Castle Competition 2010

Sarah and I are getting a few things in our lives sorted out before our return to New Zealand. The biggest area to be tidied up is pressing, to say the least. Today we have taken steps to ameliorate this part of our relationship that has, for so long, held us back. The issue at hand, “who is the better sand castle technician?”

We are now harnessing the power of social networking sites and calling on you to clear this up for us. Let democracy and the voices of the masses reign. I think it is pretty obvious whose castle is better but for the sake of objectivity we have not provided you with the creator of each edifice.

If you could please take the time to have a look at photos of The City of Sand (top photo) and The Grand Castle of Punta del Diablo (bottom photo) and then vote via the poll in the top right of the widget column we would be most grateful.

To the victor the spoils and, to Sarah and Bevan, a happy-ever-after.

Much later (out of Bolivia)

Bolivia

We finally got out of Bolivia and since then my experience has been surprisingly similar to when we first arrived in South America. Now on the road there seems to be saturation of experiences and amongst all that what is to say? Life is really fun but also becomes a big list; meeting those people, going there, drinking that and eating this, “notice that different use of Spanish?” and, “the ethnicities of the city?”

Blah blah.

When I started travelling I thought my response was due to a lack of experience but now I actually think it is just an intrinsic part of travelling. Perhaps the real reason you travel instead just reading travel books your whole life.

As it was we left Cochabamba with a swag of generous goodbyes and dinners and left for Santa Cruz. In some ways Santa Cruz was the perfect place to exit though we did not know it at the time. Santa Cruz is very mestizo in comparison to the rest of Bolivia and, generally, a lot more modern. This was a good ‘climate’ to transition into the southern countries of this continent.

In Santa Cruz we drank beer, swam in the pool, commented on the humidity, met some really cool backpackers, watched the sunset and went to the Mariposario (which was so bizarre in its size and Club Med type styling, was I really in Bolivia?) as well as seeing a very excellent art exhibition that was put on for the 200 anniversary of the city. The art exhibition was made of a lot artists working in a lot of different mediums and they were well executed.

The most interesting was an installation called Estacion de Lluvia by Ricardo Lanzarini. He had painted a high ceilinged roof white and then drawn tiny grotesqueries in lead pencil all around the room. To observe the pieces better the artist included two magnifying glasses.

After all this we said our final farewells and tried to leave Bolivia through Paraguay. This did not work out. This is a long story which I will not bore anyone with but involved getting ripped off and put on a very uncomfortable bus to Asuncion which we eventually exited before we got ourselves into an unwanted situation. Later we, somehow, got our money back from the bus company and decided to go to Buenos Aires instead of seeing a new country.

Argentina

Getting out of Argentina was a hassle at first but a total pleasure in the end. After the Bolivian border we were stopped three times within half an hour to have our bags and bus searched. I was getting pretty wound up by the third stop but after that it was clean sailing and we had a really relaxing 42 hour ride which I just loved; we had full-cama and I was reading The Ninja. I almost did not want to get off at the other end.

Overall BA was a total breeze and almost felt too easy. And massive. After being in Bolivia for ten months it was almost like being in the city for the first time again. Only better. I could not believe how big and modern it seemed and how Caucasian everything [sic] seemed. It was a big surprise to be seeing things this way to both Sarah and I.

We stayed here for a few days, checked Malba and drank in the afternoons in Plaza Dorrego. At this stage we had totally embraced the tourist lifestyle and after our “attempt to go to Paraguay” loved feeling at ease. In fact, we had a few laughs going through the city and seeing what parts of the city we had thought looked dangerous before Bolivia.

Uruguay

Getting to Uruguay was a lot of fun. It was a day that included a subway, a bus, a train, a taxi and a boat. The border crossing was almost perfunctory and everyone in Uruguay was polite. The first thing I saw when we landed in Carmelo was an alfajoreres advertisement with Diego Forlán. I am not sure what a better introduction to this country could be.

