Don't Cry For Me, I'm In Argentina

Saludos and Feliz Año Nuevo! I hope you all survived the holidays and are looking forward to getting back to "real life" if you haven't yet already. 2007 is done and 2008 is upon us whether we like it or not. It shall be interesting to see what 2008 holds for us.

In the spirit of taking a much-needed vacation, I have traveled with some Volunteer friends down to Salta, Argentina. Salta is about 7 hours (on a bus) from the border of Argentina and Bolivia, which really isn't that far. There were three main legs of the trip to get here...from my site to Santa Cruz, from Santa Cruz to the border, and then from the border to Salta. Although it's by far the shortest leg distance, the trip from my site to Santa Cruz took the longest and involved sitting on buses that weren't moving, walking barefoot in the mud and rain, digging out and pushing pick-up trucks filled to the brim with campesinos and tractors hauling those pick-up trucks through ridiculously deep mud-holes. The truth is, I could write an entire blog entry about that little 40 km jaunt, but I think I'll stick with the positive on this.

First of all, let's get some profiles on the characters of this particular story...my travel buddies that is:

First comes Dan Wright from Michigan (Ann Arbor no less!)...Dan is one of my best pals from my training group but due to what some may consider an over-zealous dedication to his work and the availability of things in his site (items like cheddar cheese, ice cream, etc) he rarely leaves and it had been about 6 months since our paths crossed. Here's a photo of Dan and I at one of the many ice cream joints we tested in Salta.
Next we have Ross Pike hailing from Maine...Ross is a third year volunteer who has stayed in his site to keep up the good work for an extra year. He was a fine arts major at the University of Florida so he has a good eye for photos. He and Dan share the same site, although Ross finds his way out of it a little more often than Dan.

Our Chinese friend Karen hails from Murphysboro, Tennessee and is just about the nicest person you'll ever meet. She is dating Ross and made the trip all the way from Cochabamba to keep us guys honest during this trip. Also, Karen seems to have a tapeworm, like most Chinese Americans I know. The girl is always hungry. Here she is chomping down a sausage sandwich on the ride up the gondola. We love you Karen!

Abe Mooney is from Eugene, Oregon and has a wizard for a father. Abe is also from my training group so we have known each other as long as anyone in Bolivia. Abe traveled down a few days earlier to Salta with his Bolivian wife-to-be Carla and we met up with him when we arrived later.

Joe Stevens from Somewhere Other than Ann Arbor, Michigan arrived in country a few months after me and luckily for him got placed in Santa Cruz and therefore gets to hang out with us. Joe likes to remind everyone he went to Butler University in Indiana and can speak at length on many topics...ranging from any sports event in the last 20 years you can name, blackjack or the economic state of South America. Because we are not interesting enough for Joe, he brought along his Spanish girlfriend Consuelo, who put up with us speaking English and surprised everyone when she spouted off pretty good english herself.

With nothing concrete planned for New Year's, Dan and I had been in touch about figuring out plans to hang out. We kicked around going to La Paz or perhaps Samaipata but eventually decided that getting out of Bolivia would be a real vacation and a much-needed break from our beloved home away from home. We met up in Santa Cruz city and the fun began with an 8 hour overnight bus ride to the Bolivian border town of Yacuiba. We then headed down to the border and began the border crossing process…filling out forms and waiting in lines. We had heard that it was a bit of a hassle, but we were not prepared for what turned out to be a five hour wait in a line that was not very long at all. It was like they were doing thorough background checks on everyone trying to cross the border or something…it was pretty ridiculous. We stayed sane by working on some crossword puzzles that I think Ellen and Dan sent me like a year ago. I feel like the frustration would have mounted and we may have hurt someone had we not had the crossword puzzles. Here's us in line drinking coke FROM A CAN!

Once finally across and a little grumpy, we headed to the bus station to see when we could catch a bus to Salta. There was one leaving within the hour, so we bought tickets. This was our first introduction to the smooth running country of Argentina. We walked up to the first window we saw, said we wanted four tickets and the guy punched it up (on a COMPUTER no less!), printed them off and handed them to us. No names, no ID’s, nothing. In Bolivia, the average bus ticket experience includes running around to six different lines looking for tickets, shoving people to get to the desk, firing a road flare past the face of the worker to get him or her to attend to you, haggle the price for a few minutes to make sure they aren’t ripping you off, them writing your name on a piece of paper that has the bus seat numbers on it, then writing out a receipt by hand. Then you shove your way back through the crowd of people and try to avoid getting robbed on the way out of the terminal. Ok, ok, I am exaggerating. But ask any other volunteer…I am not GROSSLY exaggerating.

Our next “Welcome to Argentina” experience was the purchase and consumption of Budweiser beer. Here is Ross celebrating our arrival:
I think I have expressed before that Bolivian beer leaves much to be desired and the presence of the King of Beers in South America brought a smile to all of our faces and tummies.

We got on our bus and were greeted by a clean cut driver wearing a tie, air conditioning and super comfortable seats and windows that didn’t rattle. We knew this was going to be a good trip. After about 7 hours on the fancy bus, we made it to Salta and found a hostel to set up camp. With a hankerin’ for some Argentine food, we took some awesome hot showers and made our way to the main plaza which was beautiful. It was here we were introduced to part of the culture in Argentina for which we were not prepared. First of all, unlike Bolivia, there were restaurants open past 10pm. Also, there were whole families eating dinner around midnight…families with kids and everything. It seems like Argentina is a “night” culture and that is normal. This was a change for us volunteers who live in the campo and are up and down more or less with the sun. But coincidentally, that night was Argentine daylight savings and they moved ahead another hour in addition to the hour they were ahead after we crossed the border. So that put them two hours ahead of Bolivia, which lies directly north. Imagine being in Cincinnati at 8pm but having to check movie times at Newport on the Levee in Kentucky for 10pm…kind of wild. But it’s all to accommodate the night culture. The sun wasn’t really up until about 8am and stayed out until 10pm…it was kind of nice! After we had some food and yummy beer (Guinness….mmmmmm) we walked around a little bit and headed back to the hostel for bedtime.

The next day we slept off our trip until about 11am. Abe showed up at our hostel and moved his stuff in and we headed to the plaza again to find some breakfast/lunch. By coincidence we ran into Joe and Consuelo there and we all sat down at a nice outdoor place for some pretty good food. Without a doubt though the best part of the meal was the guy who was walking around selling BING CHERRIES. They looked like they were straight from Washington state…incredible. I honestly thought I was in heaven. Just add it to the list of things that would never happen in Bolivia. Here I am enjoying the fruits of Argentina...literally!

Before I continue, I would like to address something. So far in this little story of mine I have alluded to things in Argentina that were nicer or “better” than in Bolivia. And there will probably be more instances of that as you continue reading. I do not want to give you the idea that Bolivia is just a hole of a country that we all despise. This is not entirely true. Sure, there are those days, but it’s not Bolivia’s fault. And Argentina was really just a breath of fresh air that we all needed to remind ourselves that not all of South America is characterized by the things we don’t like about Bolivia. And also why Bolivia needs help from us volunteers. Despite all this, at times it was hard not to knock Bolivia while on our trip. That being said, please bear with what may at times seem like loathing for the country and people of Bolivia.

