Day 16 - Uyuni Train

The train for the most part was decent. I thought that riding in the cheaper seats, something horrible for a tall man to do, may get me the same interaction that I got on the bus ride from La Paz to Oruro. But there was no such thing. Half of the cart was full of either smelly hippies with nasty beaver tail dread locks or plane-jane tourists who seemed sweet. I couldn’t detect from their horrible Spanish where the smelly hippies were from exactly but their dog pack attitude made me dismiss them all together two hours into the trip. I was stupid enough to suggest a seat exchange with an older Bolivian man so that one of the smelly hippies could sit with his friends. What I got in return was a very boring old round man who lacked a certain sincerity. His leg and wing span on his small oval body made me clutch the edge of window and only arm rest. Near the end of the trip while he slept I had to get a little physical and work my way into my side of the seat. This morning I wake up in Uyuni with a loud lo-fi radio sounds coming from some of the rooms. The maid likes to play the tunes real high. I have also discovered by my 5:30am wake up call that there is a marching band or military base very very very close by. I’m sure thats its because of these alarming wake up calls that I may make my stay in Uyuni shorter then I thought. The amount of Lithium in the salt flats doesn’t seem to be general knowledge. I’m finding it discouraging that I, a foreigner, am educating them on its potential. Maybe I haven’t spoken to the right person. Yesterday on the train the man that sat next to me asked randomly if Japan was close to Canada. I tried to explain the distance and by the time he understood where exactly Japan was, we were ten minutes into our geography lesson. I didn’t mind explaining this to him – it just seemed that after he found out the distance, he couldn’t have cared less what I was saying to him. People who talk for the sake of talking to pass the time is frustrating. Behind me there was a lovely Bolivian family of four who's daughter enjoyed screaming at the top of her lungs. Surprisingly enough it didn’t bother me a bit – I just smiled and thought about how much I want to have babies. Today I am going to try and get some meetings with the municipality of Uyuni to see what the future holds for this small potential mining town. Tomorrow I plan on visiting the salt flats on a one day tour to see its visual potential for a possible documentary on the Lithium reserves. My gut tells me that the story I want to tell is in Potosi and that’s my next stop. My feeling is that Uyuni and its Lithium potential is something that still needs time to ferment and develop. But I will still conduct my research and get to the bottom of where the local and federal government stands on mining 70% of the worlds Lithium reserves.

Note: Waited 30 minutes for the picture to upload - no dice. No pictures till Sunday when I get to Potosi.

Day 15 - La Paz / Oruro / Uyuni

(This is the court that I shoot hoops on every morning in La Paz.)


On my way to Uyuni via Oruro today.
Early morning tourists litter the bus terminal. Oruro, Potosi, Sucre, Cochabamba, Las Yungas: all in different directions. As much as some of them bug me, its always comforting to see references I understand.
La Paz goes through all four seasons on a daily basis.
In the morning a very cold and foggy layer cusps the city with the possibility of it dropping into the minus celsius. Slowly at 10:00am Spring starts to take shape. You definitely feel like something is being born. By 1:00pm Summer brings its beaming rays of heat onto backs and shoulders of the Bolivians hustling through the streets - its time to take off your wool sweater. On the way home from a long day of internet connections and train station line ups the heat starts to subside. The sun starts to grow calmer and Fall begins to show its colours. By 8pm Autumn is in full swing, soothed by a nice cup of coca tea. Midnight strikes.
Cycle repeats.

Day 14 - Old Customs

This is the kitchen where we eat everyday. It’s hard to maintain eye contact with the people at the table when you’re feeling spacey and have this to look at. The entire view is such a collage of the region. You can see the largest mountain peak Illmani (6,000 meters) on the left side while out of frame on the far right side downtown La Paz lays in its proper bouquet of broken buildings. The US consulate is just blocks away at the bottom left of the frame. In the morning you can see groups of Cholitas making their way down to catch the mini buses to work.