Since then we have been to Montevideo. I have listen to Up on the Catwalk by Simple Minds, walked around the city, watched working class football teams play on a field next to the sea, stayed at a nice hostel and been charmed by the locals (one of which stopped us in the supermarket, had a chat to us and then invited us to dinner!). I also have to say that though the accent here is the same as in Argentina - thankfully - the Uruguayan Spanish is much easier to understand, “¡¡¡SiiiiIIIIIIIIII!!!”

Now we are in Punta del Diablo staying in a beach side cottage which is ridiculously nice. We are having a great time taking on a ‘vacation’ type mentality and having the sound of the sea wakes us up in the mornings.

Handmade

Some people might try and tell you that they volunteer to make a difference in people’s lives and make the world a better place. That might sound nice but the real reason you do it is so that you can do fun stuff that you would not usually get to do in your "real" career.

At Performing Life I have had the opportunity to use my professional skills to create some content for their website and write two grants; I once again found myself sitting in front of a computer typing away in Word. It would be disingenuous for me to say that it was not fun to do this. It did actually feel like I was doing something of worth. At the same time I was still just sitting in front of computer trying to meet a deadline and a set of guidelines. It was work that got a tick in both the productive and boring columns.

Well luckily for me I am working with John. One day he came in and was talking about possible performance ideas for the group and the next day I was reviewing an online guide for building stilts and sketching out a basic design. We bought some wood, debated what other materials to use and where we could find them, got stuck on the shin-guard but eventually came up with a solution.

Once we had those matters taken care of we made a prototype which was structurally sound but had two right feet instead of one of each. A small oversight and easily fixed in proceeding sets. The stilt project is a perfect example of why I have enjoyed volunteering. This work was a perfect mix of craftsmanship and invention. The creative aspect of researching and designing stilts and then getting splinters in my hands and the smell of burning wood up my nose from the power drill was the most refreshing working experience I have had in long time.

And then yesterday we finished the last pair and took them to the afternoon class. Did I mention that we ignored conventional wisdom and made the stilts really high? I was skeptical of whether or not the kids would use them or not in the first place. But adding the peril of height to mix made my expectations very low. How wrong I was. The kids were really into them and were used the entire time that afternoon. Making something with my hands, making something that actually worked and having the kids use them has been very satisfying.

This morning

My coffee is black

Outside the day is quite hot

and I need to work

A fugitive from a killer. A remote outpost. A fight to the death.

One of Evo’s unpopular new laws was the ban on imported cars from Japan that are over five years old. Reports suggest that previous unregulated car importation has transformed access to public transport throughout the country. More cars, more rides. But also more traffic, more pollution. Meanwhile, there are micros which continue to thrive in Cochabamba, and most other major cities in Bolivia, that look as though they have been around since the seventies.

It is very possible that these were imported from overseas as a hand-me-downs but I cannot find any articles to confirm this. These vehicles recall the yellow school buses from the United States but have stylized paint work and elaborate hood ornaments like the Jeepney in the Philippines.

The paint jobs are all the same and only vary in terms of color scheme; blue-red, green, blue and orange-red. When you get on the bus you can always tell were the owner is from as the front windscreens are covered in stickers of Bolivian football teams (usually Bolivar).

To individualize the buses the owners also add their own personal touches. A lot of buses have images of Freddy Krueger or wolves painted on the back of the bus. My favorite personalization is the Legionnaire themed bus I saw a couple of weeks ago. Why throw-back to the 80s with Freddy Krueger when you could throw-back to a late 90s, Claude Van Damme, straight-to-video classic like this? The best part is the guy must have had this costom made. Today the colors are sun faded, but the quest for freedom continues.

I've never seen a Prime Minister of New Zealand

This week was the 200 year anniversary of Cochabamba. So not surprisingly we were treated to more marching bands and more public holidays. The event did provide us with one unique opportunity. Evo Morales acknowledged the day by gracing the Cochabambinos with his presence. This was a stroke of luck for me because I really wanted to see him in the flesh and I thought it would never happen. I felt especially lucky about this when I heard he had declined to attend the Santa Cruz annual event.