Argentina felt very welcoming to us foreigners for many reasons. In general, people seem to be much more educated than they are in Bolivia…so we didn’t get questions like “did you come here on a bus” or “how close is America to Spain?” or “how long are the roads closed in America when it rains?” which was a nice break. Argentinians are more accustomed to having people from other countries around because it is a much bigger tourism country than Bolivia. That and there is a much larger European influence there. A lot of Italians went to Argentina to get away from the fascism during World War II. So as opposed to having a huge indigenous population at odds with a European-descended aristocratic-like upper class like you have in Bolivia, it seems to be much more of a level playing field. Granted, we were really only exposed to the city life in one of the cities, but that was certainly the feel we got. We also didn’t feel quite as out of place because we really didn’t stand out as gringos as much as we do in Bolivia. Because of the increased European influence, people were in general lighter-skinned and more “American looking.” Again, I don’t necessarily mean that was a good thing, but it made us feel much less conspicuous which I think subconsciously made us feel like we were more welcome. A lot of people seemed to speak English, even if it was the basics only. In Bolivia, “the basics” of English consist of poorly pronounced swear words and every once in a while a “mai freynd” or “teecher.” The people in Argentina could actually communicate with their English. Not that speaking English makes a person educated, but you could just tell that they had more of a capacity for learning that most of the Bolivians we are exposed to in the campo. The low capacity for learning here in Bolivia is something I think would be hard for someone who does not live here to understand…

Back to our trip. That first evening we were in Salta we took a Gondola ride up to a lookout over the city, which was really cool to see it all from above. We walked around and took some photos and then walked back down to get a little exercise. Here is a shot of all of us at the top (left to right - Dan, Abe, Karen, Ross):

We met up with Joe and Consuelo that night for dinner at a “parillada” place which is where you basically order this big grill thing that they bring out to you still cooking and it’s all these different parts of the cow. There is regular meat and sausage, but there is also heart, kidney, intestines, liver, udder and few other unidentified parts. We pretty much killed the whole thing and it was a good experience trying all the food and stuff, but it left me wondering what all the talk was about concerning the meat in Argentina. We headed out to the “strip” and found a few places to have some drinks and some good conversation. This is what I’d been looking for…good times spent with good friends. It was just that.

The next day was New Year’s Eve. New Year’s has never been a huge deal for me…usually just another party. That’s what it turned to be this year as well, but it wasn’t without its own nuances. For one, I was celebrating in my third country in as many years and it crossed my mind that it would be cool to keep that tradition up. But that would probably mean giving up chopping wood at Bunker Hill Farm with the Shultzs around New Year’s, which I can’t say I’m ready to do quite yet. Anyway, we slept until 11am, which seemed ridiculously late until we remembered that our bodies thought it was 9am. We headed to the plaza for some food which was pretty good but what was even better was the ice cream afterwards. There are ice cream shops all over in Salta and every single one of them was delicious. I think I sampled five different places while we were there and was not once anything less than 100% satisfied. Way better than anything you can find in Bolivia and definitely better than the stuff they scoop out of a Styrofoam cooler in my site that leaves me wondering how they can get cardboard to change colors and freeze like that. Being the ice cream connoisseur I am, this put a ton more points in Argentina’s column.

We did a little more exploring, bought our bus tickets back to the border (which, amazingly, you can do two days ahead of time without worrying about losing your seat) and headed back to the hostel. We bummed around there for a while and then decided to split up. Dan, Abe and I were headed to another hostel owned by the same people where there was going to be a little gathering with some food. There were some English girls we had met that were staying at our hostel and we had a good time chatting with them and I enjoyed annoying them with my attempted English accent, which reminded me of the time Coleman and I did that for a whole night once out at JR Miggs. Anyway, we got there and the food was way less desirable than I had hoped. They served chicken, which again left me hankering for this amazing Argentine meat that the whole world talks about. It was fun talking with some other travelers (the English girls as well as some people from Argentina) but we realized this wasn’t going to be an all night event for us. We bailed about 11:30 to head back and get cleaned up before we met back up with Ross, Karen, Joe and Consuelo.

Abe had bought some fireworks and was looking for a place to shoot them off…so we headed out to the street to see what was going on. Fireworks were going off everywhere, it sounded like a militarized zone or something. Abe, Dan and I found a family that was celebrating New Years out in front of their house and they were extremely friendly and let us share in their gala. They gave us fireworks to shoot off, offered us some wine and we stayed there for about an hour and a half shooting the bull, talking about our respective countries and giving hugs and handshakes to welcome the new year. It was probably the most genuine interaction we had with people from that country…people who weren’t selling us bus tickets or giving us directions. Just normal people. I was really glad we got that because it confirmed what we already suspected…that Argentines are extremely welcoming and friendly. Apparently everyone spends the actual “ball drop” of New Year’s with their family and then heads out later to have a good time. We said good-bye to our surrogate family and headed out to the strip around 2am. I mentioned before about the “night-culture” they have there…well we certainly got a taste of that because when we got there, the place was still dead. We were amazed. There was no one there. Places were just starting to open up and wipe off their tables. We found a place to sit and have a drink, and by chance Joe and Consuelo walked by and joined us. I liked the feel of the whole place…I think I’ve only been “out” like that in the states on New Year’s one time…and I think we paid $80 a head to get into this bar in DC…which was fun but seemed pretty expensive. We paid about $3 to get into this little hole in the wall place (and they even gave us a beer with that cover) where we sat and chatted for a while. We then headed to another place that was playing some thumpitty-thump music to do a little dancing. This place was about $6 cover and with that came a huge bottle of Heineken beer. By this point it was just Abe, Dan and myself and we made our way to the dance floor and did some grooving. I have never been to a rave but that is kind of what I imagined with what was going on…dancing with random people to ridiculously loud thumping music, jumping around and just making a fool out of yourself. We danced for about two hours and had had enough. We found some greasy food and walked to the main plaza to watch the sun come up. It was an old-fashioned Josh Harraman Sunrise Challenge.

On the way back to the hostel we actually ran into the only two people we knew in the whole city…a guy named Sebastián that worked at the hostel and waiter that befriended us at a bar the night before. The second guy was all leathered out on his motorcycle and we mobbed him and gave him high fives and exchanged happy new years…it was a fun little run-in. We were back at the hostel by about 8am…drank some water and crashed hard. 2008 had arrived.

We slept until about midday again, found some food, then Dan and Karen and I did some more exploring and found something great: a McDonalds! Now, none of us are huge fans of McDonalds, but it just made us smile to see something that so loudly screamed “America” like those golden arches. The place was closed, but we vowed to come back the next morning in hopes of gobbling down some Egg McMuffins. We kept on exploring and got some ice cream to keep our energy up. We got back to the hostel and cleaned up and headed out for dinner, our last dinner as a big group since Joe, Consuelo and Abe were all on buses to head back that night. After stuffing ourselves at the buffet dinner, we got some last minute blackjack tips from Joe (the resident gambler in the group) and headed to the casino. After being to Vegas this place seemed pretty sorry. There were two roulette tables, four or five blackjack tables and about 11 million slot machines. I strained to remember the Blackjack basics I had picked up from my one weekend in Vegas and then strained to translate them to Spanish. Once I started playing though, I remembered that you can do it mostly with hand signals. Ross and I found seats at the table first…Ross had been itching to gamble since we’d arrived and I figured why not? Dan was a little more reserved and it took a little pushing and watching us before he joined in. We mostly bet the minimum and went off of what Joe had advised us and what I remembered…about splitting and when to hit and stuff. I determined that 50 pesos (about $16 US) would be all I used and I managed to stick to it despite wanting to throw down another 50 after the first 50 evaporated. Ross lasted a little longer than me, although he lost more too. Abe was making bigger bets and I think only ended up losing 30 pesos. Karen got in on the action and also lost 50 pesos. Dan got down to his last bet twice and came back to almost even but then ended up losing it all. We were rooting for him since he didn’t even want to play in the first place, but it was to no avail. We may have done better had I remembered more, but it was a fun time. Ross contemplated putting 100 down on one bet to try and win it all back but Karen slapped him into shape and we went for ice cream instead. Not abiding by Argentine culture, we were in bed by 1am that night.