Because of a recent landslide that crushed over 5,000 homes and this section of La Paz's water supply - there is no running water. Crouched down with two knees inches away from your face, a bar of soap and a cup/bowl of ice cold water to rinse yourself off is the method of choice. And because of that - I haven’t showered since I arrived. I’m in the same cloths that I wore while boarding the plane in Chile. I haven’t really taken any of it off because I sleep in most of them. The nights tend to be quite cold. My bed smells like wet dog but I’m grateful that I have a home to stay in with a familiar face – my uncle. He and his family just left for a recital at Sebastian's school to celebrate a Jewish holiday. My little step-cousin Sebastian goes to a Jewish school with almost no Jews in it but still celebrating all the holidays. Latin America is filled with these culturally or religiously specific schools like “The German School”, “The French School” or “The Jewish School.” My aunt told me that there about 120 Jews left in La Paz and most of them don’t practice or go to this school but because its owned by one of the few synagogues left in the city - the tradition continues. This household is all born-again Christian and so before our principal meals we hold hands and say grace. I’ve only really done this once or twice before. Every time I come across this pre-meal ritual I get nervous and very uncomfortable. With each prayer I start to become more accustom to it. I don’t really realize how culturally sensitive I am until I travel. By sensitive I don’t mean that I am always open to others but more of how it affects me, rarely in that mind altering way. There are so many vastly different denominations of Christianity here in Bolivia - I still have a hard time wrapping my head around that. I understand why but it still confuses my heart when people are so adamant about practicing a religion that once conquered them with such brutality. The more I come here the more I start to understand the comfort people receive believing in Jesus Christ but it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Mostly because of the way it was delivered historically but also the very real truth of how people choose to survive. When I get in these semi-spirals of confusion I find that watching something familiar brings me back to myself. It may seem so silly but taking in an episode of Law and Order, Criminal Minds or John Stewart is my saving grace – so fucking comforting. It brings me back to a familiar and specific sensation that I understand while I try to figure out the unfamiliar rhythms and customs of a country I fear. That’s what probably brings back here, confronting that fear in depths of such much beauty. When I first traveled to Bolivia with an ex-girlfriend of mine she decided in the middle of our trip that she wanted to go and travel with a guy she seemed to fancy. Leaving me alone to understand all of this, I felt destroyed and immediately got on plane to Buenos Aires and visited my good friend Margarita. In her father’s home in Palermo Viejo, while licking my wounds, I felt stronger. More present in a country where it didn’t take much to match my own cultural references. Just those simple connections that I was able to make in a city that was closer to sea level - saved me.

Day 13 - La Paz

Just arrived in Bolivia and the weight of the altitude has me very slow and very tired. Over 1200 feet above sea level. Today I went out with my uncle (mother's brother) who recently fell in love with a Bolivian woman and has moved here. Their home is in a borough of La Paz, so it takes awhile to get downtown. Today we went to the market and my uncle's lovely yet awkward step-son joined us. We were just in time to see the parade of a carnival. The streets were filled with colours, music and celebration. Step by step while everyone sprayed each other with some sort of shaving cream, I barely caught my breathe. I don't know what I would do without coca-tea. Walking through those streets, going up and down, winded me bad. The first couple of days are always an adjustment period but it still feels like I have some sort debilitating disease. Its hard to believe that the US not so long attempted to force the Bolivian government to make the coca leaf illegal. I don't know what I would do without its medicinal magic on these trips. I should be heading out to the south of Bolivia on Monday or Tuesday. First stop is Oruro followed by a train ride to the salt flats of Uyuni. After that I make my way to Potosi. I am really looking forward to researching the history of Potosi and its affects on contemporary Bolivia. All three cities are predominately mining towns. There are tours that are given by some of the miners who belong to a coop. They're considered dangerous and anyone that decides to participate in them are given the "at your own risk" warning. We'll see, I may just back out at the last minute but I doubt it. Things have shifted a bit with Evo Morales - he seems more of a politician then a man of the people. I guess that was bound to happen. The thing that made me almost sick to my stomach was what I heard at 2:00am last night in a taxi on the way back from the airport - Evo Morales officially made a deal with Iran. They are partners in the mining of the largest reserve of lithium in the world (70%) - three times the amount of oil reserves in Saudi Arabia. If done correctly, Bolivia could be the richest country in Latin America by being the number one producer of the car battery where lithium is the key component. It's hard. It's really hard to understand why a country like Bolivia with all its potential would chose a dictatorship like Iran. A country that sends filmmakers to prisons and accuses Bahai's of being Zionist spies. Evo Morales officially falls into the category of a mediocre semi-socialist default leader like Obama, Chavez or Castor. I don't think the world will ever find a balance in economic policy where human rights and foreign policy compliment each instead of contradict.