It is likely that this was because Santa Cruz is part of the Media Luna region which does not have a lot of affection for El Preseidente. In fact they hate him, more or less, in those parts. Evo is busy representing an indigenous majority meanwhile people in Santa Cruz, who are predominately mestizo and progressive/modern, do not agree with his policies.

That is not to say people love him in Cochabamba. There is plenty of graffiti about the town that says "Evo Cabron", "Evo Culo", "Asesino Evo" and "Vota NO". These comments are routinely supported by locals that we chat with. While they do not want to kill him they do not rate him and are looking forward to the day he is out of office. This is also supported by Facebook Data Mining that gives me suggestions to join groups like You Do Not Know HOW MUCH I hate Evo Morales. This surely reflects the inclinations of (the everyday, normal) Bolivians who I am connected to on that site.

Me personally, I can't get with that. There is no doubt he is an average politician and has made mistakes but he has also done some cool stuff. Like the new Constitution that acknowledges the indigenous diversity (plurinational) of the country and more recently the work he is doing to change the media's practice of describing campesinos in defamatory ways. On this latter point I am a little strident. Surely the fact that he needs to pass this law reflects the everydayness of racism here and highlights why people in Santa Cruz fail to connect with his position.

Whatever the case it was really fun to see the president march through Cochabamba this week. It was a really hot day and it must have been hard work walking the streets. The other thing that was great was the support Evo got on his march. Everyone was running up the street cheering for him and chanting his name. I had a big cheesy grin on my face and skipped up through the crowd trying to get a decent photo of the man. It was so refreshing to be around Bolivians actually supporting their president. The reality is that I have not seen Bolivians outwardly supporting him in all my travels. As such I now have a small, but important, bit of context on Bolivia. There are some people living in a city that like who they have running the country.

20 photos to and from work: Saturday 11 September

Walking to and from Performing Life

On my walks this week I have taken a some of photos in an attempt to capture the everydayness of life for Sarah and I. Absent here are a couple of subjects I wanted to shoot but couldn't. The first is the Potosi beggars (grandmothers with their grandchildren). The second was an image of an older man sitting in a park throwing popcorn to the pigeons. I am still not comfortable shooting the former (and there are enough photos on the Internet anyway) and on the latter... well, I wish I had but at the time did not want to abuse his privacy.

The one thing I have not been able to capture - that I wanted to - is the bird life in Cochabamba. At the moment there appears to be a migration happening due to the change of season. Sadly my camera and my ability as a photographer have not allowed me to frame this part of the city.

Seeing is believing: Friday 10 September

Thoughts you have when you are leaving

Sarah mentioned to me that I needed to buy some toilet paper today. The mundane nature of that task combined with the year in South America coming to an end (and possibly the influence of watching the first 20 minutes of 2012 last night) got me thinking about the toilet and its place in our life.

But first some background: Travelers

Ask any traveler and they will concur. It happens about ten minutes after a group of them sit down together. They will start going through the motions (pun intended); relating what they have been doing and where they are going next. Then something else happens. Without noticing 45 minutes will have passed and the group will have only just started to realize they have, unabatedly, talked about feces and piss that entire time.

The script for talking about your own excrement normally follows along the following lines:

• The psychological trauma of having severe diarrhea for more than a week
• The profundity of having a solid shit after two weeks of diarrhea
• The worst toilet you ever encountered and had to use (AKA “Excuse to Let People Know You Were in South East Asia Once”)
• The most exposed place you ever had to relieve yourself in
• “This one time on the bus”
• And finally, a half hour digression about how you cannot believe you have just talked about your own piss and shit for so long…

This is a typical meet-and-greet traveler’s conversation. I would not blame anyone thinking that this is either a “tall story” or on the other end of the spectrum “typical, puerile and tedious”. Only the latter is true. It is what it is.

Back to Sarah’s request: What doesn’t seem to get talked about

The first custom you have to get used to in Latin America is throwing you toilet paper in the bin next to the bowl instead of in it (apparently the pipes just cannot handle the excess waste). This is more difficult to do than you might first imagine for three reasons.