Our last day in Salta was January 2nd…as well as my childhood friend Barney Thompson’s 27th birthday. It was by far my favorite day we had in Argentina. We were up around 8am, showered and checked out of the hostel. We walked down to McDonalds in search of our Egg McMuffins but were shot down. No such thing. There was some sort of wannabe imitation McMuffin, but I just got some croissants. BUT there was delicious McDonald’s orange juice and coffee, which was exactly the same as it is in the states…we were in heaven. Here are Ross and myself enjoying said OJ and coffee. It was an excellent start to an excellent day. We grabbed a bus that took us out of the city to a smaller pueblo about 20 minutes away called San Lorenzo. We had no firm plans but heard that their was lots of cool stuff to do around there. We got off the bus and found a place that rented bikes and decided to do that. There were no paths or anything, we just rode on the streets but it was through some incredibly beautiful country. I have never been to wine country but I imagine it looks a lot like what we saw on our ride. Huge rolling green hills with beautiful estates tucked into them here and there. Every place we saw made us say “yeah I’ll take that one.” We rode for about two hours and it was great to get out…I haven’t done any decent biking since I’ve been down here and it made me remember how much I miss it back home. Here is a pic of what some of the countryside looked like:
On the ride back we stopped a little babbling brook and had a little refresher…splashing around a bit and getting our feet wet…very nice. When we got back we snacked on some delicious Argentine-style empanadas which were, again, way better than anything you can find in Bolivia. We grabbed a bus back to Salta to clean up a bit and finish out our trip.

Next to the McDonalds was a movie theater, which we decided to hit up. That day “I Am Legend” with Will Smith was opening up, so we decided on that. It was nothing like I expected but I enjoyed it. It dealt with a virus that wiped out pretty much all of civilization except Will Smith and his dog. It made me think that something like that may be the gods’ way of pushing the “restart” button on us humans to keep us from destroying the earth and ourselves, which I think in the long run would be a good thing I believe. As long as I’m not one of the ones that dies that is…haha. Anyway, I recommend the movie. Afterwards I headed to the internet café and started writing this very blog entry (which I am finishing here in Bolivia two weeks later) while the others went to another movie. Once the second movie ended, we headed out to eat…Argentine style this time…it was about 10pm. We headed to a place that had looked nice each time we walked by it in hopes of finally getting some of the this fabled argentine steak. I had about $25 of Argentine pesos left in my wallet and was ready to spend all of them as opposed to changing them back into Bolivianos or dollars. Well, we finally got what we had been in search of the whole time. Delicious wine, incredible salad WITH DRESSING and hands down, not exaggerating, the single greatest steaks that have ever crossed my lips. I say “steaks” because we all sampled each others’ meals. Each one was to-die-for. That restaurant alone sold me on coming back to Argentina. It’s called “La Leñita” and is located on Calle Balcarce for those of you who want to take note. After the steaks we had more delicious wine and, of course, ice cream for dessert. My bill ended up being just under what I had in my wallet and I left the rest for the tip. Hands down in the Top 5 meals I’ve had since I’ve left the states…perhaps even Top 5 of my life. It certainly helped that I shared it with some excellent folks…but that food was damn good.

We took a taxi (with a METER…no haggling involved!) to the bus terminal and awaited our doom…the 1am bus back to the border…essentially back to Bolivia. We reminisced about our trip and tried our best not to be depressed we had to leave, but it was a little tough. We made a pact to come back as soon as possible and I tell you as I write this, there are tentative plans for the return trip soon. Here are the boys complaining about being back in Bolivia right after crossing the border.
We made it back to the border, crossed without any issues and found a bus back to Santa Cruz. The reality of Bolivia set in when our taxi almost hit a kid in the border town of Yacuiba and then we got on the hottest bus ride in the world…with children getting on and peddling soda and yucky empanadas every 15 minutes and an unexplained scalding hot pipe running along the floor of the bus battling with Dan’s poor ankles.

I leave you with a shot of the heavens shining down on Salta. Coincidence? I think not.

So, the long and short of it is…you should visit Argentina. I know I’m going back. See ya there!

“So This Is Christmas…”

Well, it’s safe to say this is going to be one of the more memorable Christmases…mainly due to its lack of memories. I suppose I shouldn’t say that…now that I think about it, this may be one of the most memorable Christmases since it is unlike any other I’ve had before. For one, the fan is on. Why, you ask? Well, it’s really stinking hot here. That may be the most glaring difference. Heat is not something I associate with Christmas unless it’s being emitted from an enormous pile of burning Christmas trees.

It’s Christmas morning…and so far it hasn’t been much unlike the majority of the other mornings here. Someone trying to get a hold of my host brother called my cell phone and got me out of bed earlier than I would have liked, combined with the incessant squawking of our adorable little parrots, the latest addition to the ongoing Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey Ridiculous House of Pointless Pets and Noisemaking Things…aka my house. I must say, birds have got to be the silliest pet ever (sorry, Mia!). Seriously, all they do is make noise and poop. If you want me to sit around squawking and pooping all over the place I live, I will, I’ve got spare time. I cursed the birds, put some water on to boil, brushed my hair and sat down with a cup of hot chocolate and some delicious bread over a book (ALIVE by Piers Paul Read...read it!). Pretty standard.

Santa did not make a stop by our house…rather I was forced to climb over the wall since they decided to bolt the door. There are those days where I just want to smack my host family…but I guess that’s what makes them like your real family, right? It seemed like the majority of the Christmas celebrating went on last night. I got a phone call from my family back in Ohio celebrating my mom’s 50th birthday and the phone got passed around…it was great chatting with everyone and catching up…I’m going to call it the most Christmasy moment of the season so far. The highlight had to be my first grader cousin Bobby asking me indignantly “Where are you?” like my absence was merely because I was busy and had other things to do. The Von Allmens all wished me well and told me Merry Christmas and it was nice to be part of Christmas, even if it was just for a little bit. After I got off the phone my host brother came in with a bottle of champagne and a beer and the two of us along with his friend celebrated Christmas the campesino way by trying to inebriate ourselves. I have strong suspicions whether or not the champagne was real or not but regardless it was nice of them to stop by. It was about ten o’clock by then and I had gotten a text message (praise baby jesus for cell phone service in my site) from my friends down the road that I should come over and hang out there. On the way over I got stopped by my next door neighbors who invited me in for a bite to eat…I was thankful because I did not want to have to resort to fried chicken for dinner, which is what I eat most nights when I decide to do dinner. We talked a bit and they asked me about Christmas in America and I told them the biggest difference is that it’s really cold there. “Oh, like 50 degrees or so?” they ask me…and I just laugh.

I finished up my food and headed across the street to my other friends’ house. More of the same was going on there…sitting around chatting, some food, etc. I walked with my friend Maritza over to the church where there was supposed to be mass and a nativity re-enactment (thankfully, they did not ask me to play Jesus this time) After waiting for a half hour for the priest to show up, we decided to abandon that idea. We went and sat on the plaza for a bit and watched the much-too-young children throw firecrackers and fire roman candles at each other. Fireworks are apparently big here on Christmas. I couldn’t tell if these kids really were ridiculously young to be playing unsupervised with fireworks or if it was just my over-sensitive American-ness…of course this would never happen in America but we all need a reminder every once in a while that that is not necessarily a good thing. It’s true that you can never been too safe but these kids were having fun and I think we as Americans are sometimes a little too over-controlling. I can’t say I condone it letting tiny kids throw firecrackers at each other, but I will say after a few minutes of watching them I was feeling the pyromaniac itch and almost went and bought some of my own. Maritza and I decided against this and headed back to her house for a midnight dinner. Food at midnight seems to be the big tradition for Christmas here. It was kind of like New Years because right around midnight all the firecracker noise increased for a few minutes. I can’t say I liked it very much…for me Christmas is not a crazy free for all, but a more tranquil time. And you all know that’s tough for a self-proclaimed firework junkie like myself to say.