Note: Remember how I spoke about the Chirimoya in an earlier post - they're in season here. Had it for dessert - so so good.

Day 10 - B Roll

Its okay to be sad.

To sit in the moment and let the tide take you in. Fighting only causes you to spin out of control and drown. The trick is to not let it consume you. To slowly try to untie each knot instead of trying to struggle out of the what’s keep you tangled up.
Promising myself to write everyday - I’ve taken these past few day to sit in that sadness and frustration. Allow myself to feel instead of reacting. Writing and talking to those I trust with these special and specific feelings. Receiving the love and support that can allow you to stay above water without using them as a life raft.
I miss the love of my life. Badly. I see and hear her everywhere. I sing to myself knowing that she would love a particular song. I send her mental and spiritual messages that I know she receives from my heart to hers on a daily bases. Its hard to be apart but that longing and that distance makes my heart expand. It gives me the room to grow into a better self. Allows me to get out of my head and more into my surroundings.

In different variations I sent this message to some of those who feed me in their own special way:

“got the latin american blues right now.
all very confusing and weird.
havent written cause i don't have much to say.
i'm kind of scared shitless of everything right now.
i feel like an idiot going to bolivia. wondering what the hell im doing and why the fuck i am getting myself into. i wish i could shape shift into a smaller darker body with brown eyes. i feel like ferdinand the bull down there. its all very confusing.
shooting some b roll stuff tomorrow with my father tomorrow and wednesday. off to bolivia on friday. not sure what is up or down these days. ”

(There was a tremor just as the sun came out for first time today.)

I still feel a lot of those things but the storm seems lighter and it feels good to be filming again. I think my favourite part of making this film is talking about the scenes with my father. Going out and getting the cover shots I need in order to sew together each moment in order to give the audience an emotional clarity within my family’s dynamic. I love holding the camera and working with my father. Filming him with the horses and watching him smile. Spending time with the Mena family and seeing how happy they make my father. I think Daniel my nephew was the first thing that saved my father’s life -when he was born. It’s clear that Chile, these horses and the Mena family are the second that has prolonged my father’s life. Hopefully he’ll be around long enough so that my children will give him that third wind - to stay with us a little longer.

Gordo - Day Six

My grandmother is a cross between Rodney Dangerfield and a beautiful tortoise.