The first is that you do not realize how programmed to the practice of ripping, wiping and dropping. Initially you believe that you will stick with your own custom because not flushing it seems unhygienic. Then you start realize that dropping it might lead to the cubicle being flooded with water from a full bowl so you don’t take the risk. The third hurdle to get over is the simple fact that it is reflexive to drop it in the bowl. One of the weirdest conversations you have with yourself in Latin American (after having accidently dropped some paper in the bowl) is “do I pick up that up to avoid the embarrassment of making an unwanted mess here or do I hope like crazy that this thing goes down”. Outside you hear waiters rushing around and a car murmur past the building but there you are, squinting, still wondering what to do.

Anyway. You eventually get used to sitting next to basket of other peoples shit-smeared toilet paper and its presence barely causes you to flinch. It is what happens next that is fascinating to me.

After you drop your paper in the basket you stand up and then lean over to the cistern and flush. Through this act of flushing you naturally glance at the waste. This was the thought that struck me this morning when Sarah she asked me to go to the store. For all my life I have never really looked at my own feces. Now, in September of 2010 in Bolivia, Cochabamba I realize I have, everyday (more or less) for ten months been looking at my own shit. Back home this was not even an issue. It was always covered with the discarded paper.

Something for the marketing team

We travel the world to see new things and experience new cultures. And to not have to work. Maybe this isn’t Machu Picchu but I assert that this is one of the most unexpected and interesting views going. Nothing puts you in touch with your own eating patterns, habits and general health than looking at your fresh turd floating in the bowl. Have I gotten accustomed to this? I really don’t know. But the thing that strikes me about this is that while this is not the Galápagos Islands it is something cultural that I can take home with me. Not a photo, not a colloquialism and not souvenir from a shop.

No milk today: Thursday 09 September

The day ran out and there is no time to write a blog but some how it has ended with my brain on ice and watching 2012.

We are in Bolivia… they are in Christchurch after the quake: Wednesday 08 September

After I got over my irritation surrounding (a) The Heralds over-reporting on the earthquake (what do sales figures do after a national disaster?) (b) John Keys demagogic rhetoric about staying in New Zealand instead of going to Europe (why was this even a question) (c) the Save National Radio Facebook groups sanctimonious comment that it is “times like this that people realize what a national treasure this service is and that it must be protected from the tinkering ideologues” (and I love the National Radio) and (d) somnolent articles that assert that “researchers” have figured out that the timing of the earthquake and the level of poverty in Haiti led it to be a much “deadlier” earthquake (thanks for the insight The Researchers) I finally got to wondering about this whole deal.

OK, on that last one I am still irked. A more bald fact could not be present in this situation. I do not see why I should have to accept such shallow reportage on something so serious.

In Bolivia both Sarah and I have been surprised about how many people have asked us about the quake and, of course, if any of our family has been affected. A fair question to ask. Our reaction: on the one hand we both have an unearned sense of pride that someone is asking about our own country and on the other we are unable to fully appreciate the reality of the disaster and therefore give a solid answer with a fitting tone. What is unique about this situation is our distance; figuratively and literally. While Sarah has family in Christchurch we know that they are OK so there is only a moderate level of concern for their wellbeing.

In actuality this event reminds me that we are disconnected. Sarah and I are not part of the day-to-day national discourse about the recovery effort or the sharing of stories of family and friends whose lives have been forever changed by this. We did not grow up or spend “special times” in that part of the world to link us to the place. Consequently, when someone asks us about the quake we are only able to give dry answers with little feeling or context. We are part of the periphery on this one with the rest of the world.

Being on the periphery has been interesting (in no way do I say “interesting” to trivialize the suffering of real people in Canterbury). People are checking the papers from their home towns or cities and reporting back to us what they have read about New Zealand and we in turn are doing the same. Our discourse about the quake relates to that of what other foreigners ask and know. The only advantage we have is that we can also refer to Facebook ‘status updates’ to get an edge on what people are experiencing.