After midnight my friends began passing out their gifts to their little nieces and nephews, who all got one and were pretty darn excited about it. That, along with hugs and kisses were the only gifts exchanged that night. There was no talk of Santa Claus or reindeer or anything like that. It was a simple Christmas for simple people. It was a nice reminder that Christmas would still be incredibly special if you take away the presents. My good pal Carlos called me around 1am and we exchanged Feliz Navidads, which was nice. I sat around with the family and talked some more for a bit and then I headed home. I was surprised to find my host nephew Cristian (12 years old) standing on the porch outside of our house. “It’s locked,” he said. Usually this means with a key but for some reason tonight my host sister had bolted it, leaving us few options. I called Lidia my host sister inside the house (again, cell phone service is amazing) but her phone was turned off. I made an attempt to get on the roof but ended up just snapping off one of the big tiles…a commotion that caused my drunken neighbor Pasqual to come stumbling out from the back of his house. It was then I remembered that he had a ladder…I asked him if I could go into his yard and use his ladder to climb over the wall. He insisted that I stay for a few drinks first but I kindly turned him down. I climbed up the ladder and saw the pile of rusty-nail filled wood on the other side…jumping in the dark did not sound too appealing…so I sat up on the wall (the width of one brick) and precariously hauled the ladder up while trying to keep my balance, all the while with Pasqual laughing at the chance that I might fall and telling me that my strategy will never work. I would like to remind the reader that this is not some nice little lightweight fiberglass ladder one would get at say Home Depot…this thing was made of tree branches nailed and wired together and was pretty heavy. Thankfully I made it down ok and went and let Cristian in. Today I plan on removing the bolt from the door since we all have keys. I flossed and brushed and went to bed with the fan blowing on me…definitely another Christmas first.

Aside from the cold, the most striking difference I feel is the lack of a Christmas spirit. Albeit sometimes a little fake, people are usually more courteous and friendly around the holidays in the states…I do not really get that feel here and it kind of bums me out. I guess Christmas is special to everyone for different reasons and here it’s not much different than any other day off of work. I can’t blame anyone for not acting like I think they should just because it’s Christmas but it does make me miss my family. Regardless, I am feeling exceptionally cheery today, perhaps propped up by the cds of Christmas music my family sent me. I think it’s safe to say that it’s going to take a lot for me not to spend my next Christmas on School Section Road. ¡Feliz Navidad!

Sweatpants, West Wing and Uno

It’s raining. It’s Wednesday afternoon and it’s raining. It started raining Monday morning and has pretty much been raining since. So, any plans I may have had to leave seemed to have been soiled. But, luckily, I didn’t or don’t have any plans to leave. And by the way this rain looks, I probably won’t be leaving until February. Which is troublesome because I’m not sure I have enough Ramen Noodles to last me that long. I may start eating frogs, since they seem to flourish in abundance here in my house. Mostly in the bathroom. So maybe eating them isn’t such a good idea. Seriously though, there’s nothing to worry about on the food front, plenty of rice and potatoes to keep me plump enough for the Big Bad Lobo. And plenty of hair on my chinny chin chin too for that matter.

I’m turning a bit Bolivian. How can I tell this? Because I no longer go out when it rains. Not just out of my house, I hardly leave my room. If I do leave my room, it’s to fill up my water bottle and empty my bladder, a process which I then reverse once returning to my room. I also muster up the courage to run up to the kitchen in the rain to get food every 5 or 6 hours and a cup of hot chocolate mixed with coffee. About a half hour ago I was forced to leave my pajamas for the first time in two days to head out because we were out of coffee and milk. Don’t worry, once I got back to my room, my pajamas found there way back on. Speaking of pajamas, I would like to take this time to personally thank my parents for making a special trip just to bring me my Ohio State sweatpants, quite possibly the most comfortable lower-extremity cover in the history of the world. And the best part is, they still smell like good ‘ol Cincinnati Tide. I am leary of wearing them too much so they don’t lose the smell, I’ll let you know how that goes. Talk about living in the third world making you appreciate the little things…the smell of Tide is definitely one of those. Since they were down here already bringing the sweatpants, I decided it might be a good idea to show my parents around Bolivia a little bit, which was great…but that’s a story for another day. Because today it’s raining.

I’m not going to lie, it’s been a relaxing couple of days. My parents also brought down a pack of Uno cards, which my host family has fallen in love with. Since I taught them how to play, it has become all we do. Here’s how it usually goes when I come in from the office at lunchtime.

Me: Good afternoon family
Them: Good afternoon Benjamín. How about some Uno?
Me: Sounds good. After lunch?
Them: We’ll worry about lunch later, sit down and start shuffling.

Because they don’t know how to shuffle. Or at least do the bridge. (Totally random side story: I remember the day I taught myself how to do the bridge. I was probably 8 or 9 and I had seen someone, most likely Uncle Ron or Aunt Bea shuffling cards and asked them how I could learn that and they just said “you just have to keep practicing.” So a few days later…I think it was a Saturday, I went to work with my dad…we went to Burgundy Court to pour part of the pool deck…Bill Tepe was helping that day, which was a little weird. Anyway, I had brought a deck of cards and instead of working that hard I just practiced and practiced until I got it. Ok, back to Bolivia.) So we play Uno, and they love it, especially when someone has to keep picking cards until they get one they can play. They hoard the Wild cards until the end too, which is endlessly obnoxious…like not moving your back row in checkers. But it’s fun, I like watching them laugh…and when people come over, they teach them too. So we’ve been playing a lot of Uno during these rainy days as well.

I have not been completely unproductive. I finished one book (One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey) and started another (Even Cowgirls Get the Blues by Tom Robbins), I’ve done a lot of work on spreadsheets (my whole life is a spreadsheet) and drawings of well drilling parts that I have needed to catch up on for a long time now. It’s amazing what I can get done with some chocolate coffee, a white patio chair and some music. Well, and having an Apple iBook G4 certainly helps as well. A friend of mine has lent me some West Wing DVD’s as well. I am currently in possession of all of Seasons 3, 4, and 5. I told myself I was only going to watch one episode a day, which I was never capable of even in college, when there was many other things I should have been doing. Jody and I would spend a whole Sunday on Doug’s sister’s horridly ugly but extremely comfortable couch at our apartment on Highland watching episode after episode. Around 6pm or so we would decide that getting food and perhaps starting our homework was a good idea. Anyway, when I had Seasons 1 and 2, I stuck to the one episode a day rule and was quite proud of myself. But, since it has started raining, I’ve plowed through about 10 episodes in the last two days. If the rain keeps up, I’ll probably finish season 5 by the end of the week. But God Bless the West Wing. This is going to sound extremely corny, but it seriously inspires me to work harder…well, at least when I can find time between episodes. No joke though, watching this show makes me want to find a job that will make me want to work as hard as they do in the show. Something that is worth working that hard for, you know? Something where going back to the office after midnight is a fun thing and not a pain in the butt. Yeah I know I’m young and idealistic and it’s just a TV show and I’ve never really had a real job, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with thinking like that.

Well, it hasn’t stopped raining since I started writing this. However, if you are reading this, it means that it DID stop raining, at least long enough for me to get out of my site and get to the internet to post this blog entry. It has probably started up again since then. I’m going to reward myself for writing this by watching another West Wing episode. Will Bailey just came on board and things are getting interesting…

Send a helicopter and instructions, I’ve always wanted to learn. Then again, maybe don’t…I could handle a few more days of this…

Ben

(untitled)

Another Sunday morning in Hardeman. For the first time in a long time, this is my second consecutive Sunday morning here in my pueblito. It has been a pretty wild last few months. I think the last time you heard from our hero, the craziness was about to begin. At some point I hope to catch all of you faithful readers up on all that has transpired since then, but for now I will recount little of it. Because while there are certainly days that are more interesting than others, my life is not one adventure after the next. For the past ten days or so I have been tranquilo here in Hardeman, sipping my instant coffee/hot chocolate mix in the mornings, munching on delicious home-made bread in the afternoons (quite literally, hot & fresh out the kitchen), sitting and chatting with my fellow Hardemeños about the heat, the likelihood of rain, as well as the weather. It has been quite a productive week in the office, catching up on documents I have been neglecting and making plans for future projects.

