winked, and said “God will have us meet again.”
What kind of pastor doesn’t invite you to their church? What kind of a communist becomes a pastor? And what kind of Quaker suggests a violent resolution to conflict? It was very strange, but didn’t feel phony at all, if anything it was calming and a little mystical. I decided he was a good omen, if not a down right angel.
It was a 30-minute flight from La Paz to Cochabamba and a seven-hour drive to San Pedro de Buena Vista. In San Pedro there is only one “restaurant” to eat at and you have to tell the owner/cook/server ahead of time that you’ll be dining with him or else he might sell all the food before you get there. There is running water, but since its still the dry season, the tap is sporadic and in my 48 hour stay it was only present in one of my many attempts to turn on a faucet. There’s no phone, no cell service, no Internet and only one place to stay. Its 3 hours from its nearest neighbor and the road requires a 4x4. Supposedly its one of Bolivia’s poorest municipalities, although I probably wouldn’t have thought that if I hadn’t been told it – more than poor it just felt isolated.
Unbeknownst to me, my partner organization arranged a series of interviews for me with the mayor, superintendent, town council and others. The point of my trip was an introduction to the communities and the organization’s work in them. But I was also scheduled to return to La Paz the following week to meet with the director and explain my research plans. But I had no plans…I more or less abandoned the angle of my original proposal upon my arrival in August and have been wandering about the country like an enigma interested in everything but focused on nothing, allowing my partner orgs to control my schedule and work.
So as I went through the morning of “interviews” in San Pedro, I had nothing to ask…and with each hour I felt my stress level, blood pressure and desperation rising. In one interview I actually tuned out the person (not that hard to do when they’re speaking in your second language) and started writing a letter to God, basically saying, “please help” in a variety of ways. I was eventually rescued by Bolivia’s three-hour lunch break, and went back to my room for a nap. What was I going to tell the director when I got back to La Paz? Why was I wasting these people’s time and looking like a fool? After almost two months of considering over a dozen research themes, I was at the end of my rope. I took a deep breath, rolled my eyes in anger at myself, and fell asleep…
But while I slept, the dry riverbed cracked, the earth shifted, and the soil was plowed. Pachamama delivered her secrets and upon awakening my project sat in my cupped hands like fresh water in the Andean dry season. I was elated.
Ironically it’s virtually the same theme as my undergrad thesis, but with field research and a less naive approach. But I figure that’s what brought me to Bolivia and why I fell in love with it in the first place. Besides, as T.S. Eliot says, “The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”
Though the stress was gone and I was completely content, my pilgrimage didn’t end in San Pedro. I journeyed further to the center of the earth on literally the worst road I’ve ever seen, so much so that there was no road at some points, to Toro Toro, where Dinosaurs once roamed, as evident by their fossils and petrified tracks. A warm shower awaited us there, although breakfast did not, as the whole town was simply and literally out of bread.
No llama fetus, no moonshine, no magic…just gratitude for the work to come and a new appreciation of La Paz, which now feels like the first world with its paved streets and running water. I’m anticipating three months in San Pedro, but hoping for two – I mean I like adventure, but this place isn’t even in my guidebook! ;)
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