It is this last point that genuinely pleases me. Facebook gets a lot of (warranted) flack. On this occasion I have welcomed seeing status updates from the whole gamut. Like the girl I worked with five years ago who is having a cupcake sale to raise money. Or hearing from people who live in Christchurch casually refer to aftershocks without the heavy-handed emotional style that I would have endured on the six o’clock news. The media is never going to be democratic or egalitarian but at least these days we don’t have to only listen to the Herald for a view on what is happening on the ground level.

Jeezum Crow: Tuesday 07 September

Today I walked to work listening to Steppin Out by Joe Jackson and found the new entry from TONY along the way. It was in a new area too. I really hope this guy continues this trend for at least the next month; consistency will elevate this average (though competent) stencil style to something bigger and better. The new location of the stencil makes my imagination run wild. I want this TONY project to be as wacky as wacky as the alleged Hexagram Murders.

As I dreamt about this stupid idea a lady strolled toward me walking her dog. A dog on a leash is a conspicuous sight in this part of the world. As it turns out this well-heeled dog skipped up to me and attempted to bite my leg. I was so mad but in the moment did not react (I think, absurdly, that I didn't want to give the dog the pleasure of seeing my surprise). All the meanwhile the lady just kept on walking, did not acknowledge me, did not say sorry or look over her shoulder. Ha ha [...] I was livid.

They day finished up with a rendezvous with Ken Moody. We met Ken via some friends who knew him through the Maryknoll Institute. On this occasion Ken invited us out to see the group Awatiñas. Great to finally see a classic, traditional, Bolivian band play live. On more than one occasion we had made plans to see Bolivia's most famous act, Los Kjarkas, play but it never happened. I am convinced that Ken does not have a lot of dough. Despite this he paid for our tickets into this show anyway thus providing some symmetry in the day following the petty confrontation in the morning.

Days go by… coun’nem: Monday 06 September 2010

Today I finally found myself back at Casa Cuna. This turned out to be a downbeat visit. Virginia said that she thought I wasn’t going to come back. This made me feel lame but only for a moment. I soon felt even worse was when she told me why they asked me back. They had a present for me.

The present was a hand painted (by Virginia) length of cotton detailing men and woman in traditional Bolivian dress. A thoughtful gift and one that would have taken a lot of effort to complete. There is a lot of detail on this thing.

Besides this Israel looked morose and didn’t want to talk much. He looked lonely. But I am projecting with that; pure conjecture. I do not know what was up with the dude. Virginia gave me some papaya and told me that they are still waiting (until October now) to find out if they are going to get the kids back. Make of this situation what you will… what do you say. Keep hope alive and stop living in the past?

They are good people at Casa Cuna so it was nice to see them. Despite this the overriding feeling after the visit was sadness. It was hours later until I felt better. It took an afternoon run up the Cristo and some wind in my face. After the run I tried to think of something to do to break up my routine. Something new to create modicum of spontaneity in the day. The best I could come up with was buying a Paderborner Brauere from Super Hass instead of Taquiña from the lady on the corner.

Such a cool little dude

The days are dwindling in Cochabamba (only one full month to go) and with this comes a pang, for sure. But also, there has been time for a new routine to form with Performing Life post-Casa Cuna; run and study an hour a piece before 08:30AM and then off to work.

By far the best part about getting to work is seeing the dudes from the morning performance art class; Wilber, Nelson, Vladimir, Lino and Efrain. Everyday these guys travel from the north-west hills of Cochabamba to Performing Life classes in the city and then back again in the afternoon for school (if you want to be part of Performing Life classes you have to attend school). This is a real commitment. The great thing is that these guys let me practice Spanish and juggling with them before and after their morning class.

At the moment the guy who is working me over the most is Vladimir. He is such a cool little dude. Nine years old. Every morning he wanders into my office with an air of disinterest. He then casually asks if I have my “lados” (his word for my Ben10 Rubik’s cube) that Sarah bought me when we got to the end of the Urkupiña Virgin pilgrimage.