Hardeman is anxiously awaiting the rainy season…more anxiously than in years past due to the current construction they are doing on our road. In order for them to be able to lay asphalt in the future, they have been digging on the road since may, carving out large ditches on either side and piling and packing the earth onto what will be the new road. In order to allow vehicles to pass, there is currently a one-lane “detour” right next to the high flat road-to-be that is by all means passable in dry weather. But when it rains, this byway fills with water and goes from being a temporary road to being a permanent river. They then close the road until there is sufficient draining of the road to at least allow lightweight vehicles to pass. This system has been serving us more or less sufficiently for the past few months. But during those months it has rained for only a few hours at a time. I shudder to think what it’s going to be like once it rains for a week or so on end. It will be another week before the road dries out…and even then it will be so packed with enormous semi trucks hauling soybeans which without fail will get stuck that it will become doubly-impassable. What does this mean for me? It means I should stock up on Ramen Noodles and West Wing DVDs to last me until February. Yes, I am being a little overdramatic, but literally just a little. I will be able to get out of my site but it will probably end up taking me a day or two. And truth be told, I am looking forward to it. It has been way too long since I have spent an extended period of time in my site and with the realization that time is winding down, right here in Hardeman is where I want to be the most.

It’s quite comforting to be content here. I guess one could say I’m living a “simple” life but for some reason it doesn’t seem all that different some days, although that may be a little hard for you to believe. I think the most striking difference for me is my lack of a car. But perhaps even more striking is the lack of NEED of a car. If I want to go visit friends and chat, they are a mere 2 minute walk away. If I need food to cook, the store is just as close. My office is two doors down. I don’t consider it a hard life, but I would definitely call it a simple life…one without excess. Except for an excess of dust or perhaps rice.

The latest bit of good news around here is that cell phone service has finally arrived. It is a whole new world, just like I imagined. I am proud to announce my first phone call from the states was from none other than my good pal Steph (Woody) Goetz. It was incredible. Just an average Wednesday afternoon turned into a fantastic day after talking with her for about 45 minutes. I can only hope I get a call like that every couple of weeks to keep me in a perpetual good mood. Muchas gracias mi querida amiga. So, anyone with a calling card and a little patience can give me a ring, anytime you feel the need. The number is 591-77871737. Those first three numbers are the country code and the numbers after that pertain to my cell phone. If the phone rings and I don’t answer, try back again in a couple of minutes. If the phone doesn’t ring at all and goes right to the nice lady speaking Spanish, it means I am out of range (out in the jungle drilling or something) and you can leave a message. Messages are always welcome. Like I said, a nice lady will start talking to you in Spanish, then it will beep. Then she will say a couple more things and then it will beep again. It is after this second beep that you should leave a message. I should get the message and can either give you a call when I get it to let you know I’m free or whatever. The point is, if you want to talk to me, it’s not that tough. George Wang figured it out and he’s only a Stanford PhD student.

So yeah life is good. Christmas plans are still a bit up in the air and everything depends on the road of course. The adventure continues.

“It’s Been A Long, Long Time…”

Warmest Saludos to you blog readers. I know it has been quite a while since you have heard much about the Story of Ben, but I assure you I am alive and kickin’ down here in Bolivia. Since the last major update, a lot has happened. I’ve walked on hot coals, my niece was born, I’ve drilled another well, I’ve traveled to a higher elevation than ever before, I’ve discovered a hidden love for John Hartford and Bluegrass music in general, I re-acquainted myself with not-so-hidden loves for The Lord of The Rings movies and the The West Wing television show, I’ve attended a Japanese festival and bought a rug made of reeds there, I’ve often times worn my hair in a ponytail (my dad was happy about the bluegrass music, my bet is he is not so thrilled about the ponytail) and I’ve said goodbye to some excellent friends whose time is up in Bolivia. I was lucky enough to be able to put on a fireworks show on the fourth of July, I had a two person R&D meeting in Spanish and outside, I celebrated the 39th anniversary of Hárdeman by dancing all night long four days in a row, I met a sweet musical group when they came here to play, I started writing a letter a week to people back home but have since slacked off, I judged a beauty contest, walked in a parade, jumped on a trampoline and scored a perfect 100 at Japanese Karaoke. Oh yeah, and I snuck in a little trip to a place called The United States of America. Perhaps you saw me there. I did most of the usual things I do in Ohio, including eating at Skyline, hiking in Hocking Hills, playing softball with the Yidiots, visiting Ohio State and mooching off of my parents. So, I will repeat, a lot has happened. I’ll get on with some photos here in a second, but allow this long-winded traveler a bit of reflection time. About two weeks ago, I passed the one-year in-site mark. It’s pretty much 100% unbelievable that I have been here in Hárdeman for a year because it has gone by so incredibly fast, just like they said it would. But then there are days where it totally makes sense I have been here for a year. I know everyone when I walk down the street, there are tons of people to greet, I don’t mind the repetitiveness of repeatedly getting served the same food over and over again (that sentence courtesy of the Department of Redundancy Department), and I can sleep through a blaring television, crying children, rooster-ing roosters, cats fighting and insanely loud buses honking all at the same time. If you don’t believe me, ask anyone who has stayed over in my far-from Chateau Hárdeman. I no longer am self-conscious about speaking Spanish (even to girls!) and actually enjoy dancing to Bolivian music.

So when one joins the Peace Corps, a lot of people ask “why?” or “what’s your goal?” or “aren’t you worried about rabies?” or (in the case of my mom at first) “why don’t you do something where you can earn some money?” And most people who become volunteers (myself included) give responses like they want to learn about a new culture, perhaps learn a new language, help people, see the world, help themselves grow, blahbbity-blah. After being here a year, I’ve been trying to reflect on some of those answers. I’ve definitely seriously improved my Spanish, but it’s kind of tough to tell how I’ve grown or changed or matured (or un-matured for that matter). And I don’t think it will be really easy to tell a lot of that stuff until I am done. Everything about my life is different down here, I think how I change is going to come down to what I end up taking back with me to the States. Habits, ideas, memories, goals, motivations. I think I have a much different outlook on life now, but it’s hard to gage while I am still down here…it will have to wait until it can be set against the contrast of life in America. But for those of you die-hards who want to know how I am different now, I guess I can tell you that I spend more time on my hair than I ever did in my life, I write dates starting with the day instead of the month and I am seriously losing my skills at speaking English. I guess that’s not bad for a year in a foreign country. Perhaps those of you with whom I keep in better touch would be better judges of how I may have changed.

Well, without further adieu, the following are a bunch of entries to catch you up on my life, those of you who are interested. There are a few photos missing, I will get them up soon.