She will also be the first to tell you if you've gained weight or not. A few days before this family reunion she pointed out to me that my face looked "full" and "stuffed." (To her credit and skills of perception - I had gain a few pounds in the last few months.)
If there was an Olympic event on weight guessing, Chileans would have all the motherfucking medals. Believe that. Pointing out how much someone has gained or lose in weight is sort of a pastime here in Chile. Even though my parents know it upsets me when they do it, my mother does slip one out every once in awhile just to maintain her citizenship. You really have to take what people say here with a grain of salt. At times one could hear the smartest and most open minded people use the world "negro" in interesting ways. "No no no, I don't mean (insert racial slur here) like that. I mean it like this. You know? In that good way."
(Thanks for the clarification Abuelita, Tio, Tia, Prima or Primo)
The photo above represents about 1/5 of my entire family - on my mother's side. There were people who attended this reunion that I hadn't seen since I was baby. All I had to do was say "I am the son of Ana Gabriela" and they would either scream, laugh or start to talk very quickly in disbelief on how much I've grown. The great thing about these type of folk is that because they hadn't seen me in a long time we got to skip the part when they tell me how fat I am or how much weight I've lost.
On the way home my mother and aunt spoke without silence the entire fifty minute drive - an almost seamless ping pong of "sheissougly-canyoubelievehowfatsheis-ohmygodshelookedamazing-toobadherhusbandhasgainedsomuchweight-ilovewhatshedidwithherhair-thatmanisjuststraightupcrazy-didyouseehowmucheyelinershewaswearing!" In retrospect it all sounds very amusing but my uncle and I were ready to jump out the window in horror at the rate they were stripping down everyone's physical appearance. My mother is one of the most loving and nurturing women I know but when she gets together with one of her sisters - the craziest shit comes flying out of her mouth. Some of it deadly enough to cause a familial fist fight.

God bless Chile.

The Menas - Day Five

Yesterday I found myself in the arms of the Chilean countryside where my father keeps his horses. Recently he started a small business with the kindest soul I know in Chile - Don Patricio Mena. Never have I met a man where words like "salt of the earth" just seem like an insult. Making him something more then he is would be an abuse to his name. Even though he's shy and little quiet, he knows just the right amount of knowledge to have a economical and political discussion on Bolivian energy. While skilled enough with a horse to not even blink if the beast of burden beneath him starts to misbehave.
Yesterday we arrived at the farm a few hours before sunset. I knew that because it was close to 5pm that they were about to feed the little ones. So as soon as I got out of my dad's truck I walked over to help Don Patricio's wife Dorita and the grounds keeper who they call "cabbage" in Spanish - because his head is in the shape of a cabbage - to fill the milk bottles they use to feed the thirty calf they are raising. That is part of my father and Don Patricio's business. Every couple of months they go to the dairy farms in the area and buy up all the baby bulls. Once the bulls are big enough, they herd them to a beautiful plot of land dozens and dozens of hectares large. In this field they have a mix of bulls and cows, so almost ever cow is either pregnant or about to be mounted.
Once we finished milking the calf I got on a horse and with my father and Don Patricio we rode out of town to this plot of land where they kept their herd. Because the sun was close to setting it was time to take all the cows and bulls with their littles ones back to where they sleep and have their morning grass. It is important to account for the entire herd every evening to make sure that none of them wander off into someone else's property.
So there we were, strategically bringing them all into one school. I can't even explain the sensation I felt with my father there on the field doing this work. I felt proud and happy for my him that he had this around him because I know it made him so very happy. Laughing and telling jokes with Don Patricio and the other two huasos who take care of the herd, I was smiling just because he was so smiling. After the count there were two missing.
Racing and walking our horses around the property, searching for a good hour for the animals it was important that we retrieved them before sunset. Near the end of the hour we decided to separate into two groups in order to cover more ground. I went with Don Patricio and the other three went another direction. Just at the end of the line close to the small two lane highway there sat enormous bushels of quinces.

I turn to Don Patricio and ask with surprise "Memebrello?" He nods smiling and I go right for a nice ripe one. Tart and sweet I can't believe what I'm eating. A fruit that costs almost two dollars per unit that the local supermarket in Montreal, I am sitting there on a horse with my favourite Chilean eating this childhood treasure.
The two animals from the cattle went off on their on and found these yummy bushes. The only reason I was able to get any was because they couldn't reach where I could while on my horse. Don Patricio calls my father on his cell phone - which I always find hilarious - to inform him that we found the rest of the cattle. After sending them off back to the herd we make our way to the ranch. Just as we arrive once awaits us. Medium rare steaks, eggs and tomatoes with cooked white onions.
Heaven inside heaven.