Just like me Vladi has his routine too. Every day he walks in with feet as weightless as a Joe90 marionette and a massive smile. Offhandedly asks if I have the cube then sets to work on putting together the picture of Cuatro Brazos (Four Arms). Quickly losing interest in this he then grabs the juggling balls John has lent me and we battle with new tricks I am trying to learn. Once he is finished kicking my but he asks if there are any games on the computer and then runs out the door to be with the rest of the crew without saying goodbye.

Man, if only my working day back in the real world started like this. It is impossible not to be impressed by the boys in the morning class. It is very hard not to spend the next half hour grinning after Vladimir has paid his morning visit; this guy is my new role model.

Stencils again

Cochabamba and La Paz

While not as acute as before the compulsion to make a record of all the stencils in Cochabamba has continued. I have to say that the overall style of the stencils has not changed to much over six months. Political and idiosyncratic expressions are still the norm.

I should note that when we were in La Paz many months ago the approach to stenciling up there is almost identical. A lot of anti-war/capitalist/animal rights and playful/humorous-type pieces. At least La Paz had the coolest municipal-type stencil I have seen. A friendly cartoon rendition of a Police Officer. Satisfyingly ironic perhaps?

CBBA Artists

What has been nice recently is seeing new artists emerge while others seem to fade completely. I have not seen a piece by ADM for some time (which “ADM” this is, I do not know).

There is one graffiti artist in Cochabamba, Ash, who is very prolific. So prolific that I wonder if
"Ash" is actually a crew (though how can we ever forget North Shore legend "Ratz"). He has done a stencil or two around town but seems to have shifted his focus to throw-ups and unsophisticated, though competent, bombs. I was walking out of my apartment yesterday and the piece below had just appeared overnight.

An artist calling himself Tony turned up the week before last and he has been very busy by all accounts. He has three or so pieces that have turned up in a myriad of places. His designs are not amazing but his application of paint is uncommonly slick for Cochabamba. Who knows, possibly this work is by an extranjero.

At the same time (literally in the same week) as the Tony pieces a series of stencils that were anti-capitalist and idiosyncratic appeared also. Their size and palette is the same as the Tony pieces so it’s possibly the same guy. The only thing is that Tony seems to go for “recognizability” where as these other pieces are anonymous. My favorite from this series is the facsimile of the National Geographic cover Afghan Girl though it fails to take advantage of the intense eyes of the subject; the key detail.

Mata²rte (Mata Arte)

The most original and talented artist working in Cochabamba is Mata²rte. As far as stenciling goes he does a fantastic job integrating an excellent sense of design, scale (all his pieces are about four feet tall), humor and Bolivian imagery. He also gets around. When we were in La Paz last – 234 kilometers away from Cochabamba – there was evidence all around the city of a visit by him.

I was given a lead that he was on Facebook. As such I sent him a message to get some background on his work but frustratingly he has not responded. I have tried Googling for articles on him but nothing-doing.

The only other record of his work that I am aware is on a blog called Where Are Andy and Jenny? We had the chance to get to know Andy and Jenny while they were in Cochabamba and Andy actually went out on with Mata²rte and another colleague to do “some work.” If you follow the link you can actually see photos of these pieces going up. It is a great record.

Yup

On a personal level it is frustrating discovering a new stencil when I do not have my camera. I went for my 06:00AM run on Thursday and found one in a park I had never been through before. At moments like these I am excited and irritated by the burden of having to come back so that my Pokémon like excess is sated. Once I discover a new stencil I always have to go back. Do you know how big a hassle that is?

The lyrical side of this project is of course watching the city change at a quotidian level. The city is always becoming new with fresh stencils and old with stencils from yesterday eroding from the warm, dry conditions of Cochabamba. With this observation I always wonder to myself if I can stop trying to record every stencil.

I live in hope. With some luck this blog entry will cure me.

Stencil Albums

If you want to look at the whole collection check out:

• Here for La Paz
• Here for new stencilis from Cochabamba
• Here for stencils by Marte Arte