Festival de San Juan

June 24 in Bolivia is the festival of San Juan and is in general considered the coldest day of the year, despite the winter solstice being on the 21st of June. Well first of all I can tell you that it was NOT the coldest day of the year, but that’s a whole other story. San Juan is celebrated in some parts of Bolivia, including Hárdeman, with campfires outside of everyone’s house and then at midnight the tradition is to walk across the hot coals of the fire. According to “legend” if you do it right at midnight, the coals will not burn you. Well, as you can imagine, I had my doubts. I was out pasear-ing around town that night and noticed my friend Ana María getting ready to start a fire outside of her house, so I stopped in to share since my family didn’t look like they were going to make a fire. Turns out Ana’s family was burning all their clothes they had worn out or grown out of that year…which I found kind of strange but whatever. There haven’t been too many times in Bolivia when I’ve had the chance to sit around a campfire just for the sake of sitting around a campfire, so I was certainly enjoying it. I tried to tell Ana some stories of the Ranzaganza, but I don’t think she really understood why I was so entertained by cardboard cut-outs or throwing a vortex football at the backsides of my cousins. Anyway, I was enjoying the fire but as midnight approached we headed over to the youth center where they were electing “Miss San Juan,” the queen of the festival. The pageant was already underway when we got in, which I was happy about because they usually “honor” me with asking me to be a judge, which would be ok if the contestants weren’t ranging from 6th to 11th grade. It was quite un-nerving to watch these young girls parade up and down a makeshift catwalk while their parents and hosts of other old men watched and whistled and hooted. But, at least the oldest girl won…I think she’s 16. Here is a picture of the her (she’s on the left, named Lucero) Ana and me:


Then we went outside to where a fire had been burning for a few hours to walk on the hot coals. Here is a shot of Ana making her way across:


It took a couple of minutes of deciding as well as Ana calling me a sissy before I decided to do it, but I finally did and did not in fact get burned. Since not everyone in the campo gets digital cameras that well, here’s how the picture turned out:

Yeah I know you can’t see me at all but I wanted to put it up to show the creepy flaming cross that came out instead…can you see it? I thought it was pretty cool. I showed it to some of the folks watching and even got a pretty big laugh out of one of our nuns Madre Gracia by telling her it came out that way because I played Jesus at Easter. You can imagine how proud I was to have made an Italian nun laugh in a language that was neither my first nor her first.

I don’t think I need to tell you that there is nothing magical going on here. Yeah, the coals were hot, but they spread them out over an area where the fire had not been burning, so they weren’t as hot as they could be. Plus the bottoms of your feet are pretty tough…well at least mine are from living in the campo for a year. They maintained that it was the magic of San Juan, even after I pointed out that it was like 12:10 when we did it, but what the heck, it was fun.

It’s a Vicious Cycle

One of the craziest things about Peace Corps is the constant cycle of volunteers arriving and leaving. Approximately every four months, a new group of 20-30 people arrive to begin training and right about the same time another group of 20-30 people leaves that has been here for two years. So, we are constantly meeting new friends and at the same time saying goodbye to some of the old ones. It’s interesting to meet all these different kinds of people, but it’s kind of sad that no matter what at some point in the next two years we will have to say goodbye. I especially have some great friends in the other Basic Sanitation group…easier to bond with since we have the same project and often have to attend the same activities. Well, just a couple weeks ago, the majority of that group left, including two of my good buds Travis from Idaho (on the left) and Clayton from California.


These guys along with Jacob from Texas have their own little triumvirate of well drillers up in the altiplano and I have gotten to be good friends with them, but their time is up. The three of them set off on a whirlwind tour of South America, hitting pretty much every other country in this continent, and Travis and Clayton are even planning on getting back to the states via land, that is traveling and busing with their lives on their backs, hoping to be back for Thanksgiving or Christmas. I’m gonna miss these guys but I’m definitely looking forward to meeting back up with them in the States and sharing a decent brand of beer while listening to some John Hartford (in Travis’ case) or Iron Maiden (in Clayton’s case). Nos vemos, chicos.

While I’m saying goodbye to folks, I would be remiss to leave out Khalial Withen. I randomly met Khalial last October when she came to Hárdeman for a health fair. A fellow gringo, she was here on a Fulbright Scholarship doing a research project. For some insane reason, she wanted to learn how to drill wells, so she became apart of our Norte Cruceño team. Right away her enthusiasm and idealistic mentality were things I admired. She made several trips to Hárdeman, getting along great with my family and others in town, so much even that to this day people ask me when she’s coming back. We had many an excellent conversation about life in Bolivia and life in general, and it was always a breath of fresh air to talk with and listen to Khalial. Unfortunately her time has run out here in Bolivia as well and she will be sorely missed. Khalial can be found starting the communist revolution in rural western Virginia (not to be confused with West Virginia). ¡Viva Evo!

“Oh I Wanna Go Back To Ohio State…” And So I Did

(sidenote, for those of you not familiar with things such as “Sphinx” or “Skyline Chili”, some of the following might not make sense…hopefully the photos will help)

Right around my one-year out of country mark (early May) I took my long awaited and much anticipated trip back home to Ohio. I literally began planning this trip in July 2005 when I first found out I’d be leaving the states in May 2006. I knew I wanted to make it to OSU for the 100th anniversary of Sphinx and I also figured that one year out of country would be a good time to make it back. And so it was, two weeks in the States that was a whirlwind of emotions and a heck of a good time. After reuniting with my parents at the Greater Cincinnati Northern Kentucky Airport, the same place I had left them teary eyed (me moreso than them) one year earlier, we wasted no time in getting my most important task accomplished…going to Skyline. Oh how I had missed my Skyline. Even though Clifton Skyline did not have my trademark chocolate milk, I think I can safely say it was the most delicious three-way I have ever eaten. Keri Marsh even showed up at the restaurant to hang out and took this sweet picture. I try not to look at this too often because it makes me hungry.


The next morning I promptly abandoned my loving parents for a crazy weekend in Columbus and Cleveland. I felt extremely lucky to be able to see pretty much everyone I wanted to in Columbus that weekend, minus a few key players of course. Since my Grandpa Ranz and his brother Norb were both in Sphinx too when they were at OSU, it was a bit of a family reunion for us as well. Here are the three Ranz tried-links on Browning Amphitheater after the ceremony. In perfect Norb and George style, they were dressed exactly alike without planning it, without a doubt with all clothes they had gotten for free from “The Facility” (spoken with deepened Grampal voice), right down to the skivvies, I’m sure:

And here’s a shot with 3 generations of Ranz males:

It was a nice relaxed day at OSU, just like the good ‘ol days. Here’s a shot of Nathan and Kirk on the oval, enjoying the shade of the 5 brothers:


Then that night the party got rolling and of course included a 97 reunion at Mama’s Pasta & Brew and some Cuban cigars. Here are the four of us Goonies enjoying a good smoke. From left to right: Mouth, Chunk, Data & Mikey. (Please note our choice of t-shirts included both Catfish Biff’s and Ohio Wheelchair Games)

The big event that weekend of course was the Sphinx 100th Anniversary Banquet. As opposed to hearing more cracks about looking like the cavemen from the Geico commercials or Bigfoot, I decided to lose the beard and maybe put the hair under a little more control. Here’s what it looked like at least for a little bit:

Since the 97th class is so awesome, 22 out of 24 of us showed up for the banquet, with the other two in town but with other plans. Check us out:

We made it out to a nice place afterwards called The Elevator and it was like we never left Columbus. Here’s a good one with Frank and Jammers enjoying a few drinks:

And god bless Katy (Poth) Endsley for not only making one of my favorite foods (her mom’s cheesy potatoes) but actually bringing the dish to the bar to be consumed there. It was glorious.

As my time in Columbus came to a close and I frenzied to say goodbye to everyone, I managed to lock my keys in my car in the Holiday Inn parking lot. Luckily, Frank Sasso and his Real Estate & Finance degree were there to help. At first Frank began to make a non-chalant Triple-A phone call, but after a couple of rings, hung up and said “forget Triple-A. We’ll get these out ourselves.” And so here is Frank saving the day with a bent up hanger he had in his car. Mr. Sasso, I am in your debt.


Unfortunately, I have no photos of the following few days, which is a shame. From Columbus I drove up to Cleveland, Ohio to spend the day and evening with Ben and Mia Coleman. Ben Coleman was my roommate for 3 of my 5 years of college and I generally consider him my hetero-lifemate since we are so alike. Ben and Mia got married last July, a wedding that I was unfortunately unable to attend. So this was my first time seeing them actually married, which was exciting for me. They have a nice little apartment outside of Cleveland, complete with a parakeet. Cole surprised me and invited Doug Gillespie (another college roommate) up to hang out as well and we had a grand old time tooling around in Doug’s shiny new BMW while Doug rattled off all of its characteristics and we compared it to his old blue Tercel, which I think is for sale if anyone is interested. We had some Starbucks, bought some yummy non-Bolivian beer from World Market and then went out for a delicious dinner of crablegs at a place that I can’t remember the name of but was really freaking good. We spent the rest of the evening drinking the yummy beer and watching old movies from college and talking about “the good ol days.” Cole took the next day off of work and we spent the day playing “Scene It” and watching Back To the Future. We took a walk out to the beach and light-house near their apartment to get some fresh air as well. It was nice to get to see where they live, since I have only heard about it in emails. We hugged a goodbye, not exactly sure when or where the next time we’d see each other would be. Turns out he might make it down to visit sometime next year, which would be incredible.

From Cleveland I drove back home to Cincy, re-reuniting with my parents and seeing my sister and brother-in-law. We headed off to Hocking Hills for a few days, our trademark vacation spot. It was an excellent and relaxing three days filled with good conversations, excellent hikes, yummy food, pipe smoking, and my very pregnant sister not complaining one bit about all the walking. She did really great and it was good to actually see she was doing well rather than just people telling me about it. That sentiment pretty much goes for everything I did while I was home. I really don’t know why I didn’t take any pictures but oh well.

We made it back to Cincy and I was lucky enough to get to hang out with one of my oldest friends, Steph Woody. Steph and I have been tight since we met many years ago at Mr. Anderson’s cross country practice and Mr. Maginn’s Pre-Algebra class…seventh grade. We went and got some delicious Indian Food at Ambar and tooled around Clifton a bit, including a stop up on Mt. Storm park on a lovely Cincinnati evening. Steph had gotten married since I’d seen her last so I guess I should refer to her as Steph Goetz but it’s hard to say goodbye to a name like Woody. Anyway I was lucky enough to see both Mr. and Mrs. Goetz a couple of days later when we had an open house at my parents’ house. They live in Bloomington, Indiana where Steph teaches Spanish to college students and Jack spends his days in a lab doing very important and dangerous things which I will not delve into here because they are government secrets and Kirk will get in trouble if his old boss finds out Kirk knows me.

Friday was a day I had been looking forward to for a while. You see, every Friday during the summer, the greatest slow-pitch softball team takes the field at TCYO park in Miamitown. I am of course talking about the Yidiots. If you are ever in the area on a Friday, I suggest you make a stop to catch a game. Most of these guys are friends of my dad from high school or sons of his friends, as the team has now become a family affair. With my dad, myself, cousins and uncles, we Ranz’s now count for six of the roster. A lot of the family came down to watch the game as well, so it was good that we won. I didn’t even screw up too bad…I caught everything that came to me, got a couple of hits and even fell flat on my ass getting tug out at home, of course provoking heckles of “Yidiot!” from both the bench and the crowd. Afterwards we headed back to my Uncle Scott’s backyard, which he has converted into a little pub of his own, affectionately referred to as “Scottie’s,” where there was plenty of golden nectar as well as more Skyline Chili. I don’t think everyone knows this, but Skyline actually does catering for parties, and here’s what it looks like:

It was great to catch up with my cousins and the rest of the Cincinnati crew, and really great to eat all the skyline. If you haven’t picked up on it yet, food was a big part of my trip home. Here’s a shot of my cousins and me enjoying each other’s company:

From left they are Seth, me, Leslie and Shane. Being the closest in age, the four of us always managed to raise hell at family Christmas parties and camping trips and even managed to renovate a place called The Shack all those years ago. I really miss these guys, but Seth is planning a trip down here to visit me in a couple of months here, so that’s going to be sweet.

Saturday was my last full day in Ohio. My cousin Seth took me skeet-shooting for the first time, I cut most of the grass at my parents’ house getting ready for the open house and then had a grand old time talking with the rest of people I wanted to see while I was in Cincy, and even some die-hard fans who made the trip down from Columbus. It was a lovely end to a great trip. My parents took me to the airport to the next day to start the next adventure, which turned out to be later that day. The plan was to fly to Dallas-Ft. Worth, then to Miami, and then to Bolivia. Well it turns out there was weather in Dallas so we had to make an emergency landing to save fuel in Texarkana, Texas; which unbeknownst to me, actually exists in real life and not just in that movie Smokey and The Bandit. If you don’t believe me, here is a picture:

They even have free wireless internet at the Texarkana airport, which impressed me to no end. Well, to make a long story a little longer, I got to Dallas too late to make the connection and had to spend the night there, but I got on a flight the next night and arrived to Bolivia a day later than planned, but that’s just about right on-time by Bolivian standards. There was even a package waiting for me in the Peace Corps office, sent by Steph about 5 months prior. A little damaged (see below) but it made it. Thanks Steph!

A Different Kind of Drilling

Back in June, I traveled up to Oruro department which is in the western part of Bolivia to help with the training of the newly arrived Basic Sanitation Volunteers. We have our crew of 3 well drillers down here in Santa Cruz, and there were four drillers being replaced up in the Altiplano. Since those guys were the guys leaving, they wanted to train the new group in the place where they would be going. But, in order for the new group to have a connection with us down in Santa Cruz, they let me come up and lend a hand with the drilling. The terrain up there is much different than down here. We usually drill anywhere to 30-60 meters into the ground (100-200ft), whereas up there they only drill wells between about 6-18 meters. But, they run into a lot more rocks and harder stuff to get through, while we usually just deal with clay and sand. To build our tower to hold our rig, we usually cut down a couple of trees, but up in Oruro, there is no vegetation, so they have to lug around a huge metal tripod to hold up their rig. I had never drilled up there before, so it was a cool experience to see how the other-half lives. Here’s a wide shot of the whole process, quite different from what it looks like down here in Santa Cruz:

Since it is so high up (and since we were in the middle of winter), it was really, really cold up there. The sun was strong though, so that helped to keep us warm during the day, but if you got wet or something, you were miserable. Down here in Santa Cruz, when you get wet while drilling it’s usually a welcome refresher. “Altiplano” means “high plain” and that’s literally what it is. There are peaks rising up in the distance, but for the most part there are just huge, vast flat plains that seem to go on forever without trees at all. If you’re into live things and lush vegetation, you might consider it an ugly place. But, in my opinion, the sunsets made up for it:


Due to having the nastiest cold of my life that week, I did not actually work much. Plus, all the new trainees were really motivated to work, so that helped. Not being one to often keep my mouth shut, I offered verbal assistance whenever I could as well as got some wicked rounds of the movie game going, which always helps to pass the time. We drilled to nine meters, installed the pump and got some clean water out of the well. It was really great for the trainees to see a well from start to finish and it was a cool experience to be up there helping out. Luckily that weekend I recuperated at my friend Anna’s house in Oruro city by sleeping a lot and eating some yummy food and taking hot showers. Oh man that was nice. Thanks Anna, you’re amazing.

Bienvenidos al Mundo, Riley Jo Hanauer

So back in December I found out that my sister Maurie was pregnant, which made me pretty excited. I’ve always thought I’d make a pretty good uncle, after all I’ve had some pretty amazing uncles to train me…I mean how could I not be a good uncle after having learned from the likes of Uncle Ron, Uncle George, Uncle Mitch, Uncle Fred, Uncle Mark, Uncle Jamie, Uncle Denny, Uncle Scott, Uncle Bill and Uncle Rob? So I was pretty pumped to get to try out my uncle-ing skills, although I knew I would have to wait a bit before I actually met the new baby. Well, on Thursday morning, July 26 around 9:30 am, my sister gave birth to a beautiful baby girl named Riley Jo Hanauer. I have no idea how much it weighed but I know she was healthy and with a solid head of black hair, Von Allmen style. Here is a shot of Maurie with the new baby and the proud father Joshua:

And of course the new grandparents, Grandpa Joe and Grandma Julie:


It’s certainly a bummer not to be around for all of this fun stuff but they are keeping me updated with news from home. Here is a link to a little video Joshua made for me, which makes me happy and sad all at the same time:
(videolink)
Congratulations to the new parents, and I look forward to meeting the little tyke a year from now. Keep the pictures coming!

La Vida En Hardeman

Lately the most notable thing in Hárdeman has been the weather. It is technically the dry season, which I thought would mean that it would not rain at all, like it was in Cochabamba last year. But the dry season in Santa Cruz just means that it no longer rains for 4 or 5 days at a time. It still rains and it is always accompanied by a “surazo” which is a strong, cold wind from the south that blows up from Argentina and Antarctica. Around here people just call it a “sur” and one can arrive without warning, blowing dust all over town and dropping the temperature 20 or 25 degrees without blinking an eye. Since it’s usually in the 80s or something down here, one might think that some 50 or 60 degree weather would be welcome. Well, yes and no…imagine it being 55 degrees, terribly windy and cloudy. And then imagine that you are essentially camping in that weather, since pretty much all of the houses here are just random rooms without hallways or connecting walkways. It’s kind of like living in a college dorm except as soon as you walk out of your bedroom, you are outside. You have to walk outside to eat, go to the bathroom, everything. My bathroom here in Hárdeman is actually farther from my room than the bathroom was in Bradley Hall my freshman year. Ok, so you’re always outside and even when you are inside, the windows are not exactly well sealed and there is no heat. It can get a little uncomfortable. Now imagine taking a shower with cold water. Needless to say, bathing was not high on my list during those chilly days. Throw some water on the face, toss on my stocking cap and I was ready for the day. It got cold enough in the office that I even lit a candle to keep warm in my little corner:

Note how my hair is nice and confined under the hat. Here’s what happens when the hat comes off:

They say it’s been colder this year than in years past and I frankly am ready for it to be warm all the time now. Drilling wells in chilly, windy weather with only a cold shower awaiting me at the end of the day is not my idea of a good time. Here are some random shots of people and places around town.


I was totally pumped to see this girl wearing an OSU sweatshirt, especially one depicting the 1997 Rose Bowl, where Joe Germaine led the Bucks past Arizona State in a glorious come-from-behind victory. Great memories of watching that game in Scott’s basement with Skyline dip and Mary Jane’s Oreo Goop. Mmmmm.


How’s that for a pig? This thing was so huge I could not resist a picture. People in my town just have these pigs living in their yards like dogs (not so much as pets but just roaming freely). Mom, remember when you used to say you’d rather have a pig than a dog? Care to reconsider?

On top of the water tank on the day I got inside and helped our plumber Francisco clean the tank. This was a pretty fun time cause it was actually hot outside and it was nice and refreshing to be playing around in the water inside the tank.


The cutest kid in town, my host-niece Tahira, goofing around with some costume glasses sent down from Aunt Joyce in a Halloween package. This little girl makes some of the crappy days a lot better.

Like I said, the cutest kid in town…seen here on her first birthday. Fun fact, she was born on my dad’s birthday, June 14th. Get those flags out!

Those of you who know me well know that I don’t give up any chance to write on whiteboards and use them to make all kinds of seemingly important lists. This is a rough sketch of a redesign of the water system in town I did on our whiteboard in the office…I had lots of fun with all the colors and stuff, but it turns out we don’t have money to do the redesign, so sadly I had to erase it. But at least I have this awesome picture. And I also bought a tiny whiteboard for my room in my house, so now I can rest easy with all of my tasks noted and color-coded.


This was a wedding I attended back in June in Hárdeman. The nice lady who washes my clothes, Doña Nena, invited me to her parents’ wedding, who are an elderly couple but finally decided to get married. Here’s how the conversation went down:

Nena: Hello Benjamín, how are you?
Me: Fine Doña Nena, how are you?
Nena: No complaints here. It’s hot isn’t it?
Me: Yeah it is hot. Dusty too, huh?
Nena: Yeah damn this dust. When are they going to finish the stinking asphalt road?
(My brain): So much for no complaints.
Nena: Anyway, I would like to invite you to my parents’ wedding on Saturday, they are finally getting married after all of these years. We would be honored with your presence.
Me: Wow Doña Nena, that’s very nice of you, of course I can come.
Nena: Oh, and you’re going to bring your camera, right?
(My brain): Ah. The truth comes out.
Me: Sure, I can take some pictures for you, thanks for thinking of me.
Nena: Great, see you then!
Me: Good-bye!

The truth is, since I know these folks and they are my friends, I don’t mind taking pictures for them. Anymore, I consider it part of my service. So, that’s how I found myself in this tiny chapel in the nuns’ house attending this wedding. About 10 close family members and some poofy haired gringo taking pictures. And that’s not even the best part of the story. That would be the priest. After arriving over an hour late to start the ceremony, he was a little rusty on how it all went down, so Sister Ana (the nun you see in photo) had to coach him. She obviously knew what was up, but since women can’t perform Mass or weddings in the Catholic Church, they had to bring in this obviously extremely inexperienced priest from out of town who didn’t even know these people. How do I know he didn’t know them? Well, about 2/3 of the way through the ceremony after referring to the bride as “Don Manuel’s woman,” he finally broke down and asked her name, and then promptly forgot it. I was appalled. Some days I just don’t get how people here can call themselves religious and keep a straight face. But, that’s a whole different conversation for another place and time, best after a couple of drinks.


I was lucky enough to have Carlos come and visit in Hárdeman to help me drill a well, and here he is preparing some yummy macaroni and cheese in the kitchen at my house. During one of the days it was too cold to drill, Carlos and I went to the plaza to shoot the bull about possibly putting together a huge-scale long-term well drilling project in my municipality. It was a great discussion, something I think I’ve been lacking down here in Bolivia…an opportunity to bounce ideas off of someone and also listen to their ideas. We started out on benches but after a few minutes I needed to stand up because I think better on my feet, as some of you may remember from a Steering meeting long ago in the basement of the Ohio Union. Carlos loves to sneak candid pictures, and here is one of me surely coming up with an amazing idea.




Another photo Carlos snuck in. This is me explaining to my good friend Pedro how we can try to improve his well that we drilled for him…perhaps by putting a windmill on it. Carlos has quite the artistic eye.


This is what we would refer to as a bad-hair-day. After a few days of no bathing (because of the cold) and being stuck under my hat, here’s what escaped from underneath. I can hear my mom gasping right now…”Oh my GOD, Ben!” Another quote from my mom regarding my hair from when I was in the states…”uh, if you’re looking for opinions…I think you should cut it.”


This is my attempt at being artistic. I threw my OSU hat on top of my dresser after a long day of muddy drilling and I thought it looked cool set in front of the Dark Side of the Moon backdrop.


This is my host cousin Inés and her boyfriend Fernando…we were celebrating Fernando’s birthday with some yummy food and a few vasos de cerveza. This was definitely a fun night.


This one’s for you, Joe Ranz. So my family is having a new kitchen built, which makes me happy because the current kitchen is pretty disgusting. Surprisingly, drywall has not made it to Hárdeman yet, so I was delighted to see them plastering the ceiling. Certainly reminded me of working back home, except they mix in an old half-tire and don’t really use moulding or hawks as far as I can tell, which means nothing to most of you. I was going to offer my services but the scaffolding looked pretty sketchy, plus I’m sure they would look at me funny when I asked them why we weren’t checking it with a light.